Chapter 111: Guilt

Chapter 111: Chapter 111: Guilt

The spell was forming above them. Theon could feel it building, could sense the terrible pressure of magical energy condensing into something that would annihilate everything in its path. His body screamed in protest as he forced himself upright, NIVARETH’S weight familiar in his grip despite the exhaustion that threatened to drag him back to the ground.

But something stopped him. Something made him look up at the figure hovering above them—the ancient evil who had orchestrated everything, who had manipulated the world for a thousand years, who had just revealed that Aldric was nothing more than a disposable puppet.

"Why?" Theon’s voice tore from his throat, raw and desperate. "Why are you trying so hard to kill me? What is you real goal?"

The question hung in the air, carried by the wind that swept across the devastated battlefield. Dust swirled around them, remnants of the destruction that had come before, and the light of the dying day painted everything in shades of orange and crimson.

Asmodeus paused. The spell that had been forming above him stopped growing, held in suspension as if the Primordial Demon himself was considering the question with genuine interest. His eyes, ancient and cold, settled on Theon with an intensity that made the air itself seem to grow heavy.

"When you were born."

Asmodeus’s voice was calm. So calm that it somehow made the words more terrifying, more weighted with meaning. There was no anger in his tone, no frustration—just the patient explanation of someone who had been waiting centuries to deliver this revelation.

Theon remained silent. His eyes narrowed slightly, his grip on NIVARETH tightening as he braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"When you first entered this world, I tried to place a spell on you."

The words struck Theon like a physical blow. A spell? On him? *At the moment of his birth?* His mind raced, trying to understand the implications, trying to piece together fragments of knowledge that had always seemed just out of reach.

"A spell?" Theon repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes." Asmodeus nodded, his expression remaining composed. "I have done this countless times before, you see. I have reached out to newborns across the world, planting seeds of influence that would grow over time. Seeds that would make them my servants, my tools, my puppets. The process is simple, really. A fragment of my will, inserted into the mind of a child before they have developed any resistance. They grow up believing their thoughts are their own, never suspecting that every decision, every ambition, every desire has been carefully shaped by my influence."

Theon’s blood ran cold. He thought of all the people Asmodeus must have touched over the centuries—leaders, warriors, scholars, all of them unknowingly serving the will of a hidden master. The scale of the manipulation was almost incomprehensible.

"But you," Asmodeus continued, his gaze settling directly on Theon, "your will resisted it."

Theon felt his eyes widen slightly. His mind flashed back to the moment of his birth, to the helplessness of a newborn child who should have been vulnerable to any magical influence. And yet—

*This body’s willpower had resisted Asmodeus even when it had just been born.*

The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow. He had been protected from the very beginning. Something about him, something inherent in his existence, had been strong enough to repel the influence of a Primordial Demon.

"That was when I realized something," Asmodeus said, his voice dropping slightly, losing some of its practiced calm. "You were different."

Theon said nothing. There was nothing to say. Every word that fell from Asmodeus’s lips was like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples outward that changed everything Theon thought he knew.

"You could become the only being capable of stopping me."

The words hung over the battlefield, heavy with meaning. Theon stared at the figure above him, at the ancient enemy who had just admitted to fearing him.

*The only being capable of stopping him?

The thought was almost too large to grasp. Theon had always known he was powerful—he had felt it in his bones, had seen it in the fear of his enemies and the loyalty of his allies. But to be capable of stopping someone like Asmodeus? Someone who had survived for thousands of years, who had manipulated civilizations from the shadows, who had died and been reborn more times than he could count?

"That is why you have to die," Asmodeus continued, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "Not because of anything you have done. Not because of anything you might do. But because of what you could become. What you are capable of becoming."

Theon’s expression hardened. His jaw tightened, and something that had been buried deep within him began to surface—a defiance that refused to bow to fear, a determination that would not be broken by the weight of impossible odds.

"Just because I could one day surpass you," Theon said, his voice rising with barely contained fury, "now I have to die?"

Asmodeus did not look away. His ancient eyes held Theon’s gaze, and for a moment, the mask of calm composure slipped, revealing something underneath—something that might have been concern, or fear, or something else entirely.

"Your existence could destroy the balance of the entire world," Asmodeus said. "You are a variable I cannot control, a factor I cannot predict. Everything I have built over the course of millennia—every empire I have toppled, every civilization I have manipulated, every life I have touched—it could all come undone because of you."

Then a voice cut through the tension.

"You said the something similar back then too Asmodeus " Silver said

"The Void Born went berserk didn’t he. Now you understand what happens when you don’t believe me" Asmodeus replied with a angry voice.

Silence followed.

Theon slowly processed those words. His existence. His power. His potential. Asmodeus had feared him from the moment he was born. The Primordial Demon, the ancient evil who had been manipulating empires behind the shadows, had looked at a newborn child and seen something that terrified him.

Theon remained silent, but inside, something was shifting. The weight of the revelation settled over him, not as a burden, but as a foundation—something solid to build upon.

*I’m not just a survivor. I’m not just a warrior. I’m something more. Something that could change everything.*

In that moment, he understood that his importance was far greater than he had ever imagined. The battles he had fought, the enemies he had defeated, the allies he had gathered—they were not random occurrences. They were part of something larger, something that had been set in motion before he was even born.

---

"Now," Asmodeus said, his voice returning to its earlier calm, "I believe we were discussing your imminent death—"

But before he could finish the sentence, movement caught Theon’s attention.

Noel.

The former friend, the betrayer, the boy who had tried to kill Lyra moments before—he had risen from the rubble where Theon had thrown him. His ribs were shattered, his breathing ragged, but there was still enough hate in his eyes to fuel his movements.

He was looking at Lyra.

Theon saw it happen in slow motion—Noel pushing himself upright, his hand reaching for a weapon that was no longer there, his body lunging forward with the last remnants of his strength. He was going for her, going to try to take her with him, going to—

"Don’t."

Ifrith’s voice cut through the air like a blade. The ancient being had sensed the movement before anyone else had, his head snapping toward Noel with an expression of pure fury. In the next instant, he moved.

The strike that followed was not a spell. It was not a weapon. It was simply Ifrith, moving with speed that belied his battered condition, slamming into Noel with the force of a falling star.

The impact was devastating. Noel’s body was launched through the air, his already-broken ribs shattering further under the assault. He crashed into the ground with a sound that made Theon wince—the wet, sickening crunch of bone against stone, the desperate gasp of lungs that could no longer draw breath.

Noel lay in the crater his body had made, barely conscious, barely alive.

Ifrith moved toward him again. There was no hesitation in his step, no mercy in his eyes. He was going to finish what he had started, going to make sure that Noel would never threaten anyone again.

"Enough."

Asmodeus’s voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—something that made Ifrith stop in his tracks. The Primordial Demon descended, landing between Ifrith and Noel, his body positioned protectively over the fallen assassin.

"This is between us," Ifrith snarled, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. "This has nothing to do with him. Step aside."

"No."

Ifrith’s expression hardened. His fists clenched, and the air around him began to shimmer with heat—the first sign that the ancient being was losing control of his temper.

"This has nothing to do with him," Ifrith repeated, each word forced through gritted teeth. "He’s nothing. A tool. A pawn. He means nothing to you or to anyone else. Let me finish this."

Asmodeus did not move. His eyes met Ifrith’s, and there was something in them—not anger, not contempt, but something worse. Pity.

"You still haven’t changed," Asmodeus said softly.

Ifrith’s expression shifted. The anger was still there, burning bright, but something else flickered beneath it—something that looked almost like shame.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time you lost control?" Asmodeus continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "The last time you let your rage consume you?"

Ifrith became silent. His hands, still clenched into fists, began to tremble.

"You destroyed an entire empire," Asmodeus said, each word landing like a blow. "You killed countless people. Men, women, children—none of them meant anything to you in that moment. They were just collateral damage, victims of your inability to control yourself."

Ifrith’s eyes lowered. The memories of what had happened weighed heavily on him—the screams, the fire, the endless expanse of destruction that had followed in his wake. He had tried to forget, had tried to bury it deep, but the guilt had never truly faded.

"You killed them because you sealed your own power," Asmodeus continued, his voice rising slightly. "Because you couldn’t handle what you were, what you had become. So you locked it away, wrapped it in chains of your own making, and convinced yourself that you were better than what you truly were."

Ifrith said nothing. His head slowly lowered, his shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible weight. The ancient enemy standing before him was reminding him of something he had never truly escaped—his own past, his own destruction, his own guilt.

"You were afraid of yourself," Asmodeus said, his voice dropping to something almost gentle. "So you crippled yourself. And in doing so, you doomed everyone around you."

Ifrith’s fists tightened until his knuckles went white. But he did not raise his head. He could not meet Asmodeus’s eyes, could not face the accusation that he knew was true.

"Do you know what I think?" Asmodeus continued, his voice shifting, becoming something colder. "I think the only reason you’re still alive is because you’re too afraid to face what you’ve done. So you keep fighting, keep pretending, keep telling yourself that if you just destroy enough enemies, you can somehow erase the past."

Ifrith flinched as if struck.

"But we both know the truth, don’t we?" Asmodeus’s voice was almost kind now, which somehow made it worse. "No matter how many enemies you kill, no matter how many battles you win, you’ll never undo what you did. The empire you destroyed is gone. The people you killed are never coming back. And you—you’re just a broken old man who can’t accept that he was the villain in his own story."

The silence that followed was absolute. Theon stood frozen, watching the confrontation unfold, unable to look away from the ancient pain that was being laid bare before him.

Then Asmodeus turned, his gaze settling on Theon with something that might have been curiosity.

"I wager even your, little master, don’t know about it," Asmodeus said, his voice carrying a hint of dark amusement. "The secrets you keeps buried. The guilt you carries. The truth of what happened when the world was young and you were something far different than what you pretend to be now."

Theon looked at Ifrith—at the ancient being who had been his guide, his ally, his friend. He had always known that Ifrith carried secrets, that there was more to his past than he was willing to share. But this—this was something else entirely.

Ifrith stood before Asmodeus with his head lowered, his body trembling, his fists still clenched. The anger that had been burning in his eyes was gone now, replaced by something far more painful. Shame. Regret. A burden that had been weighing on him for longer than any human could truly comprehend.

The battlefield remained silent. The wind had died down, leaving only the heavy stillness of a world that was holding its breath.

Ifrith looked up. His eyes met Asmodeus’s, and for a moment, the ancient conflict between them was no longer about power or revenge or any of the things that had come before.

It was about what Ifrith had done. What he had become. And the guilt he had carried ever since.

"You always were good at finding the wounds," Ifrith said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That’s what made you so dangerous. Not your power. Not your magic. Just your ability to know exactly where to strike."

Asmodeus inclined his head, accepting the compliment as if it were his due.

"If you expect me to apologize for what I did," Asmodeus said, "you will be disappointed. The empire I destroyed—the people I killed—they were obstacles. Nothing more. The world is full of obstacles, voidborn. The only question is whether you have the courage to remove them."

Ifrith’s expression hardened. The shame was still there, the guilt still heavy, but something else was rising to the surface—a defiance that had been buried for centuries, waiting for the moment when it could finally be unleashed.

"The difference between you and me," Ifrith said slowly, "is that I regret what I did. I carry it with me every day. It’s a burden, yes, but it’s also a reminder. A reminder of what I was, what I could become again. And that reminder keeps me from crossing the line you crossed centuries ago."

Asmodeus was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled—a cold expression that held no warmth at all.

"How noble of you," he said. "How virtuous. I’m sure that will be a great comfort to all the people you killed."

Ifrith did not respond. He simply stood there, facing his ancient enemy, carrying the weight of a thousand years of guilt and regret.

And Theon watched, understanding for a split seconds that the battle before them was about far more than just survival. It was about redemption. About coming to terms with the past. About facing the monsters that lived inside all of them—not just the ones that walked the world above.

"I’ll tell you what," Asmodeus said, his voice returning to its earlier calm. "Let’s make a deal. You and I, Ifrith. Settle this once and for all. No interference, no tricks—just the two of us, the way it was always meant to be."

Ifrith’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of deal?"

"The kind that ends with one of us dead," Asmodeus replied simply. "I’ve been patient long enough. I’ve waited centuries for this moment. And I think"—he paused, his eyes gleaming with something that might have been anticipation—"I’ve finally found the right time to end our little disagreement."

The challenge hung in the air, ancient and terrible.

Ifrith looked at Theon. Looked at Lyra. Looked at lazaria and silver and seraphina and then the battlefield that had been torn apart by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

Then he turned back to Asmodeus.

"Fine," he said. "Let’s end this."

Theon stepped forward, NIVARETH raised. "Wait—"

"Please stay out of this master," Ifrith said, his voice flat. "You have your own battles to fight, your own destiny to fulfill. This one is mine."

Asmodeus smiled. "That’s the spirit. I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve entirely."

"Shut up," Ifrith snarled. "And prepare to die."