Chapter 39 The True Rulers of the Underworld: Part 2: Two Broken Souls

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes and depictions of suicide and self-harm. Please read with caution, and prioritize your well-being. If these topics are sensitive for you, consider skipping the trigger warning section when it appears.

If you or someone you know is struggling, help is available:

In the U.S., call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988.

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Take care of yourself/view discretion is advised

As Anos, Mittelt, and the Clone passed through the final gate, the Clone of Ereshkigal watched them in silence from her domain.

Her duty, as bestowed by her Original, was to observe and assess those who dared to reach this place.

She was to weigh their intentions and, if possible, persuade them to abandon their pursuit.

Her task was not an easy one, nor was it always successful.

When Ereshkigal had created her for this purpose—and one other to process the souls that were erased by the Clone she created—she had hoped such efforts might dissuade those seeking to disturb her eternal slumber.

Occasionally, there were outliers who, upon witnessing the memories and tragedies of her Original, were moved enough to leave her be.

But many weren't so easily swayed. Most pressed forward, undeterred by what they saw, their resolve ultimately leading them to face her guardian, Namtaru.

Those who did never left this place alive.

This trio, however, was unlike any who had come before.

The Clone's gaze lingered on them as they made their way through the gates. She was struck by the uniqueness of their group.

First, there was the Clone of another like herself—an unexpected sight.

It had been countless years since she had encountered one of her kind, and yet here she was, walking alongside a Fallen Angel and what appeared to be a Devil.

Yet, the aura of this so-called Devil felt… different.

Speaking of him, the one called Anos was by far the most intriguing of the three.

His soul was unlike anything she had ever encountered. She had attempted to read it, as was her nature, but found herself unable to grasp its essence.

Even her father, Anu, when he had descended here during Ereshkigal's early days, had not been beyond her reach. She could read his soul with relative ease. But Anos?

He was an enigma. His soul resisted her, a testament to the unfathomable power he carried.

Only those whose strength rivaled or surpassed her own could conceal their soul from her scrutiny.

Then there was the Fallen Angel. No… not entirely a Fallen anymore. Something had changed within her, something that puzzled and intrigued the Clone.

The other one—her counterpart but not the one she created or most likely the other one—had merged a fragment of her being with this Fallen, transforming her into a demi-god of sorts. A Fallen Demi-God.

Yet, it wasn't power she had gifted her. Instead, it seemed this merging had turned the Fallen into a conduit, a siphon that funneled energy to sustain the the other Clones magic.

Even after their separation, the traces of this arrangement were evident.

The trio's motives were equally surprising.

Unlike the others who sought Ereshkigal to awaken her for selfish purposes—be it to enslave her, force her back into her duties, or destroy her—they sought something else entirely.

While observing them during a brief rest, the Clone gleaned their true intent. They didn't want to control or kill her Original. They wanted to ask for her help.

This was unprecedented. In all her time observing trespassers, not one had come seeking aid.

For the first time, the Clone considered the possibility that this trio might not only survive but perhaps offer her Original a chance at something different—a glimmer of the life she had always yearned for.

Her thoughts wandered to her Original's past, a tragic tapestry of betrayal and isolation.

Ereshkigal had once been a god destined for a life of joy, her abilities slowly developing as she grew.

But everything had changed when the scope of her powers was fully revealed.

She could do more than manipulate the dead—she could create souls and mold then as easily as clay. Such a gift was extraordinarily rare, even among gods.

Yet, her uniqueness became her curse.

The sheer magnitude of her abilities transcended that of an ordinary god, bearing the hallmarks of something primordial, akin to the Biblical God or the might of the Great Dragons.

The other gods feared her, and their fear only grew when Ereshkigal's inability to control her power became apparent.

Her lack of mastery was no fault of her own, yet it branded her a monster in their eyes rather than a deity.

As the Clone watched Anos and his companions draw closer, a seed of hope took root in her heart.

Maybe, just maybe, these three were different. Maybe they could give her Original the life she had been so cruelly denied.

Perhaps they could give her the life she had always wished for. Her Original had locked herself away in a dream of the life she had longed for, leaving behind the bitter reality of a world that had failed her.

The thought made the Clone hesitate if she even consider the possibility, her gaze fixed on the distant gates.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and reached out across the link she shared with Namtaru, a connection dormant for centuries.

The response came swiftly, his tone level and formal. "

It has been centuries since we last spoke, my lady. I presume this concerns the ones who have entered the gates recently."

The Clone nodded to herself, her lips curving into an unseen smirk.

"Yes, it has been some time, and still, you persist with the honorifics," she replied, her voice carrying a faint trace of amusement.

"Even if you are but a fragment, you are still a part of my Master," Namtaru said with unwavering respect. "You are owed the same deference."

The Clone's smirk faded as her tone grew serious. "Very well. But I contacted you for another reason. I believe I may have found the one."

There was a long silence on the other end of the link, one heavy with skepticism. Namtaru's voice, when it came, was measured but tinged with doubt. "You have said this before."

She knew he was right.

There had been others, many others, who had come to this place. Some were deterred by the memories of Ereshkigal's tragic past.

Others had pressed on, only to fall to Namtaru's unyielding strength.

Even Ishtar, her own sister, had tried to save her, swearing to shield her from her fate. But in the end, not even Ishtar had the power to succeed.

"I understand your skepticism," the Clone admitted, her tone soft but firm.

"But this one is different. Anos Voldigoad's soul is unlike any I've ever encountered. Even I cannot read it fully."

Namtaru's voice grew colder, laced with quiet disdain.

"A powerful soul alone does not make a worthy guardian. Many have claimed strength, I doubt anyone is capable of defending and offering my Master the life she deserves."

The Clone's gaze drifted to the trio still making their way through the gates.

Her thoughts lingered on Anos's unreadable soul, surely he was powerful enough, even if she couldn't ascertain his full power that aspect gave her the proof that he was strong.

"Perhaps. But they are not here to control her, kill her, or force her back into servitude. They seek her help. That alone sets them apart."

Namtaru's hesitation was palpable. "Even if their motives are pure, it does not mean they can succeed where others have failed. My Master has suffered enough. I will not allow her to wake if it means enduring more pain."

The Clone's voice softened, almost pleading.

"I know you want to protect her. So do I. But keeping her locked away forever is not living—it's merely delaying the inevitable. If these three are not the ones, I will accept your judgment. But shouldn't we at least give them a chance?"

For a moment, silence filled the link, stretching long enough that the Clone wondered if Namtaru had severed their connection. But then his voice returned, heavy with reluctant agreement.

"Very well, I shall test him. But if his strength is lacking, if they prove unworthy or ill-intentioned, I will not hesitate to destroy them."

The Clone exhaled softly, relief washing over her. "That is all I ask."

As the connection faded, the Clone watched the gates intently, her heart a mix of hope and trepidation.

Perhaps this time would be different. Perhaps, at last, Ereshkigal's false dreams could become reality.

Anos, Mittelt, and the Clone of Death emerged from the portals onto a narrow, dark pathway that led to a vast circular platform.

The platform's surface was smooth obsidian, etched with glowing blue runes that pulsed faintly in the surrounding void.

Above its center hovered a massive crystal ball, its surface glistening with an otherworldly sheen.

Inside, curled in a fetal position, was a girl with golden hair, her peaceful expression belying the oppressive atmosphere of the space.

Below the crystal stood a towering figure clad in black armor.

The runes engraved on his armor glowed softly, their faint blue light reflecting the immense power he exuded.

He was a wall of unyielding might, his back adorned with a massive shield, and a long black sword hung at his side.

He was motionless, a sentinel radiating an aura of silent warning.

"He must be the guardian," Mittelt said from her perch on Anos's shoulder, her voice a mixture of unease and fascination.

Anos gave a short nod. "No doubt."

They stepped onto the platform, their movements echoing across the vast expanse.

The path behind them dissolved into nothingness as if sealing their fate.

The Clone and Mittelt exchanged glances before leaping from Anos's shoulders, landing lightly on the platform's edge.

"This is your fight," the Clone said softly sending him a thumbs up. "We'll stay back."

Anos adjusted his coat and began walking toward the guardian, his steps calm and deliberate.

His crimson eyes remained fixed on the imposing figure, even as the air grew heavier with each step.

The guardian's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, drawing it in a slow, deliberate motion, the faint hum of magic resonating through the air as his massive shield shifted into place.

Anos stopped a short distance away, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

"I'm not here to fight. I wish only to talk—to Namtaru."

The guardian's glowing eyes flickered as he studied Anos. At the mention of his name, he tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the request. "Speak, Demon King."

Anos froze for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He hadn't expected to be recognized—this was their first encounter.

"So," he began, his tone edged with curiosity, "it seems the gates weren't just showing us the past. They were informing you about us as well."

Namtaru drove his sword into the ground with a resounding thud, resting his shield upon its blade.

With deliberate movements, he removed his helmet, revealing a sharp, handsome face framed by short black hair.

His eyes, shadowed by heavy bags, were weary yet piercing, as if they bore the weight of countless battles.

"The gates serve two purposes," Namtaru said, his voice low and measured.

"They present distorted dreams of the past to those who enter, but they also allow my Master's Clone to read the souls of those who dare to come here.

She uses that knowledge to dissuade intruders, to make them leave of their own accord.

When they do not… I use the same information to learn how to defeat them."

Anos tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to Mittelt and the Clone of Death before returning to Namtaru.

"And what did you learn about us?" he asked, his tone calm but sharp, as though testing the guardian's insight.

Namtaru's tired eyes focused intently on Anos, a faint glimmer of curiosity breaking through his exhaustion.

"You are unlike the others," he admitted.

"Your soul… it resists the gates' attempts to unravel it. I cannot fully read it, nor comprehend its depths. But the fragments I glimpsed speak of power beyond mortal or divine reckoning."

He shifted his gaze briefly to Mittelt and the Clone.

"The Fallen Demi-God carries a fragile yet determined spirit, burdened by guilt but fueled by loyalty. And the Clone… she is fractured, haunted by echoes of a self she cannot fully claim."

The guardian's gaze returned to Anos, narrowing. "But the most dangerous thing I learned is that you are not here for conquest or destruction. You seek something far more dangerous: salvation."

Anos raised an eyebrow. "And why would that make us dangerous?"

"Because salvation demands sacrifice," Namtaru replied. "Those who come seeking it often leave ruin in their wake."

Anos's lips curved into a faint smirk, his aura flickering with restrained power.

"Then it seems we're both at a crossroads, Guardian. I'm not here to leave ruin. I'm here to save lives. If there's a way to do that without waking Ereshkigal, I'll take it."

Namtaru studied him for a long moment, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as though weighing the truth of Anos's words.

Finally, he spoke, his tone measured but resolute.

"Your intentions may be pure, but I cannot allow you to proceed without proof of your resolve. Words alone will not sway me."

The runes on his armor flared brighter as he stepped forward, reclaiming his sword.

"If you are true in your purpose, then face me. Only through this trial will I deem you worthy to continue."

Anos exhaled slowly, his smirk fading as his expression grew serious.

"So be it," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "But remember this: I am not here to destroy. If I fight, it will be only to prove my resolve."

The platform trembled as Namtaru raised his shield, his massive figure casting a shadow over the platform.

The Clone and Mittelt watched from the sidelines, their tension palpable as the clash between the Demon King and the Guardian of Ereshkigal began.

The air crackled as Anos stepped forward, his crimson eyes locked onto Namtaru's glowing blue gaze.

The platform hummed with the energy of the runes etched into its surface, reacting to the tension between the two.

Namtaru stood tall, his sword and shield raised, his imposing figure a wall of unyielding determination.

"Before we begin," Anos said, his tone calm but sharp, "understand this: I'm not here to destroy. My goal is to save lives, not take them."

Namtaru said nothing, his silence heavier than the void surrounding them. Then, with a single step forward, the battle began.

Namtaru moved with surprising speed for his size, his sword cleaving through the air in a diagonal arc.

Anos met the strike head-on, his hand forming a shield of destructive energy that clashed with the blade, sending a shockwave rippling outward. The force shook the platform, causing Mittelt and the Clone to brace themselves as they watched from the edge.

"You're faster than you look," Anos remarked, sidestepping another swing and countering with a blast of crimson energy.

Namtaru raised his shield, absorbing the impact as sparks of blue and red light erupted around him.

"Speed alone will not carry you through this fight," Namtaru replied, his voice calm but resolute.

He lunged forward, thrusting his sword with deadly precision. Anos ducked and retaliated with a powerful kick that connected with the guardian's shield, sending him skidding back but leaving no visible damage.

The battle escalated. Namtaru's strikes became more fluid, his movements a mix of raw power and calculated precision.

Anos, in turn, unleashed a barrage of magic circles, each firing beams of destructive energy that forced the guardian to stay on the defensive.

The two clashed repeatedly, their attacks shaking the platform with each exchange.

But Anos began to notice something peculiar. Despite the intensity of the fight, there was a restraint in Namtaru's strikes—a hesitance, as if the guardian were holding back.

"You're not giving it your all," Anos said, dodging a heavy swing and retaliating with a slash of condensed magical energy that struck Namtaru's armor, leaving a glowing crack.

"You're imagining things," Namtaru replied, his voice steady but strained.

Anos's eyes narrowed. "Am I?"

Pushing the advantage, Anos summoned a massive wave of crimson energy, engulfing the platform in a storm of destruction.

Namtaru raised his shield, the runes on his armor flaring as he absorbed the brunt of the attack.

But the force was too much. His shield shattered, pieces flying into the void, and he stumbled back, his armor fractured.

Anos didn't relent. He surged forward, his movements a blur as he struck with a devastating punch that sent Namtaru crashing to the ground.

The guardian struggled to rise, his sword shaking in his grip.

"Yield," Anos commanded, his voice firm. "This fight is over."

But Namtaru pushed himself to his knees, his face bloodied but defiant. "No," he said, his voice a growl. "You still don't understand."

Anos's eyes narrowed as Namtaru continued, his voice filled with a mix of regret and resolve. "Salvation demands sacrifice."

"What are you talking about?" Anos asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Namtaru managed a faint smile, his armor crumbling further with every movement.

"I was sent here by her father, Anu, to watch her, to ensure she stayed obedient. I once thought her a monster… like all the others. But I was wrong."

Anos remained silent, listening as the guardian's voice grew softer.

"When I saw her suffering, I couldn't stand by. I tried to shield her, to protect her from the cruelty of the gods. But my power was limited. When we were cast down here together, things only worsened."

Namtaru's hands trembled as he spoke, his broken sword resting at his side.

"The souls of the dead flooded this realm, each one a torrent of pain and despair. She felt everything. Their agony became her own. And when she erased them, she lived their lives, their suffering. It broke her."

Anos's gaze softened, the weight of Namtaru's words sinking in. "And you couldn't save her."

"No," Namtaru admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

"I failed her. But when she told me she would put herself to sleep to escape it all, I swore I would protect her rest, even if it meant my life."

He looked up at Anos, his glowing eyes filled with determination. "Her salvation can only come through my death. It's the ultimate proof of my loyalty."

Anos's frown deepened, his mind racing. "But you were holding back in our fight. Why?"

Namtaru hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Because I saw something in you."

He coughed, his body beginning to crack as light poured from within.

"Through your soul, I saw… kindness. Despite your power, you came here not to destroy but to save. You could have ignored the gates, destroyed them, but you chose to understand her pain."

Namtaru's voice wavered as his body began to disintegrate. "Protect her, Anos Voldigoad. Give her the life she never had."

As his form crumbled into glowing fragments, his final words echoed softly. "Thank you…"

Anos clenched his fists, watching as Namtaru's essence flowed into the crystal above. The orb glowed brighter and brighter until it shattered in a burst of radiant light.

Trigger Warning

The girl within began to descend, her golden hair shimmering as she floated gently to the platform.

Anos stepped forward, catching her as she fell. Her body was warm, her expression peaceful. He knelt and placed her softly on the platform, his crimson eyes filled with resolve.

"I'll keep my promise," he murmured, standing tall as Mittelt and the Clone approached. "She'll have the life she deserves."

The platform grew quiet, the glowing runes dimming as the battle's echoes faded. Anos looked down at the sleeping Ereshkigal, a new determination burning in his heart.

He had passed the guardian's test. Now, the true journey began.

As the Clone of Death and Mittelt approached Anos, their bodies restored to their normal sizes, a heavy silence enveloped the platform.

Relief at regaining their forms quickly gave way to unease as their eyes fell upon Anos kneeling beside Ereshkigal.

She lay crumpled on the cracked, darkened ground, her golden hair splayed around her in messy, dull strands.

It barely veiled her face, but even in its incomplete cover, the anguish was unmistakable.

Ereshkigal stirred, her body trembling as though even the act of breathing required immense effort.

She pushed herself upright with shaking arms, her head bowed low, her hair falling like a shield over her face.

Her thin shoulders quivered as if under an invisible weight. When she finally raised her head, her eyes came into view—and the sight sent a cold chill through everyone present.

Her hollow, golden irises were devoid of their once celestial light, dulled to a lifeless glow like the fading embers of a long-dead fire.

Dark circles framed her eyes, carved deep into her pale, gaunt face, and they darted around in rapid, paranoid movements, like a cornered animal searching for an escape.

Her lips, cracked and bloodless, trembled as though every breath threatened to shatter her entirely.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice weak and fractured, barely more than a ghostly echo.

Her gaze was unfocused, flitting from one shadow to another, avoiding the figures before her as if acknowledging them would solidify her fears. "I'll… I'll get back to work."

Anos extended a hand toward her, his movements deliberate and slow, but as his fingers drew near her shoulder, she flinched violently.

Her hollow eyes widened in terror, and her pale face twisted into a grimace of pure panic.

Scrambling backward, her hands slipped on the slick platform, her limbs jerking as she desperately tried to put distance between them.

"Please!" she cried, her voice rising into a piercing wail. "Don't hurt me! I'll work harder! I'll fix everything! Just don't punish me!"

Anos froze, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. "Ereshkigal," he said gently, his voice a quiet attempt to bridge the chasm of fear between them. "I'm not here to—"

"No!" she shrieked, cutting him off as her body convulsed with renewed terror.

"Don't come closer!" Her back pressed against the edge of the platform as though she might throw herself into the void if it meant escaping.

Her hollow eyes darted between Anos and the others, tears streaming freely down her ashen cheeks.

"I'll do better! I'll fix everything! Please, don't tell my father! Don't—don't tell him I was acting up!"

Her breathing became erratic, each gasp a desperate attempt to fill her lungs. Her lips quivered as her voice cracked into uneven sobs.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, her trembling hands gripping her arms as if trying to hold herself together.

"I didn't mean to speak out of turn! Please don't be mad at me! Please don't hurt me… I'll… I'll be good…"

Anos stood frozen for a moment, watching as Ereshkigal's fragile form crumbled further into despair.

Her sobs pierced the heavy silence of the platform, echoing like a lamentation in the void.

The sight before him was not what he had expected—not from a being of her stature, not from someone who had endured so much and wielded so much power.

But power didn't make her unbreakable. It had only made her suffering more profound.

Anos lowered himself to her level, keeping his movements as non-threatening as possible. "Ereshkigal, you're safe now," he said softly. "No one is going to hurt—"

"You're lying!" she screamed, her face contorting into an expression of anguish so raw it was almost unbearable to witness.

Her words froze Anos in place, and for a moment, she stilled, her gaze falling to her hands.

She stared at them as if they were foreign objects, trembling so violently they seemed unable to hold even her despair.

Her lips quivered as she whispered, "I'm useless… I ruin everything… I don't deserve to exist…"

Her hands rose slowly, trembling as they moved toward her throat. Her fingers wrapped around her neck, tightening as her nails bit into her flesh.

"I'll stop it… I'll end it all…" she muttered, her voice breaking into a choked sob.

Tears streamed down her hollow cheeks as her body convulsed, wracked with pain as she coughed violently, her grip on her neck unrelenting.

"I can't live like this anymore! I can't—"

As she clawed at her throat, trying to end her existence, Anos felt something stir deep within him—a sharp, visceral ache he rarely allowed himself to feel.

It was a familiar pain, one he had encountered countless times over his long life.

The pain of witnessing someone utterly broken by the weight of their own existence.

It wasn't pity. No, pity would have been a disservice to her.

What he felt was anger—anger at the gods who had twisted her life into this unbearable agony.

Anger at the father who had seen her as nothing more than a tool. Anger at the universe for letting her endure this alone.

And beneath the anger, there was resolve.

"Stop!" Anos lunged forward, his crimson eyes blazing with urgency.

He caught her wrists in his hands, his grip firm but tender as he pulled her trembling fingers away from her neck. "Stop this now," he said, his voice low but commanding.

Ereshkigal's body jerked at his touch, her breath hitching as her hollow eyes darted to his face.

Her coughing subsided into uneven wheezes, and she stared at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. "Why?" she rasped, her voice trembling.

"Please just let me end it...I can't keep doing this? I just want it to stop…"

"Because you deserve better," Anos said, his voice unwavering. "You've suffered enough, Ereshkigal. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

Her eyes widened, tears spilling over as her lips quivered.

In those eyes, he saw it all. The fear. The pain. The unrelenting guilt.

They were the eyes of someone who had been betrayed by everything and everyone she had ever trusted.

Someone who had long since given up on the idea of salvation.

And yet, even as she trembled before him, shrinking into herself like a cornered animal, there was something else—a faint, flickering ember buried deep within her gaze.

It was almost imperceptible, but Anos saw it. Hope.

Trigger Warning End

It was fragile, so fragile that it could be snuffed out with a single word, a single misstep. But it was there.

She shook her head slowly, her voice breaking into a desperate whisper. "No… no one can help me… I'm a monster. I ruin everything…"

"You're not a monster," Anos said firmly, his gaze steady.

"You've been hurt, betrayed, and abandoned by those who should have protected you. That doesn't make you a monster. It makes you stronger than any of them."

For a moment, she stilled, her trembling hands falling limp in his.

Her hollow eyes locked onto his, and in that fleeting instant, something changed.

A flicker of light, faint and fragile, appeared in her gaze, struggling to break through the shadows of despair.

"Namtaru," she whispered suddenly, her voice raw with desperation. Her head whipped around, searching the void. "Namtaru! Please… save me…"

Anos's chest tightened. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he spoke. "Ereshkigal… Namtaru isn't here anymore."

Her movements froze, her hollow eyes wide with disbelief as she turned back to him. "What… what do you mean?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"He's gone," Anos said gently. "He gave his life to protect you."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her face crumpled, her hollow eyes filling with fresh tears as she shook her head violently.

"No," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "No, he wouldn't… he wouldn't leave me… not him…"

"You're safe now," Anos said, his voice a quiet promise. "I'll protect you."

Anos held her trembling hands tightly, his voice resolute. "He sacrificed himself because he loved you. Believing I could give you a better life."

Her sobs quieted, her breathing uneven as she clung to his words.

The despair in her hollow eyes began to waver, the faint light within growing ever so slightly stronger.

For the first time, Ereshkigal allowed herself to consider the possibility that she wasn't alone—that salvation, however fragile, was within reach.

Tears streamed down her face as she clutched his hands, her body trembling as hope flickered to life within her fractured soul.

The oppressive void around them seemed to lift, and though her light was faint, it was no longer lost.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice trembling, her tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "Why protect me? Why… why do you even care?"

Anos's chest tightened at her words.

He could hear the raw desperation in her voice, the plea of someone who couldn't comprehend kindness after a lifetime of cruelty.

He had heard similar cries before, from countless others he had saved—or failed to save.

But this felt different. This wasn't just about protecting her. This was about showing her that she was worth protecting.

"Because you've suffered enough, Ereshkigal," he said softly, his voice steady and calm. "You don't have to endure this alone anymore."

Her reaction was immediate and heartbreaking.

Her body stilled, her breaths hitching as though she couldn't believe what she had just heard.

She stared at him, her hollow eyes searching his face for any sign of deception, her trembling lips forming words she couldn't bring herself to speak.

He tightened his grip on her wrists, not to restrain her, but to ground her—to remind her that she wasn't alone.

"You've been told lies your entire life," he continued, his tone firm yet gentle. "Lies that you're a monster. Lies that you're unworthy.

Lies that your pain doesn't matter. But I'm not here to hurt you, and I'm not here to use you. I'm here because you deserve better."

She broke then, her sobs wracking her frail body as she clung to him, her hands trembling in his.

Anos felt her weight collapse against him, and he knelt, lowering himself to her level as she cried into his chest.

He didn't speak further. Words weren't what she needed right now.

What she needed was to feel safe, to feel seen, to feel that her existence wasn't a burden to be erased.

As her tears soaked into his coat, Anos let out a quiet sigh, his gaze drifting toward Mittelt and the Clone, who stood frozen nearby.

He could see the mixture of emotions on their faces—concern, unease, and, in the Clone's case, something deeper, perhaps even guilt.

Anos's jaw tightened.

He had promised to save Issei and Serafall, but this… this was something he didn't expect to happen after coming down here, he felt some guilt but he wouldn't say what he was doing was wrong.

Ereshkigal's salvation wasn't just about freeing her from this place. It was about giving her a reason to live, a reason to believe in herself again.

His resolve hardened as he gently held her, his voice a quiet murmur only she could hear.

"I don't know if I can erase your pain," he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "But I can promise you this—I'll stand by you.

You'll never have to face it alone again. No one will make you will abuse. No one will force you to use your power, and I promise I won't do any of those things either."

As her sobs began to subside, Anos felt her trembling ease ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

Ereshkigal's breathing began to slow, her frail body still trembling in Anos's arms.

Her sobs had quieted to soft, uneven gasps, and for the first time, her hollow eyes began to lose some of their terror, replaced by a fragile glimmer of cautious uncertainty.

She wasn't healed—far from it—but the weight of her despair seemed to ease, if only slightly.

Anos loosened his hold, leaning back to meet her gaze.

But as soon as the space between them grew, her body began to shake more violently, her trembling escalating into a near-panic.

Her hands clenched tightly onto the fabric of his cloak, and her breath quickened as her eyes darted around, wide with fear.

"No… no, don't…" she murmured, her voice breaking as she tried to pull herself closer to him.

The trembling only grew, her hands clutching him as though letting go would send her spiraling back into the void.

Anos froze for a moment, his crimson eyes softening as he realized the depth of her fragility.

Without hesitation, he tightened his hold on her again, his arms encircling her small, trembling frame with a steady, protective embrace.

"I'm still here," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her trembling began to subside, her erratic breaths gradually evening out as she allowed herself to lean into him.

The warmth of his presence seemed to anchor her, and the storm inside her mind began to quiet.

Slowly, her fingers loosened their desperate grip, though her hands remained lightly pressed against his chest as though to reassure herself that he was still there.

"I'm… sorry," she whispered, her voice fragile. "I don't mean to be like this… I don't know how to stop…"

"There's nothing to apologize for," Anos replied, his tone steady but gentle. "You've been through more than anyone should ever endure. It's okay to take your time."

Ereshkigal's breathing evened out further, though her head remained bowed, her golden hair cascading like a veil over her face.

"I don't know how to feel safe anymore," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I've forgotten what that feels like…"

"You'll remember," Anos said firmly. "Not today, not all at once, but you'll remember. And until then, I'll be here to remind you."

Her shoulders slumped, the tension in her body easing just a fraction more as she let his words sink in.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, the all-consuming fear that had defined her existence began to lift, leaving behind something fragile and unfamiliar—hope.

Mittelt and the Clone's inner thoughts:

As Anos knelt beside the trembling form of Ereshkigal, Mittelt and the Clone of Death stood a few paces behind, their eyes fixed on the scene before them.

The oppressive silence on the platform made every sound feel magnified—the ragged gasps of Ereshkigal, the trembling whispers, the uneven sobs.

Mittelt hugged her arms to herself, feeling a tension in the air that made it hard to breathe.

Mittelt wasn't sure what to make of what she was seeing.

She had known fear, panic, and moments of weakness in her life, but this—this was something else entirely. Ereshkigal wasn't just afraid; she was utterly broken.

Her hollow, darting eyes, her desperate pleas, the way her body recoiled from even the slightest movement—it was like watching someone drowning in a sea of their own despair.

"What happened to her?" Mittelt thought, her brow furrowing in concern.

She had never seen someone like this before—a goddess, no less, reduced to such a fragile state.

The way Ereshkigal trembled, the way her voice cracked with raw terror, sent a chill down Mittelt's spine.

"How could anyone survive feeling like that? How did she even make it this far?"

When Ereshkigal began clawing at her neck, attempting to choke herself, Mittelt's eyes widened in alarm.

Her breath hitched, and she instinctively stepped forward, but she stopped short, unsure of what to do.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as her heart pounded in her chest.

"Anos… you have to do something!" she thought, her gaze darting to him.

Relief washed over her when he lunged forward, stopping Ereshkigal before she could harm herself further.

Beside her, the Clone was eerily still.

Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now wide and unblinking as she watched Ereshkigal spiral.

She couldn't tear her gaze away, even as the weight of what she was seeing pressed down on her like a physical force.

"This… this is me," she thought, the realization crashing over her like a tidal wave.

"Or it could have been me. Is this what happens when there's no one left to care? No one to stop it?"

The Clone's hands trembled as she folded them over her chest, a strange mix of fear and sorrow welling up inside her.

She had been created for a purpose—to observe, to serve, to exist as a fragment of a greater whole.

But now, seeing Ereshkigal like this, she felt something she couldn't quite name.

It was deeper than pity, sharper than sadness.

"If someone like her can break… what hope is there for the rest of us?"

When Ereshkigal called out for Namtaru, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation, Mittelt felt her heart ache.

She didn't know Namtaru personally, but the name carried so much pain and longing in Ereshkigal's voice that it was impossible not to feel its weight.

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—anything—to ease the goddess's suffering, but no words came.

Instead, she looked to Anos, silently pleading with him to find a way to reach her.

"Come on, Anos. You've never let anyone down before. Don't let her down now."

The Clone, meanwhile, flinched as though struck when Anos revealed that Namtaru was gone.

She could see the exact moment the words sank in for Ereshkigal—the widening of her already hollow eyes, the way her lips trembled, the faint gasp that escaped her before the sobs overtook her once more.

The Clone swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat.

"She's lost everything," she thought, the weight of that realization settling over her like a shadow. "And we're here, watching her fall apart."

Ereshkigal's frantic accusations and pleas pierced the air, her voice growing louder and more desperate with each passing second.

Mittelt's hands tightened into fists as she watched the goddess curl into herself, her body wracked with sobs.

"She thinks we're here to hurt her," Mittelt thought, a pang of helplessness rising within her. "How can we show her we're not?"

The Clone's gaze flickered toward Anos.

Despite Ereshkigal's hysteria, despite her accusations, he remained calm, his presence steady and unyielding.

Watching him kneel before her, his crimson eyes filled with quiet determination, the Clone felt a strange sense of reassurance.

"If anyone can get through to her, it's him," she thought, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder. "But will it be enough?"

When Anos finally took Ereshkigal's trembling hands in his, Mittelt felt a flicker of hope ignite within her.

It was fragile, like a single candle in the darkness, but it was there.

She held her breath as Anos spoke, his voice calm yet resolute, promising safety, promising understanding.

Ereshkigal's sobs began to quiet, her breathing evening out as she clung to his hands.

Mittelt let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Maybe… maybe she'll believe him," she thought, daring to hope.

She glanced at the Clone beside her, whose expression had softened, though her eyes remained clouded with something unspoken.

The Clone shifted her gaze back to Ereshkigal, her thoughts swirling. "If she can find hope again," she thought, her chest tightening, "maybe there's hope for me too."

As Ereshkigal's trembling eased in Anos's arms, a fragile silence fell over the platform.

Her frail body leaned heavily against him, her uneven breaths punctuating the stillness.

Each shudder of her small frame spoke of exhaustion so profound it seemed as though she might collapse at any moment.

But Anos remained steadfast, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos of her fractured emotions.

Behind them, Mittelt and the Clone of Death exchanged uncertain glances.

Mittelt shifted her weight uneasily, her usual confidence muted by the overwhelming scene before her.

Watching Ereshkigal cling to Anos with desperate fragility made her chest tighten.

The Clone stood beside her, fidgeting with her fingers, her expression caught between quiet resolve and a flicker of doubt.

Taking a deep breath, Mittelt stepped forward cautiously, her voice soft and careful.

"Hey," she began, pausing immediately as Ereshkigal flinched at the sound.

The reaction made Mittelt swallow hard, her own nerves fraying.

"I'm… I'm Mittelt," she continued, her tone gentler this time. "I know you've been through so much, but I wanted to say… you don't have to be alone anymore."

Ereshkigal's head tilted slightly, her golden hair parting enough to reveal a glimpse of her hollow eyes.

Guarded and filled with uncertainty, they darted between Mittelt and Anos, searching for something—anything—that might validate the words being spoken.

Mittelt forced a small, nervous smile, clasping her hands together in an attempt to appear less threatening.

"I… I know it's hard to trust," Mittelt added, her voice tinged with sincerity. "But I want you to know that Anos isn't the only one who wants to help. I do too."

For a moment, Ereshkigal didn't respond, her gaze shifting toward Anos as if seeking silent reassurance. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, grounding her. Slowly, she turned back to Mittelt, her lips parting slightly as though she wanted to respond, but no sound came out.

The Clone of Death hesitated before stepping forward, each movement deliberate and measured.

Her voice was quiet but carried a hint of vulnerability that surprised even herself

"And… I'm a fragment of you," she said, her tone soft. "Or rather, a fragment of Death."

Ereshkigal's hollow eyes widened slightly, her gaze locking onto the Clone.

For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though she might speak, but her lips pressed into a thin line, and her body tensed as though bracing for an attack.

The Clone's shoulders sagged, a flicker of sadness crossing her face.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see," the Clone admitted, her voice trembling.

"But I'm not here to take anything from you. I just… I just want to understand. Death stole so much from me—my memories, my purpose—and I'm trying to piece together what it means to… to exist as a part of you."

Ereshkigal's gaze lingered on the Clone, her expression unreadable but heavy with unspoken emotion.

Anos gently rubbed her shoulder, his voice cutting through the tense air with calm certainty.

"They mean what they say," he said quietly. "You don't have to trust them yet. Take your time. But know that they're here for you, just like I am."

Ereshkigal's lips trembled as her eyes dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her emotions.

Her voice, weak and trembling, broke the silence. "I don't… I don't know how to believe what she says."

Her breath hitched, and she hesitated before continuing, her gaze flickering back to the Clone.

"I created Death… from my negative emotions. Just like the one you likely met before coming here—she was born from my positive ones."

Mittelt and Anos exchanged a brief glance before focusing on Ereshkigal, who continued, her voice filled with sorrow and fear.

"Death was everything I hated about myself, everything I tried to bury and forget.

She was meant to shoulder the weight of the darkness I couldn't endure.

To absorb the pain, the hatred, the endless suffering of souls so it wouldn't break me." Her voice cracked, trembling as she turned her attention fully to the Clone.

"But when I created her… she despised me. She resented me for what I made her endure, for the burden I placed on her shoulders. That resentment—"

Her lips quivered as she searched the Clone's face. "That hatred… it must still live in you."

The Clone's eyes widened slightly at the words, a mixture of understanding and sadness crossing her face.

She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, uncertain how to untangle the complex emotions now swirling between them.

Anos's hand gently pressed on Ereshkigal's shoulder, grounding her once more.

"You're not defined by your creations," he said firmly. "And neither is she. This isn't about hatred or blame—it's about healing. For all of you."

As Death returned to her domain, her form reconstituted on the throne of bones.

Her eyes snapped open, blazing with a fury that seemed to scorch the void itself.

Her aura exploded outward in waves of oppressive energy, the shadows around her throne coiling and writhing in fear of her wrath.

With a guttural roar, she gripped the arms of the throne, her fingers digging into the brittle bone and fracturing it beneath her grip.

Floating beside her were the faint blue flames—the souls of Issei and Serafall.

Their ethereal light flickered weakly, casting trembling shadows on the skeletal surface of her throne. Death's hand hovered over them, her fingers curling with restrained fury.

"I should extinguish you both right now," she hissed, her voice a cold, venomous whisper that echoed through the void.

Her hand twitched, and the flames dimmed dangerously, their light wavering as if suffocating under her seething anger.

Yet, even as the temptation surged within her, she hesitated.

With a sharp exhale, she withdrew her hand, the flames regaining their steadiness.

Her fury had not abated, but she knew better than to act on impulse.

Anos would come for them—of that, she was certain.

He would cross every obstacle, challenge every boundary, and even confront her original if necessary. For now, patience was her ally.

Her retreat hadn't been a matter of weakness, and that knowledge stung more than anything.

No, it was far worse. Anos's invocation of Ereshkigal's name wasn't just a taunt; it was a calculated threat.

Though the chance was slim, there was still a possibility that the mere utterance of her name might stir her original from slumber.

Their shared connection made it possible, albeit unlikely.

But the risk was enough to make Death falter. If Ereshkigal awoke fully, everything Death had meticulously planned would crumble.

Her gaze shifted across her domain, where countless souls floated like dim stars in a darkened sky.

Each one was a failure, a pale imitation of the perfection she had sought to create.

They drifted silently, their faint glimmers casting eerie shadows over the void.

Some flickered as if struggling against the weight of incompleteness, while others hung motionless, their light extinguished. They were not just evidence of her failure; they were a reflection of her own broken existence.

Six spectral figures knelt at the base of her throne, their forms barely illuminated in the faint glow of the flames.

They were the manifestations of her most powerful creations—the seven deadly sins, though Sloth remained dormant within Issei.

The kneeling figures mirrored her simmering rage, their stillness like a smoldering ember, waiting for her command.

Her fingers tightened against the throne, and her mind wandered unbidden to the moment of her creation—a memory that clawed at her, inescapable and raw.

Flash Back:

Death's first breath came as a jagged gasp, her lungs filling with the frigid air of the void.

Her vision blurred with gray and shadows, her senses awakening to a world of cold sterility.

Before her stood a figure—her original.

Ereshkigal's golden hair fell in disheveled waves around her face, her hollow heterochromia eyes reflecting exhaustion that seemed to stretch across eternity.

Beneath the weariness lay something else: guilt, raw and unspoken.

Death's form was an empty vessel at first, her thoughts as still as a stagnant pool.

To her right stood another figure—another Clone. This one was lifeless, its identical features devoid of the faint flicker of awareness she was beginning to feel.

Ereshkigal stepped forward, her hand trembling as she rested it on Death's head.

"You were created to take on what I cannot," she said, her voice heavy with emotion.

"The pain, the despair, the darkness of the souls that pass through here… it's too much for me to bear. I'm sorry, but with you, I can finally… rest."

The words barely registered before the flood began.

A tidal wave of memories, emotions, and agonies tore into Death's mind with the force of a tidal wave.

Betrayal, suffering, loneliness—each image burned into her essence like brands, reshaping her from within.

She collapsed to her knees, clutching her head as a raw scream tore from her throat.

"Why?" she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. "Why would you do this to me?"

Ereshkigal's gaze faltered, tears pooling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand trembling as the memories continued to pour into Death.

The torrent was unrelenting, a brutal reshaping of the vessel into something that could withstand the darkness Ereshkigal had carried for so long.

To her right, the other Clone remained still.

It was untouched by the torrent, its existence unburdened.

Ereshkigal turned to it, her hand glowing with a soft, golden light as she began its creation.

The warmth and care radiating from her were a stark contrast to the torment Death endured.

Death's hollow eyes filled with burning hatred as she watched the scene unfold.

"You made me this," she rasped, her voice trembling with fury. "You gave me this pain, this emptiness… why? Why would you curse me like this?"

Ereshkigal didn't answer.

Her lips quivered as tears streamed down her face, but she said nothing.

Instead, she focused on the other Clone, her touch gentle and reverent. Death understood then.

She wasn't created to share the burden; she was created to bear it.

To be a receptacle for everything unwanted and unworthy.

Her existence wasn't a gift; it was a curse, a cruel mockery of life. And that realization filled her with a seething rage that would never fade.

Back in the Present

The memory faded, but its emotions lingered, raw and unyielding. Death clenched her fists as she stared into the void, her chest heaving with the weight of her fury.

"I will become more than what you made me," she whispered, her voice low and venomous. "I will become you but better."

Her gaze flicked to the blue flames floating beside her.

They dimmed momentarily under her scrutiny before she turned her focus back to the void. Her plans were in motion, and nothing—not even Anos—would stop her.

After deciding he had been on the ground long enough, Anos rose slowly, his movements calm but deliberate.

Ereshkigal flinched slightly at the sudden motion, her frail form tensing, but she didn't resist as he gently helped her to her feet.

She clung to his hand, her gaze flicking nervously between him and the ground, as though unsure of what was expected of her.

Anos spoke softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "It's time we left."

Ereshkigal blinked, staring at him as though she hadn't fully processed his words. "To where?" she asked hesitantly, her voice trembling.

"The outside world," Anos replied. "But first, we need to make a stop. Death has something of mine, and I intend to take it back."

At the mention of Death, Ereshkigal stiffened, her hands clutching the edges of her tattered dress.

Anos caught the tension in her posture and hesitated. He had considered asking if she could reclaim Issei and Serafall's souls through her link with Death.

But then he remembered his promise—to never force her to use her power against her will.

That promise was one he wouldn't break.

"What does she have?" Ereshkigal began, her voice barely audible. But before she could finish, Mittelt stepped forward, placing her hands on her hips.

"Honestly," Mittelt cut in, her tone light but carrying a hint of exasperation, "you don't need to worry about what Death has. We've got this. Trust me, Anos is like a force of nature. No one—and I mean no one—is going to stop him."

Ereshkigal's gaze shifted toward Mittelt, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.

Anos smiled faintly, nodding at the blonde fallen angel. "She's not wrong," he said, reaching out to pat Ereshkigal's head gently.

"I don't need your power to get them back. I have my own. Your power is yours to use—for what you want to do."

Ereshkigal blinked, her lips parting in disbelief. "Use my power… for what I want to do?" she repeated, her tone filled with incredulity.

Anos nodded, his calm expression unwavering. "That's right. It's yours, after all."

Mittelt chimed in, offering an encouraging grin.

"Yeah, what he said! You've been through enough. Maybe it's time you got to figure out what you want, huh? Baby steps, you know?"

Ereshkigal stared at them both, her wide eyes reflecting a mix of uncertainty and something faintly resembling hope.

After a long pause, she spoke again, her voice tinged with shame.

"I… I'm sorry. I don't know how to do something like that."

Anos smiled softly, his tone reassuring. "That's fine. You'll figure it out. I'm sure of it."

Mittelt clapped her hands together, taking a step closer. "Exactly! You've got us now, and trust me, we're not going anywhere. We'll help you figure it out—no rush, no pressure."

Ereshkigal blinked at her, as if trying to comprehend Mittelt's easy confidence. Slowly, she nodded, though her uncertainty lingered.

The group began their departure from the platform. Mittelt and the Clone of Death took the lead, their footsteps echoing faintly in the void. Mittelt glanced over her shoulder, offering a small wave and a cheerful, "Come on, you two! Time to get moving."

Anos followed closely behind, with Ereshkigal clutching the back of his jacket for reassurance.

She clung to the fabric like a lifeline, her steps hesitant as she allowed herself to be tugged along nervously.

As they moved, the path that had led them there reappeared, stretching out before them like a shimmering bridge.

At the end, a water-like mirror materialized, its surface rippling with an ethereal glow.

The group stepped through without hesitation, the sensation cool and weightless, like passing through a veil.

On the other side, the Clone of Light awaited them, kneeling gracefully on the ground.

Her luminous form radiated a warm, golden glow, her serene smile lifting the oppressive air of the void.

"Greetings, Ereshkigal," she said warmly. "It is lovely to see you again."

Ereshkigal froze, her gaze darting to the Clone of Light. She shifted uncomfortably, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I… I'm sorry for leaving everything to you and Namtaru. For making you protect me…"

The Clone of Light shook her head gently, her smile unwavering.

"There is no need to apologize. This is why I was created, after all. I hold no ill will toward you."

Her voice softened, carrying a hint of sadness. "But I must admit, I was… saddened to know this was all I could do for you."

Ereshkigal blinked, confusion flickering across her face.

"Saddened?" she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief. "You shouldn't be able to feel an emotion like that. You were made to be happy, nothing more."

The Clone of Light tilted her head, an amused smirk playing at her lips.

"Perhaps I learned sadness the same way shelearned other emotions," she said, gesturing toward the Clone of Death. "Except for hate, of course."

Mittelt crossed her arms, her brows furrowing in curiosity.

"Wait, are you saying the Clones can… evolve or something? Like, learn to feel stuff that wasn't part of their original design?"

The Clone of Light nodded, her expression serene.

"Through experiences and interactions, yes. I learned sadness and other emotions by reading the souls of those who came here. I believe she," she said, gesturing to the Clone of Death, "found her own path through her time with you, Mittelt."

Mittelt's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and pride flickering across her face.

"Huh. Guess I'm more of an influence than I thought," she said with a grin, then added in a teasing tone, "Who knew, right?"

Ereshkigal looked between the Clones and Mittelt, her expression a mix of confusion and wonder.

Slowly, her gaze fell to the ground, her voice soft as she asked, "Is… is that really possible?"

Anos placed a hand on her shoulder, his steady presence grounding her once more. "It is," he said firmly.

"You're not bound by what you were created to be. None of you are."

Ereshkigal's lips quivered, but she said nothing, the weight of their words slowly settling into her heart.

For the first time, she dared to believe—just a little—that there might be something more.

Anos remained silent, his gaze moving between the Clones and Ereshkigal as realization formed in eyes hidden by his neutral expression.

If these two Clones were able to learn new emotions which directly change their psyche the maybe, he thoughts were cut off as Mittelt spoke

When Anos finished talking, his gaze moved between the Clones and Ereshkigal.

A subtle realization flickered in his eyes, though his neutral expression revealed little of the thoughts brewing within him.

Before he could act on his musings, the Clone of Light spoke, her serene voice breaking the silence.

"Ereshkigal," she began, her tone soft yet resolute, "may I make a request?"

Ereshkigal turned her head slightly, her golden hair shifting as her wary gaze met the glowing figure.

The Clone of Light smiled warmly and continued, "Now that you are awake, and my purpose of deterring others from disturbing you is no longer needed… may I request to be relieved of my duty?"

Ereshkigal's brows knitted together, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.

"Are you certain? That means…" She hesitated, her voice trembling. "That means becoming a part of me again—being erased. Are you truly sure?"

The Clone of Light nodded without hesitation, her smile unwavering.

"It would be an honor. After all, this was the purpose of my creation. I've fulfilled my mission, and now I can rest—returning to you, my creator, is no erasure. It's a gift."

Ereshkigal's lips parted, but before she could speak, Mittelt interjected, her tone cautious but sincere.

"Wait a minute—doesn't this feel… I don't know, wrong? Are you sure there isn't more you want to do?"

The Clone of Light turned her gaze to Mittelt, her expression kind but firm.

"Thank you for your concern, but this is what I want. My purpose was always tied to Ereshkigal's rest, and now that she is awake, I feel fulfilled. There is no sadness in this decision."

Mittelt bit her lip, looking between the Clone and Ereshkigal. "If you're sure… then I guess it's okay. But still, it feels weird to say goodbye."

The Clone of Death watched the exchange silently, her arms crossed as her eyes darted between the others.

She shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her own thoughts pressing against her.

What would it feel like, she wondered, to have that kind of peace? To feel like your purpose is complete, like you've done enough?

Ereshkigal turned to Anos, her voice hesitant. "What… what should I do?"

Anos's gaze softened, and he repeated the words he had told her earlier. "Do what you want with your power, Ereshkigal. It's yours."

Taking a shaky breath, Ereshkigal turned back to the Clone. Her voice wavered as she asked, "Will this… will this make you happy?"

The Clone of Light's smile grew softer. "Yes. It will."

The Clone of Death couldn't help but speak then, her voice low but tinged with curiosity.

"Happiness… Is that really enough? You've been here for so long, and you've seen so much. Isn't there anything else you want to experience before you… leave?"

The Clone of Light tilted her head toward the Clone of Death, her expression thoughtful.

"I've seen all I need to. My joy comes from knowing Ereshkigal is awake and safe. That is enough for me."

The Clone Of Death lowered her gaze, her mind swirling with conflict. How can she just… accept it? How can she be so at peace when all I feel is emptiness?

Ereshkigal hesitated only a moment longer before nodding.

The Clone's body began to glow, the light growing more intense until her form dissolved into a single, radiant blue flame.

The flame floated gently toward Ereshkigal, who reached out and cradled it in her hands.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she pressed the flame to her chest, absorbing it into her very being.

"How did that feel?" Anos asked after a moment, his voice breaking the silence.

Ereshkigal blinked up at him, the question catching her off guard. "It felt… different," she admitted, her voice trembling. "But I didn't… dislike it. I don't know how to describe it."

Anos smiled faintly. "You'll get used to it."

As they approached the towering gate, Mittelt whispered to the Clone of Death, her voice low. "I can't tell if she's really okay or just pretending. What do you think?"

The Clone of Death glanced at Ereshkigal, who was gripping Anos's jacket nervously. "I think she's overwhelmed. After everything she's been through… Can you blame her?"

"No," Mittelt admitted. "But it's hard to watch. I don't think I've ever seen someone so broken. And she's supposed to be, like, super powerful, right?"

"She is," the Clone of Death said softly. "But power doesn't protect you from pain."

When they reached the gate, Ereshkigal froze. Her breathing quickened as fear took hold of her, and she released Anos's jacket, stepping back with wide eyes.

"I can't…" she whispered. "It won't let me leave. I… I can't do this."

Mittelt stepped forward instinctively. "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure this out together. You're not alone anymore, remember?"

But Ereshkigal didn't seem to hear her, her voice rising in panic. "No, once you see that it won't let me out, you'll leave me here! You'll abandon me!"

Anos turned to her, his crimson eyes narrowing. He stepped closer, his calm presence cutting through her rising hysteria.

"Ereshkigal," he said firmly, his voice steady. "What am I?"

She blinked up at him, confusion flashing across her face. "What…?"

"What am I?" he repeated, his voice unwavering. "What did you call me earlier?"

She hesitated, her voice a trembling whisper. "You said… you're my protector."

"Exactly," Anos said, his tone resolute. "So trust me. Trust that I'll protect you, no matter what stands in our way."

"But…" Her voice cracked as she gestured toward the gate. "How can you protect me if I can't leave? You said we're going to the outside world, but… I'm stuck here."

Anos smirked, his confidence unshaken. "It sounds like you want me to show you how I'll get you out."

Mittelt and the Clone exchanged glances, quickly stepping back as Anos approached the gate.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the air around him shifting as his aura surged. Ereshkigal watched him intently, her fear mingling with a flicker of curiosity.

Then, his eyes snapped open, revealing his Eyes of destruction.

The gate shuddered violently before shattering into a million pieces, the fragments dissolving into the void.

A surge of energy flowed back into Ereshkigal, power she hadn't realized had been contained within the gate. Her eyes widened as she stared at Anos in disbelief.

He turned to her, his smirk softening into a reassuring smile. "Put more faith in your protector," he said simply. "I promised you the outside world, remember?"

Tears welled in Ereshkigal's eyes as her legs gave out beneath her. She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as she whispered, "I'm really… going to be free."

Anos knelt beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. This time, she didn't flinch at his touch. She looked up at him, a fragile light returning to her once-hollow eyes.

"Now," Anos said, his voice steady but warm, "are you ready to get out of here?"

Ereshkigal nodded slowly, her tears streaming freely as hope blossomed within her for the first time in centuries.

As they continued their journey, Anos destroyed each gate with ease, his power unwavering.

With every gate that fell, Ereshkigal felt more of her power return to her—and with it, more hope.

By the time they reached the final threshold, she stood at its edge, staring back at the open path with disbelief.

She was free. Truly free.

For centuries, she had suffered alone, and for hundreds of years, she had lived out a dream she thought would never end.

But now, standing on the cusp of the outside world, she felt the weight of her burdens begin to lift.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe in a future beyond her prison.

Now outside the confines of her prison, Anos glanced at Ereshkigal as she stood beside him.

Her transformation was startling.

Though her skin was still pale, and the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed centuries of torment, there was a vibrancy in her presence that hadn't been there before.

No longer did she appear sickly or frail; her power radiated subtly around her, the air itself seeming to ripple with her latent energy.

Her strength was incomparable.

If before she had been as strong as Ajuka, the destruction of the gates—save for those containing Death—had elevated her to an entirely new realm.

In his mind, Anos mused, If there were rankings beyond Super Devils, she would stand alone as an Ultimate Super Devil.

And once the last gates are gone, her power will undoubtedly grow even further. So this is the might of the Primordial God of the Underworld.

Ereshkigal seemed different in more ways than one.

Though she still clung lightly to his jacket for comfort, her gaze no longer darted fearfully from one shadow to the next.

She even locked eyes with him occasionally, and when their gazes met, there was no longer the flicker of fear that had once dominated her expression.

Instead, there was a cautious, budding trust.

Anos turned his attention to their surroundings.

The familiar sight of countless paths stretching in every direction greeted him. Above, birdcages floated, each containing the faint, flickering blue flames of the souls of the dead.

The ethereal beauty of the scene was tempered by its grim purpose, but Anos remained focused.

A gentle tug on his jacket drew his attention. Ereshkigal's voice, soft and stuttering, broke the silence.

"You… you're going to see my final Clone. I… I can take us there. It will be quicker."

Anos shook his head, his tone calm but firm. "I know the way. It's fine."

"But… it will be quicker," she insisted, her heterochromia eyes flashing with a brief, swirling light.

Before anyone could respond, the world around them shifted abruptly.

Anos, Mittelt, and the Clone of Death found themselves standing in front of the final gate—the one containing Death.

Mittelt blinked, her mouth falling slightly open in surprise. "What the—how did we…?"

The Clone of Death looked around sharply, her expression flickering between curiosity and guardedness. "That was… something."

Only Anos remained unaffected, though a spark of recognition crossed his features.

He had experienced something similar before—Ophis's instantaneous teleportation.

The sensation was nearly identical, save for one critical difference: Ophis's ability required no magic, while Ereshkigal's teleportation was imbued with her immense magical power.

Still, the similarities were intriguing.

Ereshkigal glanced up at Anos nervously.

Normally, when she revealed her abilities, she was met with fear—an instinctive recoil from those who saw her as nothing more than a harbinger of death and suffering.

Her shoulders tensed as she prepared for a similar reaction, but when she met Anos's gaze, she found not fear but admiration.

"That was impressive," Anos said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I know someone with a similar ability."

Ereshkigal's eyes widened slightly, a glimmer of curiosity replacing her apprehension. "Wait… there's someone like me in the outside world?"

Anos paused, thinking of Ophis, the enigmatic Dragon God.

Though they shared a few similarities in raw power and teleportation, the differences between them were vast.

In personality, purpose, and presence, they were as far apart as the earth and sky.

"Well," Anos said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't say you're similar. You're both powerful, and your methods of teleportation are alike, but beyond that… not much else."

Ereshkigal tilted her head, processing his words. For the first time in centuries, she felt an odd sense of connection—not as a weapon or a burden, but as something more.

Now standing before the final gate, Anos's demeanor shifted. He exuded an air of focused intensity, his crimson eyes narrowing as his gaze fixed on the imposing barrier.

Unlike before, there was no hesitation, no trace of distraction.

The events with Ereshkigal, while enlightening and unexpectedly meaningful, had delayed him. Now, it was time to act.

A flicker of anger crossed his otherwise stoic face.

The thought of Death's manipulations—of how she had toyed with Mittelt and stolen the souls of Issei and Serafall—fueled his resolve.

His aura darkened slightly, the air around him humming with restrained power.

As the last gate crumbled behind them, silence fell over the group.

The oppressive void that surrounded them began to shift, the path widening with every step until it stretched as wide as a battlefield.

Anos's sharp eyes scanned the growing expanse, sensing a shift in the air.

The darkness around them flickered like a dying flame, and then, as if summoned by unseen hands, thousands of souls materialized.

The figures were a grotesque mix of people and monsters, their translucent forms shimmering with a haunting glow.

Among them were massive dragons and other monstrous creatures soaring above the army.

The sheer scale was staggering. Anos took note of the six figures at the forefront, their auras brimming with power comparable to Devil Kings.

The entire army dropped to one knee in eerie unison as a figure rose from the ground.

Death emerged like a shadow pulled from the abyss, her hollow eyes locking onto Anos before shifting to Ereshkigal.

Her gaze hardened, a venomous glare that made Ereshkigal instinctively shrink back, clutching Anos's jacket.

Anos stepped forward, positioning himself between Death and Ereshkigal, his stance unwavering.

Death's lips curved into a cold smile as she materialized the blue flames—the souls of Issei and Serafall—above her outstretched palm.

"Let's make a deal," Death said, her voice smooth and venomous.

"I'll return their souls to you if you hand over that girl."

She pointed at Ereshkigal, her expression mocking as she added, "Come on, it's a fair trade. I want her, and you want your friends back. What do you say?"

Anos's crimson eyes flickered, glowing with restrained power as he glanced back at Ereshkigal.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, her trembling hands tightening their grip on his jacket.

Her fear was palpable, but there was something else—an unspoken plea for him not to abandon her.

Anos turned back to Death, his voice low and resolute. "No deal."

The moment the words left his lips, Anos's barrier erupted around Ereshkigal, Mittelt, and the Clone of Death, shielding them from harm.

In the same instant, he appeared before Death, moving so fast that even in her realm, her perception struggled to keep up.

His hand reached for the flames of his friends' souls, his fingers mere inches away when—

Golden chains erupted from the ground, wrapping tightly around Anos's body. "Freeze," came a voice, cold and commanding.

Anos felt his body lock in place, the chains restricting even his immense strength.

Shadows coalesced around him, forming a doppelgänger of himself. The dark clone conjured black chains identical to Anos's own, binding him further.

The combined restraints were powerful, but they weren't what concerned Anos most.

A strange sensation crept into his mind, dulling his instincts and quelling his frustration. The desire to resist began to wane, replaced by an unnatural calm.

From the corner of his vision, a petite figure approached.

Her appearance was deceptively innocent, but as she leaned forward, her body twisted and grew grotesquely. Her mouth opened wide, aiming to consume him whole.

Death reappeared several feet away, watching the scene with a victorious smirk.

"Perfect," she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her gamble had paid off.

She had known she couldn't defeat Anos in raw power, so she had baited him instead.

The trade offer was never genuine—just a provocation to lure him into action.

She had counted on his speed, his desire to save his friends immediately, and his predictable reaction.

In her domain, her perception was absolute. No matter how fast he was, she could still see him.

The moment he entered her trap's range, her creations had sprung into action, binding him and beginning the process of draining his power.

The golden chains sapped his magic, while the doppelgänger's bindings mirrored his abilities, neutralizing him.

The draining process was slow but effective, and soon enough, she would absorb the stolen energy herself.

Her plan was flawless. Once she had consumed enough of Anos's power, she would overpower Ereshkigal and absorb her soul as well.

With the original's power in her grasp, she would no longer be just a Clone.

She would become the new Ereshkigal, complete and supreme.

Her gaze shifted to the bound Anos, and a cruel grin spread across her face.

"With you out of the way," she mused aloud, "nothing will stop me. I'll raze the world, annihilate every disgusting soul that dares to exist, and finally… finally, I'll be free."

Her voice echoed through the void, cold and final.

The army of souls around her rose, ready to act on her command.

But even as she savored her apparent victory, something flickered in Anos's eyes—a faint spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

"Do you really think," he began, his voice unnervingly calm despite the chains constricting him, "you've won?"

Death's grin only widened, her confidence swelling. "My, my," she purred, her tone dripping with mockery. "Let's see if your arrogance can save her."

Her golden right eye shimmered, another point of her eight-pointed star forming within its depths.

The count rose to four, and with it, the oppressive weight of her power increased.

Black flames erupted in her open palm, swirling with malevolent energy. Without hesitation, she hurled the inferno at Anos.

The flames consumed him instantly, their destructive power gnawing at his form.

His body tensed as cracks began to form along its surface, glowing faintly as though his very essence was being torn apart.

Anos's power drained visibly, his aura dimming further with each passing moment.

Inside the barrier, Mittelt stood frozen, her blues eyes wide as she stared at the horrifying scene.

Her usual confidence faltered, replaced by a nervous energy that coursed through her like a wildfire. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing a shaky smile onto her face.

"He's fine," she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling slightly.

"He's just playing with her, right? He's the Demon King of Tyranny. He's killed gods. There's no way he'll lose to someone like her…"

But as the cracks on Anos's body deepened, that nervous smile wavered.

The sight was unnerving—this wasn't a display of dominance or control. It looked real. It looked like he was struggling.

Mittelt's steps faltered as she approached the barrier, her hands pressing against it.

The cool surface did nothing to ground her as a wave of unease began to creep over her.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as though saying it louder might make it untrue. "He's… he's not joking, is he?"

The Clone of Death stood beside Mittelt, her usual stoic demeanor cracking as her fingers fidgeted nervously at her sides.

Her pale blue eyes darted between Anos and Death, analyzing every flicker of energy, every movement.

"This isn't possible," she muttered, her voice low and strained. "He's stronger than this. He has to be."

Yet, for all her logic and reasoning, doubt began to settle in her mind. She could sense the way Anos's power waned under the relentless assault of Death's black flames. The realization sent an unfamiliar pang through her chest—fear.

Ereshkigal, standing slightly behind them, clutched at the edge of her dress, her hetechromia eyes wide and brimming with unease.

At first, she had believed this was part of some grand plan of Anos's. After all, he had destroyed her gates with effortless power and confidence.

But now… seeing him trapped, seeing the cracks spread across his form, she felt a cold dread seep into her heart.

"Why isn't he moving?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hands trembled as she turned to Mittelt and the Clone, desperate for reassurance she couldn't find.

Mittelt, her nervous energy reaching its peak, slammed her hand against the barrier in frustration.

"Anos, come on!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "What are you doing? You can't let her win!"

Ereshkigal took a step closer, her knees shaking as she fought to suppress the rising tide of panic.

Her mind raced, memories of Death's power flooding her thoughts. She had created Death to be an unrelenting force, a reflection of everything she had endured and hated.

Was it possible that even Anos, the being who had promised to protect her, couldn't overcome that force?

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, trying to banish the thought.

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He said he'd protect me… he promised."

The Clone of Death remained silent, her gaze fixed on Anos as her mind churned with conflicting thoughts. She had seen Death's cunning firsthand.

She knew how ruthless her original could be.

But Anos… Anos had broken through every barrier, defied every expectation. Could this really be where it ended?

"I can't believe this," she muttered, her fists clenching. Her voice grew louder, more desperate. "You can't lose to her. You're not supposed to lose."

Their rising panic seemed to mirror the escalating tension in the void.

Death's triumphant laughter echoed through the space, her voice like a dagger twisting in their hearts. "What's the matter?" she mocked, her tone gleeful.

"Losing hope already? I expected more from the great Demon King."

Ereshkigal's legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, her hands gripping the hem of her dress tightly.

Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the cracks spreading across Anos's body.

"Please…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't let it end like this."

The tension reached a breaking point as the group's collective fear and doubt weighed heavily in the air.

And yet, even in the midst of their despair, there was a small, flickering hope—an ember that refused to die.

Anos's voice broke through the chaos, calm and steady despite the agony coursing through him.

"Are you all doubting me already?" he asked in a mental message to them, his words sharp yet filled with quiet determination.

Mittelt's eyes widened, her breath catching as she pressed her hands harder against the barrier. "Anos…" she whispered, a faint glimmer of hope returning to her gaze.

Ereshkigal's tears slowed as she looked up, her trembling hands clutching at her chest, her wide eyes locking onto the faint glow that now emanated from deep within Anos.

Ereshkigal's trembling hands stilled as her golden star eye flashed, locking onto the faint glow emanating from Anos.

Her wide eyes betrayed both awe and fear as she clutched her chest, a glimmer of hope piercing through her despair.

In contrast, Death's golden right eye shimmered with malevolence, its eight-pointed star now fully formed. Power coursed through her, raising her strength to rival Ereshkigal's.

A wicked grin stretched across her face as she extended her hand toward Anos, ready to absorb his soul and crush it into nothingness.

Victory was within her grasp. After his destruction, she would claim Ereshkigal and finally achieve the freedom she craved.

But when Death's fingers curled, the ability she had relied on refused to activate.

Her eyes widened in shock, confusion flashing across her face.

Before she could process what was happening, an explosion of white light erupted from Anos, engulfing the entire domain in a blinding, radiant brilliance.

The force of the light tore through the realm, obliterating Death's army in an instant.

The sheer magnitude of the explosion left cracks splintering across the very fabric of the domain itself.

Inside the protective barrier, Mittelt, Ereshkigal, and the Clone shielded their eyes from the overwhelming brightness.

The light was so intense that it seemed to pierce their very souls.

Yet, as the blinding glow began to fade and the oppressive darkness returned, the three women looked out cautiously.

Anos stood alone, his figure shrouded in an aura of incomparable power.

At his feet, Death lay sprawled, her hollow gaze fixed on him in disbelief.

Her lips quivered as she whispered, "How… how did you do that? I could finally read your soul. I saw it breaking—it was nearly gone. How is this possible?"

From her perspective, Anos's soul now radiated a power so immense it eclipsed anything she had observed before from him.

What had been a flickering ember before now burned with the intensity of a star.

Anos stared down at her, his expression unreadable.

"Look upon the memories you stole from Serafall," he said calmly, his tone sharp as a blade. "You already have your answer."

Death's mind raced as she sifted through Serafall's memories, and realization struck her like a thunderclap.

Her disbelief turned to anger. "But that should be impossible!" she spat. "This isn't your world. I thought you need your world's magic to awaken your source fully. Here, you—"

"You are correct...demons in my world," Anos interrupted, taking a step forward, "can only utilize 20% of their original power. I am no exception. But thanks to you I was able to reawaken it."

As he spoke, his aura surged, shaking the entire realm.

Death scrambled backward, her fear intensifying as cracks continued to spread along the ground.

Anos continued, his voice low and dangerous, "you awakened my source, granting me access to my full power."

He took another step toward her, his presence suffocating.

"Now," he said, his voice cold as ice, "I have more than enough power to end you a billion times over."

Death's confidence wavered.

Despite her growing fear, she forced a smile. Her sins materialized around Anos, ready to strike.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You can destroy them a thousand times, but they'll always reform. You can't destroy death."

Anos's smirk twisted into something darker, his aura flaring once more.

The entire realm groaned under the weight of his power, cracks widening as if the space itself might collapse.

"You think I can't destroy these little things?" he mocked.

One of the sins leaped at him, a grotesque figure embodying Gluttony.

With a single motion, Anos seized it by the throat. The sin struggled, its form writhing as Anos's hand tightened.

Within moments, its body began to glow before disintegrating into ash.

Death's eyes widened in horror as she felt her connection to Gluttony vanish. "No… no, that's impossible!" she screamed.

The sins, undeterred, continued their assault, but Anos dispatched them effortlessly, each one reduced to ash with a wave of his hand.

As their numbers dwindled, Death's defiance crumbled. Her screams turned to anguished cries as she summoned her army once more, only for them to meet the same fate.

In a final, desperate act, Death gathered every ounce of power she had left.

The ground quaked as she unleashed a massive torrent of golden energy, her fury and despair fueling the attack.

"If I can't beat you," she shrieked, "I'll start over! I'll rebuild everything!"

The attack raced toward Anos, a devastating force capable of obliterating anything in its path.

But as it reached him, he raised a single hand, and the attack disintegrated before it could touch him.

Death collapsed to the ground, her body trembling as tears streamed down her face.

Her fists dug into the ground, her voice breaking as she whispered, "I was so close. So close to being free… to destroying their pain, their suffering. To finally knowing peace."

Anos loomed over her, his gaze piercing.

He had expected anger, defiance—but what he saw startled even him.

Her eyes, once alight with fury, were now empty. Hollow. Deeper and darker than even Ereshkigal's had been. It wasn't just despair—it was utter resignation.

For a moment, the silence hung heavy between them. Then Death whispered, her voice barely audible, "Maybe… maybe freedom means you killing me…"

The silence after her words was deafening, the void around them seeming to stretch endlessly, amplifying the weight of her breakdown.

Death struggled to her feet, her movements jerky and uncoordinated as if her body itself rebelled against her will.

Her golden hair hung limply, veiling her tear-streaked face. Her trembling hand shot out in a weak punch aimed at Anos.

He sidestepped effortlessly, his expression unchanged, and she stumbled forward, barely catching herself.

"If you want me to stop," she rasped, her voice cracking, "then kill me!" She lunged at him again, desperation radiating from her every move.

Again, he avoided her without effort, and this time, she collapsed onto her knees.

Tears dripped onto the cracked ground beneath her, forming small, glistening pools that reflected the faint glow of her fading power.

"If you don't stop me, I'll gather strength and come back for you again," she spat, her words laced with a hollow bravado.

"I'll kill everyone you love and make you watch."

Anos's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, his hand lifting to summon his magic.

Death's breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, a bitter smile twisted her lips. "Go on," she taunted, her voice trembling despite her defiance.

"Do it. Kill me. End this."

But Anos paused, his hand hovering mid-air.

Death's smirk faltered, her hollow eyes flickering with confusion.

"What… are you hesitating?" Her tone wavered, disbelief creeping into her words.

Her body began to tremble as her gaze darted to the souls of Issei and Serafall, safely encased behind Anos. A new wave of tears surged forth, blurring her vision.

"Kill me!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "I'll come back if you don't! I'll destroy everything! Everyone!" Her cries grew louder, more guttural. "Just do it!"

Anos remained silent, unmoving, his calm presence stark against her spiraling emotions. The stillness only seemed to unnerve her further.

"Please!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

Her hands clawed at her hair as she crumbled completely, collapsing forward until her forehead pressed against the ground.

"Just kill me! I don't want this anymore! I can't keep living like this—if you can even call this living!"

Her sobs echoed through the void, filling the air with a painful resonance that seemed to shake the very fabric of her realm.

The remnants of her shattered army flickered weakly in the background, their forms dissolving into ash as though they, too, were succumbing to her anguish.

Death's voice grew softer, almost inaudible.

"I don't want to hurt anymore… I don't want to feel this hatred, this emptiness.

I just want… it to stop." Her fingers dug into the ground, leaving deep grooves in the stone as her body convulsed with the force of her sobs.

Anos's expression remained stoic, but his crimson eyes softened ever so slightly.

His gaze lingered on her broken form, the cracks in her voice echoing the deep fissures in her soul.

He thought of the countless others he had defeated in his lifetime—foes who were defiant to the end.

But this… this was different. This wasn't defiance. It was despair.

"I'm sorry," Death whispered, her voice hoarse and trembling.

She lifted her tear-streaked face, her hetechromia eyes hollow but now glimmering faintly with something else—hope, or perhaps resignation.

"Do you want me to apologize...I'm sorry for everything I've done. So please… just end it."

The void seemed to darken around them, as if mirroring the weight of her words.

Even the faint light of the floating souls above seemed to dim in mourning.

Death's trembling form remained prostrate before Anos, her tears falling in an endless stream, pooling at his feet.

Anos finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "You think this is the only way?"

Her eyes snapped up to his, wide and glistening with tears.

"What else is there?" she croaked.

"What else can I do? I've tried everything… but I always end up like this."

She clutched at her chest, as though trying to physically hold herself together. "I'm tired of hating, even… existing."

His gaze never wavered. Slowly, he lowered his hand, the magic dissipating into faint embers.

"You're asking for death because you've given up. But what if there's another way?"

Her lip quivered, her body trembling as his words hung in the air. "Another… way?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper.

As Anos stepped aside, Ereshkigal began to walk toward Death.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, her hetechromia eyes heavy with sadness as they locked onto the shattered figure before her.

Every moment of the confrontation replayed in her mind, each second a reminder of the pain and suffering that had brought them to this point.

When her gaze finally fell on Death's soul, she saw it—not a reflection of strength or resilience, but a fractured, broken thing teetering on the edge of oblivion.

And it was her fault.

This was what she had done to her.

Ereshkigal stopped a few feet away, her hands trembling at her sides.

The memories she had shared with her Clone of Light surfaced unbidden. Sadness, a concept she had once thought irrelevant, now pierced through her heart like a blade.

She had created Death with the best of intentions, believing she was crafting the perfect being to shoulder the corruption of souls.

But perfection, she realized now, was a cruel illusion.

Death's perfection had destroyed her, turning her into something far worse than Ereshkigal had ever intended.

She had become a reflection of the very torment Ereshkigal had sought to escape.

"I did this to you," Ereshkigal whispered to herself, her voice trembling with guilt. "I made you like this."

Death looked up from her knees, her bitter smile cutting through the silence.

"So, you've come to end me yourself," she said, her voice hoarse. "Fitting, I suppose. I had planned to do the same to you."

Bowing her head, Death lowered herself further in submission.

"I failed to uphold my duty. I tried to harm my creator, and I have no right to exist. If you have any kindness in you, make it painless."

Ereshkigal flinched, the word painless cutting through her like a knife.

For a moment, she couldn't speak. When she finally found her voice, it was thick with emotion. "Painless?" she echoed softly.

Death raised her head, her expression a mixture of resignation and confusion.

"You're here to absorb me, aren't you?" she asked hesitantly, her voice faltering. "To take back what you gave me?"

Their gazes met, and for the first time, Death saw tears in Ereshkigal's eyes. "No," Ereshkigal said, her voice breaking. "I'm not going to kill you."

Death's mind raced, a torrent of thoughts swirling in chaos.

If Ereshkigal wasn't here to kill her, then… then she was going to put her back to work.

That was the only other explanation. Panic welled up in her chest, and she opened her mouth to protest—but no words came.

She had no right to refuse. She was a creation, a tool. If this was her purpose, she would accept it.

"I… I understand," Death murmured, her voice shaking.

She turned to the souls around her, already preparing to process the corrupted energy they carried. But before she could act, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her.

Ereshkigal pulled her into a gentle embrace, her own body trembling as she whispered, "No. Stop. I'm sorry. You don't have to do that anymore."

Death froze, her entire being going still as the words registered. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I mean you don't have to do this anymore," Ereshkigal said, pulling back just enough to meet Death's wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Not ever again. I did this to you. I made you this way. But I can undo it. I will undo it."

Ereshkigal placed a hand over Death's chest, and a wave of warmth surged through her.

Memories and emotions began to flow—not the torment and anguish she was used to, but something new. Love. Joy. Happiness.

For the first time, Death felt the radiant warmth of positive emotions filling the void inside her.

Her eyes widened as she began to laugh—a light, unsteady sound that quickly grew into something pure and uncontrollable.

It startled her, and she reached up to touch her face, feeling the unfamiliar stretch of her lips. It wasn't an evil grin or a twisted sneer. It was a real, genuine smile.

"I'm… laughing," she whispered, her voice trembling with awe. "I'm smiling. This… this is happiness?"

Ereshkigal's own tears fell freely as she nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "You deserve to feel it."

The memories kept coming, filling Death's mind with new sensations.

She saw flashes of Namtaru's loyal companionship, her sister Ishtar's bright laughter, and moments of peace Ereshkigal had once cherished.

These weren't burdens—they were gifts, fragments of a life Death had never known.

The transformation was almost overwhelming. Death fell to her knees, clutching her chest as her breathing grew ragged.

But the tears streaming down her face weren't of pain—they were of relief.

"I didn't think…" Death began, her voice breaking. "I didn't think it was possible to feel this. To feel anything but hate. Thank you… Ereshkigal."

Ereshkigal knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You're free now," she said softly. "To feel, to choose, to live. And I promise… I'll never make you bear my burden again."

As the two embraced, Anos watched silently, his expression neutral but his crimson eyes filled with quiet approval.

Beside him, Mittelt wiped her eyes, sniffling softly as she whispered to the Clone, "That's… so unfair. Why do they always make me cry?"

The Clone of Death smiled faintly, her gaze fixed on her transformed counterpart.

"Because," she said quietly, "even broken things can be mended."

As the quiet settled over the group, Death hesitantly rose to her feet, her gaze flickering between Ereshkigal, Anos, Mittelt, and the Clone of herself.

Her hetechromia eyes still shimmered with fresh tears, but there was a softness to her expression now, a vulnerability that hadn't been there before.

She swallowed hard, then turned to Anos.

"I… I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling.

"For everything. For what I did to you, for what I put you through.

You didn't deserve any of it." Her hands clenched at her sides as she bowed her head.

"I can't undo what I've done, but I… I'll try to be better. If… if there's anything I can do—"

Anos raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. His gaze was calm, unreadable, but there was no malice in his voice when he spoke.

"Apologies aren't necessary," he said evenly. "What matters is what you choose to do moving forward."

Death blinked, stunned by his words. She opened her mouth to say something but found no words, nodding instead, her lips trembling as tears streamed down her face.

Turning next to Mittelt and the Clone, Death's expression grew even more somber.

"And you two," she began, her voice heavy with guilt.

"I… I took so much from you both. Mittelt, I stole your soul. I turned you into something you weren't supposed to be. And you," she said, looking at the Clone, her expression pained.

"I stripped you of your memories, of your very identity."

Mittelt stepped forward, her arms crossed but her face soft.

"Yeah, you did," she said bluntly, her usual brashness tinged with a faint smile.

"But you also gave me something I didn't have before. A chance to grow. To be something more than I ever was as a Fallen." She looked to Anos briefly, then back to Death.

"I'm fine with who I am now. So don't go beating yourself up about it."

The Clone stepped forward next, her expression thoughtful. "You did take my memories," she said softly, her eyes meeting Death's. "But in losing them, I gained something else. A new understanding. A new purpose. I'm… okay with that." She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "You don't have to fix me."

Death stared at them both, her lips parting in disbelief. Then she let out a soft, shaky laugh, wiping at her tear-streaked face. "You're kinder than I deserve," she murmured. "Thank you."

Finally, she turned to Ereshkigal. Her creator.

Her original. Her other half. There was no hatred in her gaze now, no resentment—only a quiet acceptance. "It's time, isn't it?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Ereshkigal nodded, her own eyes glistening.

"Yes," she said softly.

"But I won't erase you. You've carried my burdens for so long, and I… I see now that I was wrong to leave you alone in that darkness. I won't make that mistake again. We'll walk forward together. As one."

Death's breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked like she might collapse again.

But then she nodded, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you," she whispered. "For not giving up on me."

Ereshkigal reached out, placing a gentle hand over Death's chest.

A soft, golden glow surrounded them as Death's body began to dissolve into light.

It wasn't painful; it was warm, comforting, like the embrace of sunlight after an eternity in the dark.

As Death's form faded, her voice lingered, echoing in the air. "I… I think I can finally rest now. Thank you… all of you."

The light grew brighter, enveloping Ereshkigal as Death's essence merged with her own.

For a moment, the two souls existed in perfect harmony, a delicate balance of light and shadow.

When the glow finally dimmed, Ereshkigal stood alone, her presence stronger, more complete.

But her hetechromia eyes now held a depth they hadn't before—a reflection of the two souls that now lived within her.

Mittelt sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Okay, not gonna lie," she said, her voice wavering. "That was beautiful."

The Clone nodded, her expression serene. "She's finally at peace," she said softly. "And so is Ereshkigal."

Anos stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Ereshkigal's shoulder. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying a weight of concern.

Ereshkigal nodded but hesitated, lowering her gaze.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I know you're angry at her, but… I was to blame for everything. If I hadn't created Death, none of this would have happened." She paused, her hands clutching at her chest. "So… I will take on her sins."

Anos raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

Ereshkigal flinched under his gaze, her voice softening further. "Please, take any anger out on me instead."

Inside her, Death stirred. Her voice, filled with guilt and desperation, echoed faintly in Ereshkigal's mind. "Stop. No. My sins are my own. Don't do this."

Anos studied Ereshkigal for a moment, his crimson eyes searching hers.

Then, with a soft sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. "Didn't I tell you to use your power the way you want?" he said, his voice low and steady.

His lips curled into a faint smile as he winked at her. "This is your choice. But I'd like to talk to her for a moment."

Ereshkigal blinked, her expression softening as she nodded. Closing her eyes, she allowed Death to take control.

The shift was subtle but noticeable.

Death's hetechromia eyes opened, meeting Anos's with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. Her posture was tense, as if bracing for judgment.

"Look," Anos began, his tone firm but not unkind. "You've been given a second chance. Don't mess this up."

Death nodded, her lips trembling. "I… I won't," she said quietly.

Anos's expression softened, and his next words carried a surprising warmth.

"Now, this is my only request…" He stepped back slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Enjoy your new life."

Death's breath hitched, her hetechromia eyes wide as she processed his words.

For a moment, she was silent, her hands trembling at her sides. Then she nodded again, this time more firmly. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Ereshkigal slowly reclaimed control, her hetechromia eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looked at Anos.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice a blend of her own and Death's, the two now perfectly intertwined.

"For giving her… for giving us this chance."

Anos gave her a small, approving nod, his calm demeanor unshaken. "You've both earned it."

Prologue 1: A Missing Child

The heat of the sun bore down on her tiny frame, the sand burning against her bare feet.

Each step felt heavier than the last, but she kept moving. She didn't know why she walked—she just knew she had to.

Her legs ached, her head felt light, but she couldn't stop.

The white coat she had taken fluttered lightly in the desert wind, too large for her small body.

It smelled strange, like the metallic tang of blood mixed with the sterile stench of the place she had left behind.

She had wrapped herself in it for modesty, though modesty was not something she truly understood. It was just... instinct.

Her crimson and black hair clung to her face, heavy with sweat.

She brushed it aside absently, her mind clouded and fragmented.

The only thing she could truly remember was the dark room—the one with the strange symbols on the walls that made her feel weak.

That room had been her whole world. Waking, sleeping, and the pain. Always the pain.

They called it "testing." She didn't know what the word meant, only that it hurt.

At first, the pain was unbearable, but she had gotten used to it.

And when the pain didn't seem to bother her anymore, they found ways to make it worse. That was what they did.

But today was different.

The room had been shaking when it happened.

She'd been sitting in the middle of her small space, knees drawn to her chest, the blindfold tight over her eyes.

She didn't know why they made her wear it; perhaps it was part of the "tests." She wasn't sure.

Then, the first tremor hit. It was small—just a vibration under her bare feet. But it grew.

The shaking became more violent, the walls groaning under the pressure. And then… light.

It was so bright, so blinding, that even through the blindfold, it hurt her eyes.

She winced, turning her head away, but something about the light pulled her.

Tentatively, she reached up, her fingers fumbling with the edges of the blindfold. It came loose, and she squinted against the unfamiliar brightness.

Her world had always been shadows.

This… this was something else entirely. It took her a moment to adjust, her crimson eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to take in the sight around her.

The air was different. It smelled… clean. Fresh. She inhaled deeply, her small chest rising and falling with wonder. For the first time, the heavy, metallic scent of the facility was gone.

She turned her head, and her eyes widened. There were bodies everywhere, some whole, others torn apart.

A faint breeze carried the smell of blood and death, but she didn't flinch.

One of the bodies lay close to her—one of the people who had always hurt her. He wasn't moving, his body split cleanly in half.

Her gaze lingered for only a moment before she knelt beside him.

His white coat was stained red, but it looked clean enough to her.

She pulled it off him, wrapping it around herself like a blanket. It was too big, dragging on the ground as she stood, but it covered her nakedness.

She didn't look back as she walked out of the ruins.

Behind her a figure with Dragon wings frantically flew arround screaming in fear seraching for something, "Riziviem, where are you?"

The bright light above hurt her eyes, but she kept going. She didn't know where she was going, but it didn't matter. Forward was all she understood.

She didn't know how long she had been walking.

The desert seemed endless, a sea of sand stretching in every direction.

Sometimes she would fall, her legs giving out beneath her. Her body felt heavy, like it was about to collapse entirely.

But each time, the exhaustion would pass, and she would get back up.

The air around her began to shift, and a faint tremor ran through the ground.

She stopped, tilting her head as she felt the vibration beneath her feet.

It was stronger than the ones before, more violent. Her eyes narrowed, her crimson irises glowing faintly as an infinity symbol flickered within them.

She sniffed the air. The smell coming from the cracks in the ground was familiar.

It smelled like… home. Not the facility, not the tests, but something deeper. Something older. She knelt, placing a small hand against the ground as her vision blurred.

Then, she saw him.

A man with fiery red hair stood in the depths of the earth, surrounded by five individuals.

Her chest tightened as she watched him. Something about him felt… familiar. Like he was a part of her, though she didn't understand why.

And then, he was gone.

She blinked, her head snapping up as the vision disappeared.

Her heart raced, and for the first time, she felt something stir within her—a need. A need to find him.

Her head turned sharply to the right, her senses pulling her in an unknown direction.

Without hesitation, she began walking again, her steps quicker now, more determined. She didn't know who he was, but she knew one thing for certain.

She had to find him.

Prologue 2: The Arrival of the Angels

Gabriel's breath hitched as she scanned the scene.

What was supposed to be an organized, fortified encampment of three allied armies—the Angels, the Fallen, and the Devils—was now a desolate graveyard.

Bodies lay scattered across the ground, like snow blanketing the earth in a macabre display.

Blood soaked the once-firm soil, pooling in places and streaking across jagged terrain.

The stench of burnt flesh and charred armor filled the air.

Torn limbs and broken weapons littered the ground, and Dulio gagged as he stepped forward, his foot crunching down on something.

He looked down to see a blood-soaked angel wing, twisted unnaturally.

"What the hell happened here?" he whispered, his voice hollow.

Gabriel's hand rose to her mouth, her normally serene expression twisted with horror. She extended her senses, reaching out for the faintest sign of life. There was none.

"It was a dragon," Gabriel finally said, her voice strained. "And from this residual aura… an Evil Dragon."

Her eyes narrowed as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. "Grendel."

Dulio froze. "Grendel? Isn't he supposed to be dead?"

"He was," Gabriel replied, her voice trembling slightly.

"Years ago. But this aura… it's unmistakable." She turned to the battlefield again, her eyes scanning the carnage. "Who would be foolish enough to bring him back?"

As the Heavenly Host spread out, searching for survivors, Gabriel's unease deepened.

She had scoured the area with her senses and knew the truth before she even spoke. "There are no survivors," she said softly.

Dulio clenched his fists, his usual playful demeanor replaced by somber determination.

"If Grendel did this…" His words trailed off as the ground beneath them began to tremble violently.

"Does the Underworld get earthquakes?!" Dulio shouted over the rumbling.

Gabriel shook her head, her eyes darting around as cracks began forming in the earth. "No. Never."

The ground split open, swallowing bodies, weapons, and blood into its depths. The tremors grew stronger before finally subsiding.

The group steadied themselves, exchanging wary glances as an eerie silence settled over the battlefield.

And then, Gabriel felt it.

A surge of power, distant but overwhelming, emanating from the direction of the infamous prison where Khaos Brigade's former leader, Katera, was being held.

Gabriel's face grew pale as she extended her senses further.

"What now?" Dulio asked, noticing her expression.

"Hundreds of gods," Gabriel whispered, her voice tight. "They're converging on the Underworld… near Katera's prison."

Gabriel turned to the Heavenly Host, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her. "We're changing course. We need to head to the prison immediately."

"Hundreds of gods?" Dulio repeated, incredulous. "Why now? What are they after?"

"I don't know," Gabriel admitted.

"But we can't afford to hesitate. Whatever is happening there, it's connected to all of this—the destruction here, the return of Grendel, and the Boosted Gear."

Dulio nodded, his resolve hardening. "Then let's move."

As the golden light of their teleportation circles surrounded them again, Gabriel couldn't help but glance back at the ruined battlefield one last time.

The sight of the devastation etched itself into her mind, fueling her determination.

They were walking into the unknown, but one thing was clear: the balance of the world was teetering on the edge, and the Heavenly Host would do everything in its power to restore it.

End Chapter