The cold wind gradually stopped, and the sound of gravel scraping against the ground disappeared. The ruins were eerily silent, with only the faint, rapid breathing of Salavira audible.
It sounded as if he might faint at any moment.
Asmodeus released his grip on Salavira’s chin, and without the support, Salavira fell to the ground unexpectedly. The sudden movement seemed to aggravate some wound on his body, causing him to let out a few pained groans from his throat.
Asmodeus watched him struggle coldly, without saying a word.
The Salavira he remembered wasn’t like this.
That person, although hypocritical, cunning, and deceitful, was undeniably beautiful and powerful.
…In any case, he would never be in such a sorry state.
Chains symbolizing slavery hung from his wrists, ankles, and neck. The skin where the iron rings touched had shallow scars from repeated chafing and healing. Besides that, he was kept in a cage like a plaything by those lowly humans, and even the clothes he wore carried a lewd scent…
What on earth happened in this thousand years?
Asmodeus suddenly felt immense regret. Why wasn’t he stronger a thousand years ago? If he had been, he wouldn’t have been sealed for so long, long enough that upon waking, everything had changed, and the person he hated for a thousand years had fallen from the altar, scarred in the mud.
Not a single one of these scars was even inflicted by his own hand…
His pant leg was suddenly tugged, bringing Asmodeus back to his senses. He saw the person in front of him pressing against his knee, struggling to get up, and when he looked up, he was even smiling:
“Asmodeus…”
Asmodeus raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly to listen to him continue.
“Since… I don’t meet your expectations, why not let me go?”
“Let you go?” Asmodeus was almost amused, “Salavira, you haven’t even paid for stabbing me and sealing me back then, why would you think I’d let you go?”
Salavira let out a low “oh,” but there was no sign of disappointment on his face, he was even still smiling, “Then if you have any torturous methods you want to use on me, you’d better hurry up…”
He only got halfway through before he had to pause to catch his breath. Asmodeus, sensing something, raised an eyebrow and heard the person in front of him continue:
“After all, if you wait any longer, I might just…”
“Die…”
As soon as he finished speaking, Salavira couldn’t hold on any longer. The hand pressing against Asmodeus’s knee lost its strength, and he fell forward unconscious, his head hitting Asmodeus’s shoulder.
The impact hurt Asmodeus a bit, but he didn’t react at all. He stood there stunned for two seconds before his eyes widened, and he reached for Salavira’s abdomen—
There was a large patch of still-wet blood there. Initially, he hadn’t paid it any mind, as this amount of blood wouldn’t even count as a superficial wound to the Salavira of a thousand years ago. But beneath the blood-soaked clothing, he felt something hard and sharp, covered in flesh and blood.
It was a broken piece of iron bar from the cage.
Such a penetrating wound would be fatal to the current Salavira.
Death.
He really might die…
As this thought crossed his mind, Asmodeus’s breathing began to tremble. The enemy he had hated for a thousand years was about to die on his own before he could even exact his revenge?!
In an instant, a wave of immense anger surged in Asmodeus’s heart. He reached out and snapped the iron bar, scooped up the unconscious man’s legs, and carried him horizontally. A magic circle lit up beneath his feet, and in the blink of an eye, the two disappeared without a trace.
The ruins of the temple returned to a deathly silence.
The black mist that had covered the sky gradually dispersed, and the golden sunlight shone down once more. But the once-luxurious palace had been replaced by a scene of desolation, appearing particularly forlorn under the sunlight.
Not long after, a group of people stepped onto the ruins.
Each of them had brown hair and wore golden crowns symbolizing the highest rank of deacon, their red robes adorned with cross rose totems. Just by looking at their clothes and hair color, they seemed to be cut from the same mold.
But the person they surrounded at the front was a golden-haired youth, draped in a coat, with a casual demeanor.
If not told, no one would believe that this was the person who now held the supreme position within the church—
The Pope.
The young Pope surveyed the ruins beneath his feet, finally fixing his gaze on the glaring bloodstain in the center.
“Ha.” He suddenly chuckled, “Looks like our little canary has been snatched away~”
None of the people standing behind him dared to respond. After all, they had followed him for a long time and knew that this unpredictable Pope was not at all pleased at the moment, but rather extremely angry. To provoke him now would surely lead to no good outcome.
But the young Pope seemed intent on making them uncomfortable, turning to ask, “Have the people sent to investigate the Gate of Hell reported back? I want to see who in this world has the ability to break the seal set by the Holy Son back then.”
The leading deacon stepped forward cautiously, saluted, and replied, “Your Holiness, our people did find the one who broke the seal, but… by the time we found them, they were already a corpse.”
“A corpse?”
“Yes.”
The Pope furrowed his brow and asked, “Have you confirmed their identity?”
At this point, the deacon became even more hesitant: “We have basically confirmed it, but…”
“But what? Speak up.” The Pope’s tone grew impatient.
Unexpectedly, the deacon knelt down: “Your Holiness, that person… was a servant under my command, but Your Holiness, I swear, this matter has nothing to do with me! That servant was reclusive by nature, and I barely saw them a few times a year, I…”
“Enough.” The Pope seemed to have thought of something from his words, but was annoyed by the noise, so he simply interrupted, “You are pardoned, stand up.”
The deacon immediately stood up, expressing his gratitude profusely. Perhaps the Pope’s forgiveness relaxed him, and he grew bolder:
“Your Holiness, do you think this might be the work of the Archdeacon of Necromancy, trying to frame us?”
The Pope listened, casting a cold glance over, and the deacon immediately realized his mistake, quickly shutting his mouth.
But his speculation was not without reason.
Although the Pope held a high position within the church, there was still the Archdeacon of Necromancy, who had the power to convey holy decrees and interpret divine oracles, and dared to challenge him. For a long time, this had been a source of great frustration for the Pope.
Especially in recent years, the other party’s secretive actions had increased, and their intentions remained unclear. It was possible that releasing a demon was a deliberate ploy by the other party to seize power.
“It won’t be him.” The Pope stared at the bright red bloodstain not far away, pondered for a moment, and said, “That guy wouldn’t go to such extremes.”
…
The golden sun rotated to the west, gradually sinking into the earth, withdrawing its warm and gentle light.
Soon, night fell.
The sunrises and sunsets of Vancia were always beautiful. Before being locked in the iron cage of the temple, Salavira would always like to climb to a high building at sunset, quietly watching the sun set and the moon rise.
But now, even though the cage had been broken, he couldn’t see the sunrise or sunset.
Because there was no sun in Hell.
The sky here only had a blood moon, and beyond that, endless darkness.
Salavira was confined in a stone cell, the chains on his body removed, replaced by solidified shadows. Compared to the loose chains before, the shadows’ restraints were even more immobilizing.
The wounds on his body were crudely plugged by the shadows, and to be fair, the bleeding was effectively stopped. Before long, the unconscious person showed signs of waking.
Asmodeus sat quietly beside him, watching Salavira.
He was lost in confusion.
During the thousand years of being sealed, he had countless nightmares, dreaming of this person deceiving him, betraying him, and killing him with the bone sword forged from his rib.
He wanted nothing more than to skin this person alive.
But now, he had truly broken free from the seal, truly found the enemy he hated to the core, yet the other had become a fragile dodder flower, a plaything for humans to toy with.
Asmodeus suddenly felt that his revenge seemed meaningless.
Because it was too boring, because it was simply unnecessary.
Salavira, bound by shadows for a long time, gradually regained consciousness, but still appeared very weak, needing to catch his breath after moving slightly, lacking even the strength to lift his head.
The tentacle-like shadows quickly slid over, lifting his chin, forcing him to look in Asmodeus’s direction.
“Salavira.” Asmodeus stared at him for a long time without moving, then got up and walked closer, squatting down to look at him intently, “Tell me, how should I torture you to satisfy my hatred?”
Though he spoke these words, Asmodeus’s tone lacked the intense emotion from when he first saw Salavira, as calm as a still pond.
Salavira listened, weakly curling his lips: “What do you think?”
Asmodeus paused, perhaps not expecting this person to still be able to smile, and he narrowed his eyes: “There are many ways to torture someone in Hell. I could throw you into the fire, sink you into the water, bury you under a boulder to suffocate slowly, or simply toss you to those long-starved demons to be torn apart and eaten… Aren’t you afraid?”
“If I were afraid, would you let me go?”
Asmodeus was at a loss for words.
Indeed, no matter how disappointed he was, he wouldn’t just let Salavira go. Otherwise, he might as well have let him die in the temple, rather than going through the trouble of bringing him back.
But although he had saved him, he had no idea how to deal with this “enemy” he hated to the core. Salavira’s compliant attitude only made him feel like he was stepping on a cloud.
…Was he like this with those lowly humans too?
A dark thought crossed Asmodeus’s mind, and once it started, it was hard to stop.
Especially since the person in front of him was so close, this distance allowed Asmodeus to see every detail of the other’s body clearly.
Salavira was naturally very fair, whether it was his skin or hair, as clean and pure as moonlight falling at night. However, this fairness didn’t make his face look plain. On the contrary, Salavira had strikingly beautiful features, especially those eyes, a sky-like azure blue, truly captivating.
Asmodeus stared at this face for a while, then moved his gaze down a few inches, seeing the clothes humans had put on him, stained with blood, which was extremely unsightly!
“Rip—!!” The shadows moved with their master’s will, instantly tearing Salavira’s clothes to shreds.
The sudden action finally brought a hint of panic and bewilderment to Salavira’s face. This emotion, in turn, pleased the demon, who smiled and snapped his fingers—
The shadows moved accordingly, transforming into the shape of clothes and dressing Salavira.
Hmm, much more pleasing to the eye.
Asmodeus nodded slightly, admiring his “handiwork” for a moment, and an interesting thought suddenly crossed his mind.
“Tsk tsk, you’re so fragile. If I really tormented you like that, I’d soon have nothing left to play with. I might as well keep you by my side and torture you slowly.”
Salavira frowned slightly, not understanding Asmodeus’s veiled meaning.
But Asmodeus raised his hand, slowly tucking a stray lock of hair behind Salavira’s ear:
“Become my slave, Salavira.”