The Damned Demon

As Asher turned his gaze from the infinite expanse of the ocean to the splashing sound, his eyes met a sight that was as dazzling as the sea under the moonlight.

“Isola?” He felt as if he should have expected her to come after him after hearing he took Callisa into the seas.

Like a divine nymph emerging from a mythical painting, Isola suddenly rose from the depths of the sea.

Her twilight-blue skin shimmered under the sun’s soft glow, the droplets of water magnifying her ethereal radiance as they slipped into her deep cleavage.

Her glowing, silvery white hair cascaded down her back, cascading like a waterfall, the ends wet with the sea’s embrace, adding a wild allure to her.

Her presence was an enchanting blend of seductive and majestic, commanding an attention that Asher couldn’t help but grant. 

Her slender, athletic form lifted herself onto Callisa’s shell as her lower body seamlessly transformed from the sinuous, scaled coils of a fish tail to legs with an elegance only nature could muster.

The moment Isola stabilized herself on Callisa’s shell, her sapphire gaze flitted towards Asher, an undercurrent of worry coursing beneath her skepticism, “Why are you out here, Asher? What made you bring Callisa to such a distant place all of a sudden?” She questioned with confusion glowing in her eyes while trying to veil her anxiety.

Asher, however, let a cold scoff escape his lips, “I don’t see why I should explain my actions to you, Isola,” he retorted, his tone as icy as the sea around them.

Isola’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, taken aback by his rebuff and the chilly aura emanating from him. He surely didn’t seem to be in a good mood compared to how he was all this time.

“I know Callisa has imprinted on you too, but remember your place,” Asher continued, his gaze hardening. 

He then lifted his hand, palm facing upward, his voice resolute, “Since you came all the way over here, hand over the life crystals and leave. I want to be alone with Callisa.”

Isola immediately bristled, ready to speak out in protest, but Asher cut her off swiftly, “You can either comply, or I will ensure you never see Callisa again.”

Isola visibly flinched at his words, her gaze flickering between Asher and Callisa, “How can you say something like that in front of her?” She whimpered, the hurt evident in her voice. 

But the next moment, she sighed as she conceded, her hand reaching out to grab his wrist. Knowing that his mood wasn’t good, she reluctantly decided to just let it be.

However, she was quite curious about what happened for him to be like this and to come out all the way here. This was the first time he took out Callisa like this.

But the moment their palms touched, a sudden jolt ran up Isola’s arm, like a bolt of lightning through her veins. 

Her eyes, previously focused and composed, widened in shock as they were flooded with a whirlwind of images and emotions that were foreign.

She felt as though she had been plunged into a raging river, its forceful current pulling her under.

In the murkiness of the unfathomable rush of memories, a singular, devastating image formed in Isola’s mind. It was a grim tableau, etched in the shades of despair and terror, and it froze her to the core.

She saw a small, humble human house, its spartan interior illuminated by the dim, wavering glow of a single light. 

The shadows danced grotesquely on the peeling wallpaper, breathing an eerie life into the scene.

In one corner, through a large broken mirror on the side, she saw a little human boy looking around 6 six years old, his wide, innocent eyes filled with unspeakable terror. 

She was seeing everything from the eyes of this boy and could see that he was desperately trying to make himself smaller, his small body crunched against the crumbling wall as if he wished to disappear into it.

He was calling out to the woman on the other side weakly, “Mama…”

His mother, a figure who should have reflected love and comfort, was a heartbreaking sight. 

Dressed in worn-out clothes, she stood hunched, her frail body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Her hand, shaking uncontrollably, gripped a knife that reflected the light with a sinister gleam.

“Mama, what…why?” The boy’s voice, thin and shaky, echoed in the tense silence, his tear-streaked face reflecting his confusion and fear.

The woman staggered towards him, her expression twisted in a horrible grimace of struggle. 

“Mama…stop…please…”

With every shaky step she took, the blade of the knife in her hand inched dangerously closer to the boy’s tiny chest as he continued to beg her to stop.

His small fingers clawed against the wall behind him, his breath hitching in terrified sobs.

Suddenly, the woman stumbled and knelt on the floor, clutching his neck with her free hand. The knife, still in her grasp, wavered precariously close to him. 

Her eyes, previously vacant, suddenly sparked with a desperate determination. She looked at her son, her face softening for a fleeting moment.

“Forgive me for being so weak…” she croaked, her voice barely audible over the deafening pound of her heartbeat, “You deserve…better…” A weak yet smile of despair and torment struggled to fall on her lips as tears streamed down her hollow cheeks.

With that, she suddenly turned the knife towards herself with a sharp grimace, and with a swift, determined motion, slit her own throat. 

Isola unconsciously grimaced inwardly as the drops of blood fell on the boy’s face.ραпdα `nᴏνɐ| сom

The sharp gasp that escaped the woman’s lips seemed to suck all the sound from the room, leaving behind a suffocating silence. 

She collapsed onto the floor, her life slowly ebbing away, leaving her eyes staring vacantly at her son.

“MAMA!!!!”

Isola felt the boy’s heart-shattering grief as he hugged the corpse of his mother, crying out his soul.

She could clearly see that a demon was trying to reap the soul of the mother. 

But somehow, the mother regained control of herself for a brief second and killed herself to prevent herself from harming her own son.

The echo of the boy’s cries resonated in her mind, leaving her staggered by the sheer magnitude of the torment he had endured.

Just as the heartbreaking memory began to fade, another rush of imagery took its place, much like a tide washing away footprints in the sand. 

Isola’s eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as she plunged into the depth of another memory.

This time, it was not a humble house that took form but a chaotic battlefield, the ground charred and scarred, the air thick with the scent of smoke and blood. 

In the midst of the chaos stood a lone figure, a man of towering stature, bloodied and battered, his aura flickering like a flame on the verge of being extinguished.

Surrounding him were figures radiating powerful auras, each a beacon of deadly intent. Their gazes were locked onto the injured man, their expressions a mixture of awe and ruthless determination. Yet, none of them could match the potent presence of the man in the center, even in his state of severe injury.

His face was a storm of emotions; shock, confusion, sadness, and anger twisted his features into a raw display of pain of the soul as everyone he trusted and loved suddenly turned against him.

As Isola witnessed this, her heart twinged with a strange sense of empathy. She could almost feel the man’s pain as if it were her own, and didn’t know why it was affecting her so.

Suddenly, the memory began to move. It unfolded like a tragic play, the actors set in their roles, the climax approaching with an unstoppable force. The injured man stood his ground, fighting and killing off the Hunters one by one.

But with each passing moment, his strength waned, his injuries holding him back, and his aura flickering precariously until he fell.

However, every second he fought, she felt that more than the injuries, it was his own broken heart that held him back the most.

The scenes of battle and loss faded, replaced by a shift in time and setting that hit Isola like a physical blow. The harsh metallic smell of blood was now replaced with a sterile, clinical scent, so out of place in the cruel context it found itself.

The vision transported her to a stark room, cold and emotionless, adorned only with a single bed in the center. 

Upon it lay a figure, a small boy who was lifelessly staring at the roof of the cold room above.

The boy was not human, and the surroundings had royal elegance, eerily similar to the room of someone she knew. That much was clear. 

Sometimes the room was filled with figures, a few of which were finely dressed and dignified, the elite of society. Most of whom she even recognized.

Yet, their actions and expressions were far from noble. Cruel smiles played on their lips as they watched the boy, sadistic pleasure evident in their eyes. They relished in his pain, in the silent cries that echoed from his soul, yet never left his lips.

Harsh words were thrown at the boy, whispers of torture and pain, each one an icy dagger to his heart. 

Yet, the boy remained silent, his eyes void of any protest, any plea for mercy. The helplessness of his situation seemed etched into every cell of his being, in the dull resignation of his eyes.

For years, this torture persisted as even the servants treated the boy like trash. 

The memory stretched on, an endless loop of torment and sadism, pain and silent suffering. Each passing day was etched into the boy’s eyes, each word of torment woven into the very fabric of his being.

Isola’s heart twisted in her chest as she watched, her grip tightening around Asher’s wrist without her even realizing it. A raw, heart-wrenching pain filled her chest, her breath hitching as the torturous images relentlessly played out before her for years.

“Haa!….” Overwhelmed by the onslaught of these memories, Isola gasped, the reality of the visions finally sinking in. 

She stumbled back, her legs giving out under the weight of what she had seen. She fell onto Callisa’s hard shell, her body shaking with the aftershocks of the emotional turbulence she’d just endured.

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But a sudden shift in weight broke Asher’s concentration, and he spun around to see Isola sprawled on Callisa’s shell, her twilight-blue skin paler than he’d ever seen before. 

Her eyes were wide open, staring into some unseen distance, as if haunted by some dreadful specter. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her entire body seemed to tremble.

He frowned, puzzled by this sudden display of vulnerability. He had never seen Isola showing such overt weakness, and her usually calm and collected face now wore an expression of shock and disbelief.

“What’s wrong with you? You have barely started,” he asked, his voice as cold and impassive as the wind that swept across the ocean.

Isola slowly turned her gaze towards Asher. Her eyes, wide and shaking, bore into him as a name escaped her lips, “Cedric…” It was barely a whisper, yet it echoed in the silence like a thunderclap to Asher.