The world was too still. Smoke curled lazily into the sky, and the scent of scorched earth mingled with the bitter copper tang of burned magic. Sabine knelt in the ashes, her arms curled tightly around her baby as if she could press him back into the safety of her womb.
Her heart thudded painfully. The silence around them was heavy, broken only by her child's hiccupping breaths. His skin still pulsed with the faintest traces of purple light, dim now, but alive. Terrifyingly alive.
She stared at him, unblinking. "You don't belong here," she whispered, voice trembling. "You're too much for this world… just like your father."
And still, she clung to him. Because despite the fear knotting in her chest, despite the destruction and what she had seen—what had come from him—he was hers.
A shifting in the soot caught her eye.
Asmodeus stood once more, brushing ash from his broad shoulders, horns glinting in the dying light. There was blood on his lip, and his grin had lost its polish.
"Until we meet again," he said simply, eyes gleaming like silver stars—then, without another word, his body shimmered. A gust of wind rippled through the broken home as he burst, scattering into a thousand violet-black butterflies that drifted away on the smoke.
***
Cold water lapped around Asmodeus's body. His wounds fizzed as they stitched closed, leaving trails of steam curling above him. His horns, cracked slightly, pulsed with heat. He stared upward, the fractured moon above him surrounded by smaller satellites—ghostly white and cruelly beautiful.
"That child..." he whispered to himself. A grin pulled across his mouth, slow and jagged. "That magic. That raw, cursed power."
He sat upright with a hiss.
"Not even Lucifer had that kind of force."
A figure emerged from the shadows, face hidden behind a smooth, reflective mask. Robes whispered like smoke.
"I need an audience with my brothers," Asmodeus said.
The masked one didn't speak, merely formed a seal with his hands. A pulse of magic followed, and a small orb of light formed between his palms, casting a warm glow.
One was a man, rugged and bored-looking. His voice came first. "What now, Asmo? You're bleeding again?"
"Can we please lower the volume?" Asmodeus drawled. "Not all of us are into screaming contests."
A woman's voice coiled into the space, smooth as sin and draped in intrigue. "Oh? And what would get you so worked up, dear Asmodeus?"
Her face came into view—voluminous silver curls, eyes like molten gold. Her lips twisted in a smirk. "You look like you were bested."
"I wasn't bested," Asmodeus hissed, standing. "I was... intrigued."
"Oh, do go on," she purred.
He stepped from the water, droplets evaporating off his skin. "I've seen something. Someone. A child."
"A child?" the male voice returned. "You summoned us over a child?"
"He's not just any child," Asmodeus said, lips twitching. "He's Cassius's."
There was silence. Then the woman gasped, laughter bubbling up like wine. "Cassius has a child? Oh, how deliciously hypocritical."
"Half-human," Asmodeus added, knowing very well it'd turn everything upside down.
Her laughter paused, then turned breathless with curiosity. "Wait—really? A hybrid? And... magical?"
"You should've seen him," Asmodeus murmured, eyes distant. "He obliterated my black sun like it was a feather. Lightning. Purple lightning."
"Impossible," the male scoffed.
"I felt it." Asmodeus's voice dropped an octave. "That boy... he's the true heir. More than Cassius ever was."
"You're thinking of using him," the woman said. Not a question—an observation. "You want to steal that power for yourself."
"No," Asmodeus chuckled, a low, wicked sound. "I want us to use him. Together. With that kind of strength... we could end Cassius. Finally."
"And then?" the male asked.
"Then... the throne belongs to Lucifer."
***
The scent hit him before anything else. Burned wood, scorched air. Panic. Cassius materialized from the shadows, boots crunching over fragments of their once-living home.
"Sabine—" he rushed forward.
"Don't," she snapped, arms tightening. "Don't you dare come here now and act like this is your kingdom to fix."
Cassius froze. His chest burned, but not from the fire. "What happened?"
She looked at him then, tired, angry, and heartbroken. "Your son happened."
Cassius turned, and the destruction laid bare before him. The entire village had tasted the aftermath—blasted rooftops, lightning-gutted fields. Villagers crouched behind shattered windows, whispering rumors that stank of fear.
This… all of this… came from him.
"Sabine," he said, more gently now. "What happened?"
"A demon," she said, shaking. "He came to the door. Tall. Horns like a ram. Said his name was Asmodeus."
Cassius's jaw clenched hard enough to crack stone.
Sabine's eyes narrowed. "You know him, don't you?"
He didn't answer right away. But the fire in his stare said enough. "My brother," he whispered.
Cassius stepped closer, his shadow swallowing broken beams and scattered ash. His gaze dropped to the child in Sabine's arms—silent now, eyes wide and unblinking, as though he too sensed the weight of something unnatural inside him.
Cassius's voice was quiet. "You said Asmodeus was here?"
Sabine nodded, eyes sharp, shoulders tense. "He came looking for our child."
He froze. "He what?"
"He called him the 'heir'... said something about bloodlines, about power." Her voice cracked. "And then—he provoked him. Our baby—he didn't just cry, Cassius. He... unleashed something. Lightning. Magic that bent the air."
Cassius swallowed, his jaw tightening. "Did Asmodeus touch you?"
"No," she said, almost bitter. "He didn't need to. The moment the baby reacted, it was over. The whole sky lit up like it was bleeding thunder. He couldn't control it."
Cassius took a step back, running a hand through his hair, his composure unchanging with each passing second.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered. "I cloaked this place. No one—none of them—should've known."
Sabine tilted her head. "Then how did he find us?"
"I don't know," Cassius said, his voice low. "But if Asmodeus found the child, then he wasn't acting alone."
A silence fell between them. Only the distant crackle of something still burning broke it. Sabine held the baby tighter. "You said you had enemies. I thought you meant politics, rival kingdoms—not... demons."
Cassius turned toward her slowly. "You don't understand. If Asmodeus came alone, it was curiosity. But if he came with intent... then it means someone told him. Someone close."
Her expression hardened. "Your brothers?"
He didn't answer.
"Cassius," she said, firmer now. "Tell me what this means."
He stared at the horizon, lips parted but no sound coming out. His crimson eyes gleamed in the dim firelight, haunted.
"It means," he finally said, "this was never about just the child. It means a war is coming."
Sabine's breath hitched. "War?"
Cassius turned back to her, voice low, clipped. "You don't know my family. They don't stop at curiosity. If Asmodeus came... then the others won't be far behind."
He looked down at the baby again, who blinked—eyes glowing faintly purple for just a second. So small. So dangerous.
Sabine whispered, "What do we do?"
Cassius opened his mouth to answer but froze. Behind him, the wind shifted. Unnatural. Cold. He turned slowly, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the wreckage. And then he said, more to himself than to her: "Unless... Asmodeus wasn't here by choice."
Sabine blinked. "What does that mean?"
He stared out into the night, a chill running through him like a crack through stone. "It means," he whispered, "something bigger is already in motion."
And from the treeline beyond the smoldering ruins something watched.