The streets of Hell were alive with the sounds of wails and whispers, the air thick with suffering. Kikidori walked through the infernal landscape, his boots clicking against the stone as he moved past the damned souls who wandered aimlessly, lost in their eternal torment. The screams of sinners echoed in the distance, their cries a constant reminder of the price they paid for their sins.
The damned, cursed by their actions in life, were scattered throughout Hell, enduring endless punishment for the choices they had made. Some crawled on their hands and knees, others were chained to burning rocks, and many were locked in eternal conflict with each other. Kikidori didn't care. It wasn't his responsibility to save them, nor was it his concern. He was simply passing through, a silent observer of their endless suffering.
As he walked, his mind wandered, though he didn't want it to. He thought of Earth, of the humans who had no idea what existed just below their feet. And then, unbidden, he thought of Haruna—her face, her words, the strange warmth she had shown him. He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. He had enough to deal with here in Hell.
Kikidori's steps led him to a bar—a small, dimly lit establishment tucked away in a shadowy corner of Hell. The air inside was thick with the stench of sulfur and the low hum of demons muttering to one another. The bartender, a large, muscular demon with glowing red eyes, nodded as Kikidori walked in. The place wasn't busy, but there were a few familiar faces in the corner.
He sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. Demons, unlike humans, couldn't get drunk, but that didn't stop them from drinking for the sake of tradition or enjoyment. Kikidori didn't care for it much, but tonight, he felt like doing something mindless. The glass was filled with a thick, black liquid that bubbled with a fiery glow. He picked it up and took a sip, the drink's heat burning his throat as it slid down.
He set the glass back down and sighed. It wasn't the kind of relief he was looking for, but it was something. He wasn't here for long, though—just a momentary distraction from the weight of his thoughts. The drink was tasteless to him, the fleeting buzz it gave fading almost immediately.
Without another word, Kikidori pushed away from the bar and left. The bartender didn't bother to ask for payment; he never did with Kikidori. The demon was both feared and respected in Hell, and he never had to worry about things like debts or favors.
Kikidori walked back through the streets of Hell, his pace slow but purposeful, the dark landscape stretching out before him like an endless abyss. His feet led him to his home—no, not just any home. His castle. A grand, imposing structure that towered over the surroundings, dark spires reaching high into the hellish sky. The castle was a remnant of a past that Kikidori wished he could forget, a place tied to memories he didn't want to face. But it was his home now. There was no escaping it.
He pushed open the massive, blackened doors, stepping inside. The cold stone greeted him like an old, unwanted acquaintance. The grand hall stretched before him, the ceilings high, adorned with tapestries depicting violent battles and torment. There was a chill in the air, a sense of emptiness that Kikidori had grown accustomed to. The only sound was his footsteps echoing against the walls.
He moved through the halls, past rooms he had no desire to enter, until he reached the main living area. The walls here were lined with relics—old portraits, demonic statues, and relics of a time long past. It was here that he saw it: a picture, framed and displayed prominently on the wall.
It was a portrait of three figures—an imposing man with fiery red eyes and dark wings, a woman whose beauty was ethereal, and a younger version of Kikidori himself, standing between them. The trio was frozen in time, a family united in a moment of stillness.
Kikidori stared at the painting for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He never liked the picture, never liked the reminder it represented. He didn't need to look at it to know who the figures were. The man was Lucifer, the so-called King of Hell, and the woman beside him was Lilith, the first demon. And Kikidori… well, he was their son, though he never wanted to acknowledge it. He hated it, hated the expectation that came with their names, hated the weight of their legacy.
Kikidori turned away, his face hardening as he walked further into the castle. The walls seemed to close in around him, the suffocating air reminding him of everything he wanted to forget. But the painting would always be there. The reminder. The burden.
He didn't belong here—not with them, not with the past. But it was the only place he had.
The end of chapter 3