Carmilla's breath caught in her throat as she felt a suffocating weight descend over her. Darkness swirled and stretched, encasing both her and Yuta within its oppressive grip. The air was thick, dense, alive with power. She could feel it in every fiber of her being—something... something unstoppable. The shadow loomed above Yuta, twisting reality itself, and Carmilla's once-confident composure faltered.

What... is this? Her thoughts raced, heart pounding as a primal fear surged up inside her. Instinctively, every muscle in her body screamed for her to flee, to escape the growing abyss that seemed ready to swallow her whole. She turned, desperation driving her movements as she tried to break free from the unrelenting void that now surrounded them.

But then, through the darkness, a voice—gentle, familiar—broke through the chaos.

"Carmie?"

Carmilla froze, her escape halted by that single word. Her breath hitched, and she slowly turned, dread and disbelief mixing in her chest. The endless darkness melted away, and in its place… a house. A simple, cozy house, warm with familiarity and light. She blinked, her demonic claws trembling as her surroundings shifted. The scene was impossible, yet so real. There, in front of her, stood a man. He had blonde hair, neatly kept, glasses perched on his nose, and an assured smile that reached his kind eyes. His eyes—those eyes—looked so much like Odette's.

"You alright?" His voice, soft and full of concern, sent a shiver through Carmilla's core.

She stood there, frozen, her mind reeling. Her claws and fiery aura receded, her once monstrous form flickering like a dying flame. She stared at him, unable to speak as the world around her came into sharper focus. The air no longer crackled power, and her body—her hands—felt... normal. Human.

She glanced down. Her skin was no longer the light-grey magenta it had become in Hell. No, it was soft, lightly tanned, untouched by the cruelty of her demonic transformation. These were the hands she had when she was alive, before her descent into Hell, before she became Carmilla, the feared demoness.

"Matthew?" she whispered, her voice fragile, like it might shatter under the weight of her disbelief.

The man—Matthew, her husband—chuckled softly, his smile broadening. "What kind of question is that?" He tilted his head, as if the very idea that she would question his presence was absurd. "Of course, it's me."

Carmilla's breath hitched, her throat tightening. She could feel the sting of tears she hadn't shed in so long, not since the moment she had become something more than human, something monstrous. Before she knew it, Matthew stepped closer, his hands gently taking hers. She stared down at their joined hands, his touch warm, grounding her in this surreal reality.

His gaze softened as he studied her. "Looks like you've seen a ghost. Is everything alright at work?"

Carmilla's voice caught in her throat. Work. He thought she had just come home from another long day, like nothing had changed. But everything had. She had. How could he be standing here? After everything? After Hell itself?

"Matthew..." she managed, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking his name would cause him to disappear.

His smile didn't falter, though. If anything, it softened. "You always worry too much. C'mon, tell me what's bothering you."

The sound of his voice—so calm, so tender—was too much for her to bear. She collapsed into his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around him as though she feared he might slip through her fingers like a dream. Matthew, always so steady, hugged her back just as tightly, confusion flickering in his eyes but saying nothing. He didn't need to understand; he just held her, letting her find whatever comfort she needed in his embrace.

For what felt like an eternity, Carmilla stood there, clutching him as if her life depended on it. The world around them seemed to still, the house becoming more vivid. She could smell the faint scent of flowers from the nearby garden, the warmth of the hearthfire, the feeling of home—all of it washed over her, overwhelming her senses. This… this was everything she had lost. Everything she had fought to protect. Her heart ached with the weight of it all.

"I'm here," Matthew whispered into her hair, his hand running soothingly along her back. "I'm always here."

Carmilla's chest tightened, her eyes squeezed shut. She wanted to believe him. More than anything, she wanted this moment to last forever. But she knew better. She knew what had happened, and how fragile this reunion was.

"What happens when you're not?" she whispered back, her voice trembling.

Matthew pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. His expression was calm, reassuring, the way it always had been. "Even when I'm not here, Carmie, you'll be fine. You and the girls—you're strong. You've always been strong." His thumb brushed against her cheek gently. "No matter what happens, I'll always be with you. And even if I'm gone, they'll be with you, too."

As if on cue, two small voices echoed from the hallway, light and full of laughter. Carmilla turned her head slowly, and there they were—Clara and Odette, much younger, innocent, and so full of life. They ran toward her, their faces bright with joy, asking their mother and father to come outside and play.

Matthew smiled, giving them a nod, but before they could rush out the door, Carmilla reached for them, pulling both of her daughters into a tight embrace. She held them close, her heart swelling with a deep, profound love. Her family. Her real family. Clara giggled, and Odette grumbled a little at being squeezed too tightly, but neither of them pulled away.

In that moment, all the walls Carmilla had built around herself came crashing down. The cold, harsh exterior she had worn for so long melted away. She wasn't the demon overlord, she wasn't the feared and ruthless Carmilla Carmine. She was just… Carmilla. A wife. A mother. That's all she had ever wanted to be.

She buried her face in their hair, closing her eyes as tears finally began to fall, unbidden and unstoppable. This was everything she had lost. Everything she had been fighting for in Hell. The reason she had clawed her way to the top, through blood and torment, was all for them. For this.

But deep down, Carmilla knew that this was a memory. A fleeting, bittersweet illusion.

Carmilla blinked, and the warmth of her family—her husband, her children—was gone in an instant. Reality crashed back into place like a violent wave. The oppressive darkness from Yuta's domain had vanished, replaced by something even more unsettling. The once pitch-black sky had taken on a faint, haunting pink hue, like the first light of dawn tainted by blood.

Her senses sharpened as she realized where she stood now. Cross-like structures, monumental and eerie, loomed above them, each one littered with countless katanas jutting out like thorns. They fell from the sky, descending toward the ground with unnatural precision. Carmilla instinctively dodged, her body moving on autopilot as she avoided the raining weapons.

Her eyes found Yuta standing atop one of those structures, his form shadowed by the dim light. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable, cold. His hand still held the remnants of the sign he had been weaving moments before, but it was what encircled them both that made her breath hitch—the entire area was wrapped in thick ropes, intricately tied together in a pattern symbolic of love. It was grotesque in its beauty, like a corrupted shrine, a place where sacred and profane bled together.

The weight of the domain fell on her shoulders like a physical force, pressing down on her lungs, on her very soul. It was no longer just cursed energy—it was an overwhelming presence. Was this the real Yuta? she wondered. Was this the potential he had kept hidden all along?

Yuta, silent and composed, stopped making the handsign and reached for another katana embedded in the structure beside him. His movements were deliberate, cold as he began to descend toward her, his eyes locked on Carmilla like a predator eyeing its prey.

She braced herself, her claws tightening, still ignited with crimson flame. As he charged, she moved to block, but something was off. His lips moved ever so slightly, just enough for her to notice strange symbols forming around his mouth. A series of glyphs, like snake eyes and fangs coiled and shimmered against his skin.

"Blast away…" he murmured, his voice distant but clear, almost as if the words had weight beyond sound.

Before she could react, a force unlike anything she had ever felt surged within her. An overwhelming pressure built inside her chest, as though her very organs were being crushed from within. With a sickening lurch, her body was flung backward, sent careening through the air. The impact of the unseen force hit like a cannon blast, sending waves of pain through her entire frame. Carmilla barely managed to stop herself from crashing into one of the falling katanas.

She gasped for breath, every inhale sharp and ragged. Her vision blurred from the pain, but she forced herself to focus. What the hell was that? The question rang in her mind as she watched Yuta, still moving with that same methodical grace. His katana vanished, dissipating into the ether, but his hand was already reaching for another. The sky around him, that pale pink, was shifting subtly.

Desperation clawed at her chest as she staggered to her feet. Run. Get away. Do not engage him. Every instinct screamed for her to flee, but as she turned to make her escape, Yuta was already there, closing the distance in an instant. His speed was terrifying. She barely had time to raise her arms before the next strike came, his blade colliding with her claws in a fierce clash of sparks.

Her arms trembled under the force, but she blocked it. For a split second, relief washed over her. But then—there it was again. That same pressure, invisible but crushing, radiating from the blade. This time, she saw it. The air itself around his sword was warping, the atmosphere condensing as if air was bending to his will.

He's not just swinging at me, she realized. He's shattering the very air.

Yuta swung once more, not at her, but at the space just inches from her body. The blow didn't touch her directly, but the shockwave ripped through the air, striking her with enough force to send her hurtling backward again. Carmilla coughed, tasting blood. Her body was already battered, bruised beyond what she thought she could endure.

This is impossible, she thought. He's doing things that don't make sense—first that monstrous thing Rika, then he sent me away with words, and now he's tearing apart the air itself. What… just what is he?
Her mind raced, trying to piece together what she had witnessed. But there was no time to dwell. Yuta was relentless, his cold expression never wavering as he picked up yet another sword, each one seemingly different, heavier with purpose.

Carmilla knew she couldn't run. He'll catch me. He's faster now, faster than even I am. So she lunged instead, her claws igniting with renewed desperation. If she was going to die, she would die fighting, tearing through him with every last ounce of her strength.

Yuta blocked the strike with ease, his movements fluid, calculated. They clashed, over and over, the sound of metal ringing through the air like a symphony of violence. But something was different. Every strike she made, he was already countering, as if he could see her thoughts before she acted on them. He wasn't the awkward, uncertain boy she had first fought—he was something else entirely now.

"You…" Carmilla growled, her breath coming in short, labored bursts as she tried to land a blow. "What the hell… are you?"

Yuta didn't respond with words. He didn't need to. His eyes—once filled with doubt and hesitation—were now sharp, cold, and unreadable. He was seeing right through her, and it terrified her.

Each time she swung, he deflected. Each time she dodged, he was already there, his blade waiting. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as though every possible outcome had already been calculated. He was manipulating the battlefield, the very sky bending to his will. Even in her demon form, with all her strength and speed, Carmilla found herself completely outmatched.

And yet, Yuta's expression didn't change. There was no glee, no satisfaction in overpowering her. There was only a cold, almost detached determination in his eyes as he pressed the assault, each blow bringing her closer and closer to collapse.

This isn't just a fight for him. Carmilla realized with growing horror. He's not even thinking about it. It's like he's somewhere else, somewhere far away.

As their blades clashed one final time, she could see it in his eyes—Yuta wasn't here with her at all. He was fighting something deeper, something far more personal, and Carmilla was merely the obstacle in his way.

Yuta once again grabbed another Katana as he quickly paced up the speed, Carmilla tried of everything to dodge

Carmilla's heart pounded in her chest as Yuta grabbed another katana. His movements were too precise, too fast, as if he were a machine programmed solely for destruction. Every time she thought she had found a rhythm to his attacks, he shifted, sped up, or changed the angle. Her mind raced, desperately trying to keep up.

He's too focused, too automatic… what is he even seeing?

Carmilla dodged as best she could, her body screaming in protest from the wounds and exhaustion. Her instincts, honed by centuries in Hell, kicked in. Every time Yuta moved, she reacted, ducking and weaving in an attempt to outmaneuver him. But it was becoming painfully clear—Yuta wasn't just fighting her, he was beyond that. He was fighting with an intensity that suggested he was somewhere else entirely, consumed by something she couldn't understand. It was almost like he was on autopilot, as though the real Yuta had checked out, leaving behind only the sharpness of his cursed energy and the raw skill that had built up over time.

Her body twisted and turned in rapid succession, narrowly dodging each swing of his katana. She retaliated with quick slashes of her claws, hoping to create some distance, but every swipe seemed futile. Yuta's gaze didn't waver, and his movements were so calculated that it seemed like he had already anticipated her every counter.

The more she dodged, the more she realized how mechanical his attacks had become. He's not even seeing me anymore… he's just… fighting. There was something cold in his eyes, a detachment that sent chills down her spine. It wasn't rage or even vengeance—it was emptiness. His body moved like a relentless machine, precise and unfeeling, and Carmilla could do nothing but keep up. Every second that passed drained her reserves, and every attack he made chipped away at her defenses.

Sweat dripped from her brow as she darted sideways, narrowly avoiding another lethal swing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight with the effort of moving so fast for so long. She was used to long fights—Hell had honed her into a warrior—but this… this was different. Yuta's attacks were not just about strength or speed; they were about inevitability. He wasn't chasing victory; he was crushing her beneath the weight of inevitability.

She leaped into the air, spinning gracefully as she avoided another swipe, the crimson flames around her claws flickering with each desperate motion. But even in midair, she felt his presence closing in on her again. Yuta's eyes never left her, his focus unyielding.

How can he still be this fast? Carmilla's mind reeled as she landed, barely regaining her footing before Yuta was upon her again. She blocked with her slipper, the angelic steel scraping against the edge of his katana, but she could feel the force behind the strike. It was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a dam that was already full of cracks.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. Yuta's lips parted, and she heard words—something that made no sense to her, but the power was undeniable.

"Cleave," Yuta muttered, his voice low and distant, like a whisper from another world.

Before Carmilla could even react, her body erupted in pain. She gasped, eyes wide as she felt sharp, slicing wounds tear across her arms, face, legs, and upper body. She hadn't even seen the strikes. One moment, she had been standing, ready to block, and the next… she was bleeding. Deep red streaks marred her pale skin, and for the first time in centuries, Carmilla felt true fear.

I didn't even see it... She looked down at herself, stunned. Blood dripped from her wounds, staining the ground beneath her feet. She tried to move, to dodge, to fight back, but her body wouldn't listen. Her muscles refused to respond. The pain was too great, and the realization of her own defeat settled in. I can't move… he's too much.

Carmilla's mind raced as she saw Yuta standing before her, cold and detached, already reaching for another katana. It was over. Her years of training in Hell, her battles, her sacrifices—none of it mattered now. This kid, this boy, had bested her. She couldn't even muster the strength to continue dodging. One more attack would end it.

Yuta stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable. He was calculating, processing the next move as if it were predetermined, an inevitability he had already accepted. He lifted his sword, preparing to deliver the final blow, but then… he hesitated.

Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, Yuta saw something. In Carmilla's eyes, there was no more fire, no more defiance. There was only the void—an emptiness born from years of fighting, years of struggling to protect her daughters and survive the inferno that had become her life. That void spoke to him, and it was enough.

Yuta's grip on the katana faltered, just for a second. That single moment of hesitation, that single break in his automatic rhythm, was all it took. His body swayed, his strength faltering as if something deep within him snapped. His focus wavered, and in an instant, Yuta collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The air around them shifted. The oppressive weight of the domain lifted, and the pink sky returned to its natural desolate state. The cross-like structures, the katanas, and the ropes of love vanished into the ether, leaving behind the barren, empty landscape they had started in.

Carmilla stood there, swaying on her feet, looking around at the now normal surroundings. The fight was over. She had survived, but just barely. Her body screamed in pain, but her mind was numb, too exhausted to process it all. With a heavy sigh, she let herself relax, her shoulders slumping as she fell to her knees.

She didn't have the energy to speak, to scream, to even curse. Instead, she simply exhaled, the weight of everything crashing down on her, and allowed herself to fall into the darkness of unconsciousness.

As the dark barrier faded, Alastor released his hold, letting the oppressive blackness melt away into the cold, desolate wasteland once more. His keen eyes were the first to take in the scene. Yuta and Carmilla lay motionless on the battlefield, their bodies battered and bruised, both clearly unconscious.

His signature grin twitched, a flicker of genuine surprise flashing in his eyes. "A Domain Expansion..." Alastor mused. "He unleashed it without even knowing the true nature of his power. How interesting."

Charlie's scream pierced through the lingering silence. "Yuta!" she cried, her voice trembling with fear. She sprinted toward his prone figure, her long blonde hair flowing wildly behind her as she fell to her knees beside him. She shook him, her panic growing with each second. "Yuta! Wake up, please!"

Rosie and Zestial stood in stunned silence, their usual expressions of mischief and aloofness replaced by something unfamiliar: concern. The sight of Carmilla—unconscious, no longer the fierce, unyielding warrior they knew her to be—was disconcerting. A woman who had survived centuries of torment in Hell, a being who had fought countless battles and never once appeared vulnerable, now lay still. They exchanged a glance, unspoken disbelief passing between them.

Zestial's lime-green eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I've never seen her like this before" he muttered, his lanky spider-like form unnervingly still.

Rosie, usually so chatty, said nothing. Her sharp pink teeth clenched behind pale gray lips, her eyes fixed on Carmilla's motionless body. The silence weighed heavily on all of them.

Odette hurried toward Yuta and knelt beside Charlie, adjusting her glasses with a firm yet gentle hand. "He's still breathing," she said, her voice steady, though her heart raced at the sight of Yuta's unconscious form. She glanced at Charlie, her expression softening slightly in an attempt to reassure her. "He'll be fine. Just exhausted, I think."

Charlie swallowed hard, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I thought… he… he looked like he was… gone."

Odette, calm and collected as always, turned her gaze toward her mother in the distance. Clara was already there, kneeling beside Carmilla and examining her with the same intensity that she used for everything. Clara's dark eyes met Odette's, and after a brief pause, she gave a thumbs-up.

"She's fine," Clara called out, her voice ringing clear in the stillness. "Just unconscious. Tough as ever."

Odette exhaled, relief washing over her, though she quickly masked it with her usual composure. Mother's alright. That's all that matters.

But the sight of Carmilla, once so invincible, lying beaten was an image that would haunt her for a long time. The sheer power that Yuta had displayed—no, unleashed—was terrifying. The boy had come to Hell as a mere sinner, but now… now, he was something else entirely. A young warrior with power so raw and so overwhelming that it had managed to equal the strength of her mother, one of Hell's most feared overlords. Odette couldn't help but wonder what Yuta truly was—and what he would become if he learned to control that power.

Alastor stood off to the side, watching the scene with his ever-present grin. His crimson eyes twinkled with interest, and for once, he found himself genuinely impressed. He tilted his head slightly, tapping a finger against his chin.

"So, Yuta is finally tapping it..." Alastor mused aloud, his voice dripping with curiosity. "And without truly understanding his own cursed energy… Fascinating. He has no idea what kind of power lies within him."

Zestial, still standing nearby, shot Alastor a sideways glance. "Alastor…. Do thou know Yuta's true nature?"

Alastor chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down Zestial's spine. "Oh yes, Yuta… he's different. Most sinners here don't survive long enough to even scratch the surface of their potential. And yet, here he is—barely conscious, and yet still alive after battling Carmilla."

Rosie folded her arms across her chest, her maroon sun hat casting a shadow over her face. "Different or not, he's dangerous. That much is clear. Even Carmilla couldn't handle him, not fully."

Alastor's grin widened. "Dangerous, yes. But that's what makes him so very interesting. Don't you think? And an important asset against Barbatos…"

Charlie, still kneeling beside Yuta, barely registered their conversation. She was too focused on the boy in front of her. His face was pale, and his breathing shallow, but there was something about him—something that felt… stronger than before. Despite his exhaustion, Yuta had a quiet strength radiating from him, even in this vulnerable state.

Charlie reached out and gently touched his hand. "Yuta… thank you," she whispered, her voice so soft that only Yuta could hear her, if he were awake. She wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for—maybe for his bravery, maybe for surviving, or maybe for the fact that fought for what he believed, even if it had cost him.

Meanwhile, Clara stood over her mother, her eyes narrowed in deep thought. She glanced over Carmilla's wounds, and while they were severe, she could tell that her mother would recover—physically, at least. But mentally? That was another story. Carmilla had always prided herself on her strength, her ability to withstand any foe, but Yuta had forced her to confront something she hadn't faced in a long time—her own limits.

"Mom…" Clara muttered under her breath, brushing a lock of her white hair behind her ear. She looked up at the sky, now clear of Yuta's domain. "What do we do now? He's… strong. Stronger than anyone we've seen in Hell for a long time."

Odette approached, standing beside her sister. "Mother will recover. She always does. But we need to keep an eye on Yuta. His power is growing, and fast. If he learns to control it…"

Clara nodded, her expression grim. "He could become one of the most powerful beings in Hell."

As they stood in silence, Alastor's voice broke through the tension. "Powerful, yes. But the real question is, what will he do with that power?"

Rosie glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

Alastor's smile deepened, his sharp yellow teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Yuta is a wildcard, Rosie. He's still figuring out who he is. But once he decides what he wants… well, that's when things will get truly interesting."

Zestial's voice was low as he spoke, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness. "If he turns against us after we defeat Barbatos… then he will be way more dangerous than him."

Alastor's grin never faltered. "I dont think you should worry about that… as powerful as he is he has his heart set… unless something changes along the way" He says at he glances at Charlie "So lets keep him on his good side, shall we?"

The silence that followed was heavy, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Yuta had not just survived the battle—he had changed it, and in doing so, changed them all.

As Charlie continued to sit beside him, her heart heavy with worry and gratitude, the others slowly dispersed. Odette and Clara went back to their mother's side, Rosie and Zestial stood on guard, and Alastor remained where he was, watching everything unfold with his ever-present amusement.


Back at the facility, the tension still hung thick in the air, even though the battle was long over. The group had returned in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Zestial, Rosie and Alastor had slipped away to attend to their duties, leaving only the Carmine sisters, Charlie, and Yuta.

Odette and Clara were busy tending to the wounds of their mother and Yuta, their minds preoccupied with the heavy implications of the day's events. Now, it was nearly 4:00 a.m. The facility was quiet, the stillness broken only by the occasional shuffle of footsteps or the quiet hum of machinery.

Charlie sat on a chair beside Yuta, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stared at his unconscious form. He lay motionless on the bed, his pale face barely visible in the dim light of the room. His chest rose and fell steadily, but he hadn't stirred since they brought him back. Her heart was heavy with worry, twisting inside her with each passing moment.

"Please wake up," she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned forward, gently brushing a lock of his dark hair away from his forehead. She couldn't shake the image of him collapsing from her mind, the way his body had crumpled under the strain of the fight. The memory of his cold, distant expression during the battle haunted her. It wasn't the Yuta she knew—the kind, awkward boy who had somehow wormed his way into her heart.

The door creaked open, and Charlie looked up to see Clara stepping inside the room. Her face was pale, etched with exhaustion, but her sharp eyes flickered with something more—concern, perhaps? It was rare to see Clara visibly worried about anything.

"You should get some rest, Charlie," Clara said softly, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's really late. You've been here for hours."

Charlie blinked in surprise, glancing at the time for the first time. It was almost 4:00 a.m. The night had slipped by without her even realizing. She hadn't even considered leaving Yuta's side, not until she saw him open his eyes.

"I can't," Charlie replied quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She shook her head, refusing to look away from Yuta. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

Clara sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. "He won't be up for a while, Charlie. His body's been through hell—literally. He needs time to recover, and so do you."

Charlie clenched her fists in her lap, shaking her head again. "I don't care. I need to be here. I don't want him to wake up alone."

There was a long silence between them. Clara's gaze softened, but her usual no-nonsense attitude remained. After a moment, she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur.

"Charlie," Clara began, her tone more serious now. "Do you know who Yuta truly is? What he's capable of?"

Charlie's breath caught in her throat at the question. She glanced at Clara, then back at Yuta. A long, deep sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back in her chair, her body suddenly feeling heavy with fatigue.

"I know he's… special," Charlie admitted, her voice soft, almost distant. She didn't want to dwell on the dark thoughts that had been swirling in her mind since the fight. "I know he's not like anyone else down here. But that doesn't mean a bad thing."

Clara's eyes narrowed slightly, her brow furrowing as she studied her sister. "You and I might have different definitions of 'special,' Charlie. Yuta is beyond what most sinners could ever hope to become. In less than a year in Hell, he's become… too powerful. More powerful to even match my Mother in combat"

Charlie swallowed hard. She knew what Clara was getting at, but she didn't want to acknowledge it. Yuta had always been kind, always been hesitant to use his power unless absolutely necessary against someone. But that battle… it had changed something. He had unleashed a something without fully understanding it, without even being aware of how terrifying his power could be.

"Have you ever thought about what would happen if he turned on us?" Clara asked, her voice steady but laced with concern. "If Yuta decides—one day—that he no longer wants to be on our side, there might be nothing we can do to stop him."

The thought sent a chill down Charlie's spine, but she shook her head firmly. "He would never do that. Yuta's not like that, Clara. He's a good person."

Clara's eyes darkened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Good or not, power changes people. Hell changes people, and Yuta is no exception. I've seen it time and time again. This place… it warps souls. Even the strongest of us are vulnerable."

Charlie bit her lip, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew Clara was right. She had seen the changes in Yuta, subtle at first but growing more noticeable with each passing day. The way he fought, the way he seemed to lose himself in the battle—it wasn't just a display of strength. It was something more primal, more dangerous.

But despite everything, despite the growing fear gnawing at the edges of her mind, Charlie refused to believe that Yuta could ever become a threat. He had come to Hell as a lost, frightened soul, but he had never lost his humanity. Even in the midst of battle, even when he was at his most terrifying, there was still a glimmer of that boy she knew—the one who cared deeply, who fought not for power, but for the people he cared about.

"I won't give up on him," Charlie said firmly, her voice stronger now. "He's been through so much already. We can't just assume the worst because he's powerful. I trust him, Clara. And I know he'll always do the right thing."

Clara stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed and uncrossed her arms, taking a seat on the edge of Yuta's bed. She glanced down at him, her gaze softening slightly as she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"I hope you're right," Clara murmured. "For all our sakes."

Charlie didn't respond, but her heart felt lighter, if only by a fraction. She turned her gaze back to Yuta, reaching out to gently hold his hand. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the soft beeping of the machines and the gentle hum of the facility filling the air.

For now, Yuta was safe. But deep down, Charlie knew that this was only the beginning. Whatever power Yuta had within him, whatever potential he was yet to realize—it would change everything. And when that time came, she could only hope that the Yuta she knew, the boy who had become so important to her, would remain on their side.

As the room settled into silence once again, the weight of the earlier conversation hung between Charlie and Clara like an unwelcome presence. Yuta still lay unconscious, his breathing steady but shallow. Charlie hadn't moved from her spot by his side, still holding his hand, her eyes flickering between his face and the door. She hadn't asked about Carmilla yet, but the question had been gnawing at her.

Finally, after a long pause, Charlie turned to Clara, her voice hesitant but filled with concern. "Clara… How's your mother? Is she okay?"

Clara, who had been leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, frowned. Her sharp eyes softened for a brief moment as she thought about Carmilla. "Odette's with her," she replied quietly. "She's in worse shape than Yuta, but she'll live. You know how tough she is."

Charlie bit her lip, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt wash over her. "I can't believe Yuta was able to put her in that condition. I knew he was strong, but Carmilla…"

Clara's face darkened, frustration brewing in her expression. "I don't understand why Mother did this. What was she thinking, attacking him like that? Was it some kind of twisted test? What point was she trying to make?"

Charlie sighed softly, shaking her head. "I don't know, Clara. Carmilla's motives are always a little… hard to read." She hesitated, glancing at Yuta again. The memory of the battle flashed in her mind—Yuta's cold focus, the terrifying power he wielded. "But… I think she might've been trying to see how far Yuta's power goes. Maybe she thought she could handle him, or… maybe she was trying to prove something."

"Prove what?" Clara's frustration was growing, her voice sharpening with each word. "That she could break him? Or that he's more dangerous than we realize?"

Charlie stayed silent, not sure how to respond. She knew Clara's concern was valid, but it wasn't that simple. Yuta wasn't just a weapon or a danger—they both knew that. He was more than the terrifying force they had witnessed.

Clara pressed on, her voice low but filled with tension. "I can't get over how powerful he is, Charlie. Less than a year in Hell, and he's already done things most sinners can't even dream of. You can't seriously tell me you're not worried about that."

Charlie straightened in her chair, her grip tightening on Yuta's hand. "I'm not," she said firmly. "I know Yuta better than anyone. He's the best soul I've ever met, Clara. Whatever power he has, he's not like the others. He won't let it control him."

Clara narrowed her eyes, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "How can you be so sure? Do you even know what he did when he was alive? What sins landed him in Hell? You're placing a lot of faith in someone who might not even remember his past."

Charlie winced at the question, her gaze dropping to Yuta's still form. "I know... he… doesn't remember," she admitted softly. "Yuta has memory loss from his time in the living world. I don't know what he did to end up here, but I don't care. Whatever his sins were, they don't define who he is now."

Clara's frown deepened. "Memory loss..." she muttered, pacing back and forth with a growing sense of irritation. "That's convenient. What if Yuta was someone terrible? A murderer? A tyrant? You know how Hell works, Charlie. The power you had in life reflects here—and clearly, Yuta had a lot."

Charlie's heart sank at Clara's words, but she quickly shook her head, refusing to believe it. "He's different, Clara. You've seen it yourself—he's not like the other sinners. His power isn't just raw strength. It's unique, something we've never seen before."

"That's exactly what scares me!" Clara's voice was rising now, her frustration clear as she stopped pacing and faced Charlie directly. "This is serious, Charlie. We've seen what happens when someone with too much power falls into darkness. Barbatos started with nothing… and became the danger he is now. If Yuta decides to turn against us, what's stopping him from becoming the next most dangerous Overlord?"

The comparison to Barbatos sent a shockwave through Charlie. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a low growl escaped her lips. Her horns began to shift, curling slightly as her demon instincts flared in response. Her eyes burned with an intense fire, and she stood up slowly, her towering presence casting a shadow over Clara.

"Yuta is nothing like Barbatos," Charlie said, her voice low and sharp, brimming with anger. "Don't ever compare him to that monster. Yuta is special. He's good. I've seen the kindness in his heart, the way he cares about others, even when he's fighting against everything down here. He's not like the rest of the sinners, and he's certainly not like Barbatos."

Clara took a step back, her eyes widening at Charlie's sudden outburst. She never thought to see the princess like this, but this was different—this was personal. Charlie's horns, usually controlled, now revealed the full intensity of her demonic nature.

Charlie continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "Yuta didn't ask for this, Clara. He didn't come to Hell to conquer or destroy or whatever shit you are saying. He's here because he's lost, and I'm going to help him find his way. I'm going to redeem him, no matter what it takes."

For a long moment, the room was silent. Clara stared at Charlie, her own anger simmering beneath the surface, but she couldn't deny the passion in her voice. Charlie believed in Yuta with everything she had, and that unwavering faith was both inspiring and frustrating at the same time.

Clara let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she shook her head. "You're putting everything on the line for him, and if you're wrong—"

"I'm not wrong," Charlie interrupted, her voice firm and resolute. "I know what I'm doing. Yuta's not a threat, and he's not going to walk the same path as Barbatos. He's better than that."

Clara remained silent for a few moments, her expression softening as she saw the fire in Charlie's eyes. She still had her doubts, but deep down, she knew that once Charlie had set her mind to something, there was no changing it.

Clara's expression hardened as she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at Charlie's unwavering stance. "And you're still clinging to that? This whole redeeming people thing?" Clara's voice was sharp, dripping with disbelief. "Charlie, you're the princess of Hell. You should know better than anyone that the people here—Yuta included—are here for a reason. There's no escape from that. No exceptions."

Charlie sighed, running her fingers through her blonde hair, the faint coral streaks catching the dim light in the room. Her heart was heavy, but her resolve was unshaken. "Clara, I know how this sounds. But I can't just abandon the idea of redemption. I believe in giving people a chance—no, I know that some of these souls are more than their sins. Look at your family. Carmilla, Odette, your father… You're good people. You look out for each other like any family should."

Clara scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Good people? You're wrong about that, Charlie. You don't even know half of it."

Charlie's brow furrowed, surprised by Clara's reaction. She had always admired the Carmine family's loyalty and unity, their fierce protection of each other. What could Clara possibly mean? "What are you talking about?"

Without missing a beat, Clara's eyes flashed as she answered coldly, "My mother was an arms dealer when we were alive."

Charlie's jaw dropped. "What?" The words felt foreign, impossible to comprehend. She stared at Clara as if trying to process the truth that had just been revealed.

Clara pressed on, her voice laced with a bitterness Charlie hadn't heard before. "In life, before Hell, Carmilla wasn't just some fierce warrior or protector. She was an actual arms dealer. She was trafficking weapons across borders, dealing with warlords, criminals, and governments. And none of us—my father, Odette, or I—had any idea. She kept it all hidden from us."

Charlie's mind raced as she tried to reconcile the image of Carmilla as a loving mother with this darker past. "But… she's not like that now, right?"

"That's not the point, Charlie," Clara snapped. "The point is that people don't always seem like what they are. Just because Yuta seems good now doesn't mean he was in life. For all we know, his sins might be worse than anything we can imagine. You don't know what kind of man he was before he lost his memory. He might've been like my mother—deceptive, dangerous, hiding his true self."

Charlie shook her head, unwilling to believe it. "But Yuta saved your life, Clara. He saved both you and Odette when he first arrived in Hell. You can't just forget that."

Clara's frustration was palpable. Her hands clenched into fists as she tried to keep her emotions in check. "Yes, he saved us. I haven't forgotten. But that doesn't erase the fact that he's still dangerous, Charlie. You're blinded by this dream of redemption, but you're not seeing the bigger picture. Yuta has power beyond anything we've ever seen, and if he ever chooses to turn against us, no one—not even you—could stop him."

Charlie's eyes softened, but there was a fire behind them. "You're wrong, Clara. I believe in Yuta because I've seen the good in him. He's not like the others. You might think I'm delusional, but I know there's more to him than whatever sins brought him here. And I refuse to judge him for something he can't even remember."

Clara took a step closer, her voice cold but steady. "And that's exactly why I'm worried. You don't know who he really is. You don't know what he did, what crimes he committed. Memory loss or not, the power he has now reflects the kind of person he was. There's a reason people end up in Hell, Charlie. Yuta's no exception. Just because he's lost and confused now doesn't mean he wasn't dangerous before."

Charlie clenched her jaw, a wave of defensiveness rising in her chest. "You can't assume the worst just because he's powerful. People are more than their pasts, Clara. You should know that better than anyone."

Clara let out a frustrated sigh, pacing the room. "Charlie, you're living in a dream. You keep saying that people can be redeemed, that they deserve second chances. But how many people in Hell do you think actually want to be redeemed? This is Hell, not some charity rehabilitation center. It's where the worst of the worst end up. Yuta's not some innocent kid who just lost his way—he's dangerous, and you're too blinded by your own ideals to see it."

Charlie stood up, her presence suddenly imposing, her wings twitching slightly as her demon form began to reveal itself even more. Her horns curved, and her eyes narrowed. "You don't get it, Clara. Yuta is special. He's not like the others down here. I don't care what he did before—what matters is what he's doing now. He's good, and I'll prove it to you."

Clara's eyes flashed with anger. "How do you know that, Charlie? How do you really know? You're risking everything on him. What if he turns out to be just as bad as someone like Barbatos? You think you can handle it then?"

Clara stood her ground, though she couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine at the sight of Charlie in her demon form. "You're too close to this, Charlie. You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. You're supposed to be the princess of Hell. You have a duty to uphold, and right now, you're letting some sinner with a pretty face distract you from it."

Charlie's fists clenched at her sides, her voice shaking with emotion. "My duty is to help the souls down here, Clara. To give them a chance to change, to redeem themselves. Yuta is the first soul in my life who's actually made me believe that's possible. He's not some pawn or some threat. He's good, and I'm going to prove it. I'll redeem him, no matter what it takes."

Clara stared at her, her frustration slowly giving way to a mixture of fear and concern. She knew how stubborn Charlie could be when she set her mind to something, and she had never seen her this passionate about anything before.

"Just… be careful, Charlie," Clara muttered, turning away. "I don't want to see you get regret it because of this. You're risking too much for someone you barely know."

Charlie softened slightly, her wings retracting as her horns faded back into her hair. She sat back down next to Yuta's bed, her hand gently resting on his. "I know what I'm doing, Clara. Yuta's worth it. And one day, you'll see it too."

Clara hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression still clouded with doubt. Without another word, she left the room, leaving Charlie alone with Yuta once more.

As the door closed behind her, Charlie's eyes remained fixed on Yuta's face. She wasn't just fighting for his redemption—she was fighting for the future she believed in, a future where even the darkest souls could find light. And no matter what anyone said, she would stand by Yuta until the end.


Yuta slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurry as he adjusted to his surroundings. He felt disoriented, as though he had just been yanked from a deep, violent slumber. His body still ached from the battle, but there were no visible wounds. Instead of lying in a battlefield or the cold desolation of Hell, Yuta found himself seated in an empty classroom. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by his shallow breaths.

Groaning softly, he rubbed his forehead, feeling the familiar texture of his hair but—wait—his horn was gone. He blinked in confusion, patting his forehead again to make sure. The sharp protrusion he had grown used to since arriving in Hell was missing. He stood slowly, feeling the weight of his body, and walked to the windows, pulling back the curtains. Outside, the sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of gold. A calm, peaceful scene… nothing like the inferno of Hell. He wasn't there anymore.

Before he could process what was happening, a voice echoed through the empty room. Yuta froze, heart skipping a beat. He turned quickly, eyes wide in surprise as he saw Barbatos, standing at the back of the room, hands tucked neatly behind his back. The Devil Overlord's dark hair and faint red skin seemed out of place in the bright classroom, yet he stood with a regal, almost predatory grace.

Barbatos's voice carried an air of casual interest. "So… this is how modern sorcerers are educated about curses?" His lips curved into a faint smile, though it lacked malice. "It ancient times it was much more brutal... they threw them against cursed spirits or each other in a bloody survival of the fittest. But I suppose this is… better."

Yuta's muscles tensed as he faced the Overlord, his mind still reeling from the sudden shift in reality. He didn't feel the same overwhelming threat from Barbatos as before, but that didn't ease his wariness. "What are you doing here?" Yuta asked, his voice a little shaky but firm. "Where are we?"

Barbatos tilted his head slightly, his glowing yellow eyes studying Yuta with something resembling mild amusement. "I told you once before, Yuta, I mean you no harm." His tone was calm, without a trace of deception, which only made Yuta more suspicious. "As for where we are… we're inside your mind."

Yuta's confusion deepened. "My mind? How… how did we get here?" His voice cracked slightly, but Barbatos's calm demeanor didn't falter.

The Devil waved a hand dismissively, stepping forward with an almost leisurely pace. "I told you, Yuta. I can restore your memories. This is just one glimpse of your past life…"

Yuta felt a chill crawl up his spine. His past life. For a moment, the weight of those words sunk in, and the memories, or lack thereof, surged forward like a crashing wave. The fog that had always clouded his mind, the constant struggle to recall who he truly was, it all felt like it was coming to a head now.

"But how?" Yuta asked, his voice hoarse, the questions bubbling up. "When did this—how did this happen?"

Barbatos's thin smile grew. "I felt it, Yuta. The explosive surge of your cursed energy. It was almost as if a beacon had lit up Hell itself. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was you... unleashing a Domain Expansion."

Yuta's confusion only deepened. "A Domain what?" His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Pieces of the fight with Carmilla flashed in his mind—her fierce attacks, the overpowering pressure, and his body moving on instinct.

Barbatos chuckled softly, as if Yuta's ignorance amused him. "The ultimate technique a sorcerer can wield. It requires an immense amount of cursed energy. Only the most powerful can achieve it, and you, Yuta… you pulled it off when you were on the brink of death against Carmilla."

Yuta's heart raced as memories of the battle rushed back, hitting him like a whirlwind. The sight of Carmilla, her strength, the overwhelming sense of despair, the feeling that he was going to die… and then… nothing. He swallowed hard, the weight of Barbatos's words starting to settle in. "How do you know about that? Were you watching us?"

Barbatos's smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Did you really think I would let you wander around Hell without keeping an eye on you? Especially after seeing your potential. You're… intriguing, Yuta. Too intriguing to leave unchecked. And let me tell you, the idea of forming an alliance with the other Overlords to destroy me? Hm…" He paused, chuckling. "Let's just say I found it… amusing."

Yuta's hands clenched into fists at his sides. His instincts were screaming at him to run, to fight, to do anything but stand still in the presence of Barbatos. But at the same time, he felt… something else. Curiosity. A desire for answers. Barbatos had been watching him. Monitoring him. For what purpose?

"I don't understand," Yuta muttered, his voice quieter now. "Why are you so interested in me? What do you want?"

Barbatos regarded Yuta with a gaze as cold as the void, his eyes, dark and unreadable, narrowed slightly. The air between them crackled with the weight of the conversation, tension thick and palpable. He spoke slowly, each word deliberate, as though savoring the meaning behind them.

"When you think of Hell... what do you imagine?" Barbatos asked, his voice low, almost contemplative.

Yuta blinked, caught off guard by the question. The image of Hell that had been ingrained in him since the stories Charlie told felt cliché now. Still, he gave the answer that felt most natural. "A place of eternal damnation for sinners, where they're punished for the evil they've done in life."

Barbatos's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Exactly. A place of damnation, suffering... doom." His words hung in the air like a tangible force. "But now that you've seen Hell with your own eyes, it's not quite that, is it?"

Yuta paused, unsure of where Barbatos was leading him. "I mean... it's not as bad as I expected. Except for that one day, with the Exorcists and angels coming down to kill the sinners. But other than that…"

"They keep living," Barbatos finished for him, stepping closer, his towering form casting a shadow over Yuta. "Without punishment, without retribution. Sinners who have committed atrocities in life... they're here, living freely, doing as they please. Doesn't that strike you as... strange?"

Yuta frowned, sensing the dark undercurrent in Barbatos's words. "Where are you going with this?"

Barbatos's smile faltered, his expression hardening. "Hell… is a lie."

Yuta's eyes widened, confusion flickering across his face.

"Think about it, Yuta," Barbatos continued, his voice deepening, laden with conviction. "Humans live their lives, some striving to be good, sacrificing everything for others, doing what they believe is right. Then there are those who live selfishly, feeding on their darkest desires—murderers, thieves, people who live without a shred of compassion."

He took a step closer to Yuta, his presence overpowering. "Those souls, the ones who fall to Hell, were supposed to be punished. Hell was supposed to be a place of torment, of penance for their sins. Yet look around. Is that what you see? Is this the 'punishment' they deserve?"

Yuta remained silent, his mind racing. He couldn't deny the truth in Barbatos's words. Hell wasn't what he'd imagined. Most sinners wandered aimlessly or indulged in their vices, unbothered by the supposed torment that was meant to greet them.

"They live without consequence," Barbatos spat, disgust creeping into his tone. "No laws, no order. They do as they please, much like they did in life. And what of the righteous? What of those who struggled, who gave everything to avoid sin? Is it fair to them that Hell is nothing but a playground for the wicked?"

Yuta swallowed hard, processing the weight of what he was hearing. It had never occurred to him, the disparity between the living and the dead. "You're saying Hell isn't what it was meant to be?"

Barbatos nodded, his expression darkening. "Exactly. This place was meant to be the final judgment. God created Hell for punishment, to balance the scales. Lucifer was put in charge, but look at what Hell has become under his rule. Sinners roam free, unpunished, and this entire realm has become a mockery of what it should be."

Yuta felt a strange knot forming in his chest. He had been in Hell for some time now, long enough to see its chaos and contradictions. But hearing it spelled out like this, hearing Barbatos lay bare the failings of the underworld, stirred something in him.

Barbatos's voice grew colder, sharper. "In the name of every good soul who sacrificed their well-being to remain righteous, I will restore balance. Hell will be what it was truly meant to be—a place of eternal punishment for those who deserve it."

"And what happens to the sinners here now?" Yuta asked, his voice steady but his unease growing.

"They will meet their fate," Barbatos replied without hesitation. "If Lucifer refuses to enforce the punishment Hell was created for, then I will take up the mantle. I will make Hell what it was always meant to be. I will turn this chaotic wasteland into the very prison it was designed to be."

Yuta's breath caught in his throat. Barbatos's intentions were clear, and there was no mistaking the gravity of his words. The weight of Hell's history, the expectations of divine justice, hung heavy over them both.

Barbatos's intense gaze met Yuta's, his voice taking on a final, resolute tone. "Do you understand, Yuta? The freedom these sinners enjoy… it's a stain on everything that is just. They will answer for their sins, whether God enforces it or not."

Yuta was silent, his thoughts swirling in a vortex of doubt and reflection. Barbatos was right about one thing—Hell wasn't what it was supposed to be. But Yuta wasn't sure he shared the same thirst for retribution. He wasn't sure if the world needed yet another force of wrath.

"Isn't there another way?" Yuta asked quietly, searching Barbatos's face for a glimmer of compromise.

Barbatos raised a brow, his smile returning though darker this time. "There is only one way, Yuta. Justice must be served. Mercy… is for the living. Here, in Hell, all debts must be paid."

The words hung between them, a chilling proclamation. Yuta's mind raced, uncertain of his place in the unfolding storm. He had power, yes, but what was his role in all of this? To become an instrument of Barbatos's will? To enforce punishment in a realm already drowned in chaos?

Barbatos' presence was suffocating as he loomed behind Yuta, his towering figure casting an ominous shadow over the young man. His hand, heavy and firm, gripped Yuta's shoulder, sending a jolt through him. It wasn't just the weight of Barbatos' hand—it was the weight of his words, and the palpable aura of something ancient and powerful swirling around him.

"Yuta," Barbatos began, his voice a deep, resonant growl that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the room. "Your soul… it's not like the others here." His tone was laced with an eerie calm, but beneath it, there was a growing intensity, like the quiet before a storm. "I'm not just interested in your power—though it's quite the enigma. This… curse energy, as you call it, where does it come from? Why is it only human souls possess it? Why you, of all sorcerers got in hell? These are questions for another time."

Yuta blinked, trying to process what was being said, his mind still foggy from the battle. The weight of Barbatos' words felt as heavy as his hand, and Yuta's own thoughts swirled, colliding in confusion and fatigue. He'd felt like a stranger to himself ever since he arrived in Hell, and Barbatos was only deepening that feeling.

Barbatos leaned closer, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "What truly piques my interest," he continued, "is not your power... but your soul."

Yuta's heart skipped a beat. His soul?

"It doesn't belong here," Barbatos said, the words almost sounding amused, though his expression was far from lighthearted. "Your soul isn't weighed down with malice, with the stains of a life filled with sins." His gaze pierced through Yuta, as though seeing straight into his core. "There are blemishes, perhaps—none of us are saints—but yours... It carries something far more unusual." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "It carries light. A soul meant for Heaven, not Hell."

Yuta's throat went dry. Heaven? No. It couldn't be true. He'd been told that Hell was his sentence, his fate, that he belonged here, like everyone else condemned to suffer. But Barbatos, a devil as ancient as sin itself, was telling him something entirely different. That his soul wasn't supposed to be here, that he'd been judged wrongly.

Barbatos straightened up, his hand slipping from Yuta's shoulder but the weight of his words remaining. "And that, Yuta, is what fuels my anger. More than your cursed power or your unique energy. It's the fact that a soul like yours—one meant for the celestial heavens—was tossed down here like trash. It doesn't matter that Heaven may seek those cursed souls like you, perhaps as some grand design. What matters is that they failed."

The devil's voice grew colder, darker, like the crackling of embers turning to ash. "They let a good soul slip through their fingers, letting you rot down here among the damned." His hands clenched into fists, flames licking at the edges of his body, the first hint of his deeper rage. "That, Yuta, is what boils my blood. The incompetence, the arrogance, of those who sit on their thrones at the top of this cosmic hierarchy, deciding who's worthy and who's not."

Yuta swallowed hard, his mind spinning. It was one thing to be condemned, to know you belonged in Hell. But to be told you didn't deserve it—that the system was broken, flawed—that was something else entirely.

Barbatos circled around Yuta, his movements slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving the young man. "But you're here," he continued, his voice slipping into a tone that was almost hypnotic. "Here in Hell, despite Heaven's oversight. And that... Yuta, that presents a grand opportunity."

Yuta's gaze shot up to meet his, confusion written across his face. "Opportunity?" he muttered, barely able to get the words out.

A grin spread across Barbatos' face, wide and unsettling, his sharp teeth glinting like knives in the dim light. "Yes, an opportunity. You see, I have a theory. You didn't end up here by accident. Oh no. There are no accidents in the realms of life and death."

Barbatos' voice took on a theatrical lilt, a dark melody of cunning intent lacing every word. His hands moved in grand, sweeping gestures, as though he were weaving the air itself into a complex narrative, each motion full of calculated grace. The golden embroidery on his suit shimmered faintly in the dim light, casting sharp reflections like the glint of a serpent's eye. His crimson skin, just faintly tinged under his human guise, seemed to pulse as he spoke, his presence undeniable.

"There is a soul that lurks in the shadows," Barbatos began, his tone smooth, almost hypnotic. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as though sharing a secret no one else could hear. "Much like you, Yuta... something cursed, something twisted. You see..." His lips curled into a sly smile, voice dripping with intrigue. "As you may have noticed, your presence here—along with that other soul—has caused quite the ruckus. Sinners... denizens of this forsaken realm... their very existence is starting to leak cursed energy, giving birth to spirits, weak for now, harmless... but that won't last. Trust me."

Yuta's brow furrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his katana. The cursed energy here was palpable, yes, but what was Barbatos really after? The faint flicker of suspicion in his eyes didn't go unnoticed by the Overlord.

"I see you understand the gravity," Barbatos continued, his smile widening ever so slightly. His voice grew more intense, yet retained that theatrical flair, as though every syllable were part of an elaborate performance. "What I want... is to seize the opportunity this chaos provides. The soul I'm speaking of, this thing—it's dangerous. Crafty. Intelligent. It hides in plain sight, a predator wearing the skin of prey. So obvious... and yet, that's its greatest strength. No one expects a threat that walks so boldly among them, especially here, where danger is the norm."

Yuta shifted uneasily, his dark eyes narrowing. "Another sorcerer? Like me?"

Barbatos chuckled, the sound low and almost mocking, but not without a hint of admiration. "Oh, far worse than that, dear Yuta. You could say it's a cursed mirror of sorts, reflecting everything you stand against... and everything you might become if you're not careful." His voice dipped into something more serious now, cutting through the air with a chilling finality. "It threatens everything I intend to build. My ambitions... my kingdom. It's a thorn in my side, and you, well... you and your little rebellion... are wasting time trying to overthrow me when a far greater danger lurks."

Yuta's heart skipped a beat at the devil's mention of the rebellion. How much did Barbatos know? Had his every step been watched?

Barbatos' sharp gaze softened, just enough to draw Yuta back in, as if sensing his hesitation. "I come in peace, for now," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Not for your soul, but to offer a deal—a temporary alliance, if you will. Set aside this foolish idea of gathering your friends to bring me down. Focus instead on this real threat, this sorcerer who grows more dangerous by the day. The longer you ignore it, the worse it becomes. Not just for Hell and the damned souls trapped here... but for you, and for your dear princess."

Yuta's breath caught at the mention of Charlie. Barbatos smirked, sensing the unease.

"Yes, even for her," he continued, his tone softening into something almost fatherly, though it never lost its oily undertone. "I can give you the tools you need to stop this creature. I can give you the means to an end. You're a good soul, Yuta. You don't belong here, and you're not part of my plans." His voice dipped lower, as if inviting Yuta into a dark secret. "But the longer you wait, the more this thing will grow, its influence spreading beyond Hell... beyond sinners. It will touch back the living world, your friends, your allies..."

Barbatos leaned back, folding his arms, his eyes gleaming like embers in the dark. "So, what do you say? Fulfill your duty as a sorcerer. Kill this threat before it becomes the death of us all."

Yuta stared at the ground, heart pounding, the weight of Barbatos' words pressing in from all sides. An alliance with the devil? It went against everything he believed in, everything he'd fought for... but if Barbatos was right, if this sorcerer was as dangerous as he claimed, could he really afford not to take the deal? Could he risk Charlie's life, and his friends, for the sake of defying a this... devil of a man?

"I don't trust you," Yuta muttered, his voice hard but laced with uncertainty.

Barbatos laughed softly, the sound dark and rich. "I'd be disappointed if you did, boy. But trust me or not, the danger is real. The question is—will you act before it's too late?"

Barbatos' voice dripped with smooth, calculated intent, each word laced with a dark amusement. "Tell me, Yuta… do you truly believe your arrival here was an accident?" His tone shifted, becoming softer yet more sinister, the kind of question that seemed to echo in the very marrow of Yuta's bones. "Perhaps it wasn't mere chance. Maybe this is the work of fate itself. And fate," he mused with a knowing smile, "can be such a curious thing."

Yuta's brow furrowed as Barbatos paced with slow, deliberate steps, his crimson skin barely visible beneath his tailored suit, the golden accents gleaming ominously in the low light. The room felt stifling, the weight of the devil's words pressing in from all sides.

"You see, Yuta, your purpose was never to be a hero. Sorcerers like you… aren't saviors, nor defenders of justice. Your one purpose," Barbatos' eyes gleamed as he spoke, voice lowering to a predatory whisper, "is to end the cursed."

Yuta's jaw clenched, his hand instinctively moving toward his katana. The words stung, though he knew them to be true. Sorcerers lived to exorcise curses, not to play the role of self-righteous protectors. But why was Barbatos so eager to drive that point home? Before Yuta could ask, the room trembled violently.

A sudden surge of cursed energy hit them like a tidal wave, so intense it nearly brought Yuta to his knees. The air grew thick, electric, humming with malevolent yet gentle power. Yuta's eyes darted to the classroom window, and what he saw left him frozen in shock—a massive explosion had erupted in the distance, a mushroom cloud of vivid pink staining the sky like a wound. The cursed energy was unmistakable, its intensity enough to shatter lesser souls.

His heart pounded as a vision unfurled before him. There, within the pink haze, he saw himself—younger—standing alongside her. Rika. Her hauntingly beautiful form, a twisted apparition of love and rage, unleashed a blinding pink beam that ripped through the landscape, causing the explosion. The sight hit him like a dagger to the chest, the pain of that memory, the loss, still fresh even after all this time.

Barbatos, ever perceptive, seized the moment. His voice was soft, but with an edge like a blade dragged over stone. "You see that, don't you? That power, that devastation... it's yours. It always was. The Domain Expansion you unleashed against Carmilla?" He chuckled darkly, as though the memory amused him. "That was but a taste of your true potential. The power you will need against the cursed sorcerer you will inevitably face."

Yuta tore his gaze from the window, his heart racing. "Why… why me?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Why would I—?"

"Because, like I told you..." Barbatos interrupted sharply, stepping closer, his tall figure casting a looming shadow over the room. "The longer you wait, the more dangerous this sorcerer will become. Their cursed energy festers, their power grows. And soon, they will be beyond anyone's control. Not even yours. Not even mine"

Yuta's fists clenched, his mind spinning. This sorcerer, this threat—was Barbatos manipulating him, or was he truly trying to warn him? The devil had everything to gain from Yuta's cooperation, and yet... "As a gesture of my goodwill," Barbatos continued, his voice now almost fatherly, "I'll share something with you. There are cursed techniques that few sorcerers ever encounter… rarities, if you will. One such technique is called Mimicry." His eyes gleamed with mischief, watching for Yuta's reaction. "A cursed ability exclusive to its bearer. Mimicry allows you to copy the cursed techniques of other sorcerers... but only by consuming a part of their body."

Yuta's heart nearly stopped, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What... are you talking about?"

Barbatos' smirk widened, his words lingering like poison. "Oh, yes. You already possess this ability, Yuta. It's within you, has been since your past life. You've already absorbed the techniques of others... perhaps without even realizing it. That is your true potential." Yuta took a step back, his mind reeling.

The room began to distort, the edges of reality fraying as if the fabric of the dream itself was unraveling. Yuta's senses felt sluggish, his body heavy. The air around him twisted, warping as everything began to dissolve into darkness.

Barbatos' voice echoed one last time, a haunting, ominous farewell. "It's time, Yuta. You will awaken soon enough... stronger, more dangerous, and one step closer to what you were always meant to be." His tone deepened, becoming colder. "Remember this when the time comes—you will face a choice. You can turn against me… or face that cursed sorcerer, the true threat. But mark my words, boy… the longer you hesitate, the more you risk everything."

As Yuta felt the world pulling him back, the dream slipping away, Barbatos' last words rang out like a curse upon his soul.

"Evolve. Grow. Become what you are destined to be."

End Of Chapter


Writer: You guys think its bold to trust someone who focuses on deception in truths?
Anyways... after a while of thinking I will update every 3 days from now on, just so I can maintain every Chapter on track, since now Im writing a bit more than usual, hopefully thats fine for you. (Still if I get a Chapter ready before then I will upload it)