novelraw Chapter 438: The Underworld
Chapter 438: The Underworld
Vincent/Vaelthor/Star
The vortex spat us out like unwanted refuse, and the world reformed around Nicholas and me in a haze of sulfurous smoke and echoing snarls. My head throbbed from the chaotic pull of the portal, but I forced myself to focus, shadows instinctively curling around my fists like protective gloves. We were in the heart of the demon realm's throne room—a cavernous hall carved from obsidian veins that pulsed with unholy light, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid burn of brimstone. Torches flickered in sconces shaped like screaming skulls, casting jagged shadows that danced across the walls like mocking specters. High above, the ceiling arched into infinity, dotted with glowing red crystals that mimicked a hellish starry sky.
The demons who had dragged us here—those hulking brutes with leathery wings and horns twisted like thorns—shoved us forward onto the cold, uneven stone floor. Chains rattled around our wrists, forged from dark iron that bit into my skin, suppressing my powers just enough to make escape a grind. Nicholas growled beside me, his hybrid form partially shifted, fangs bared and eyes glowing with that feral vampire-werewolf fire. He looked ready to rip throats, and honestly, so was I. But fear? No, that wasn't in the cards. We knew the cavalry was coming—Grandpa Rayma, Mom Natalie, Katrina, even Dad Zane and the whole divine posse. They'd sense the trouble like a cosmic alarm bell. This was just a temporary detour into stupidity.
The moment my eyes landed on the demon they dragged us before, my mind shattered open. Memories I didn't even realize were missing came crashing back all at once, like a dam finally giving way. I remembered everything.
I remembered him.
Krelth Moraith—my mother's younger brother. A title that should've meant family, but in his hands had always meant cruelty. He hated Sylthara and me with a venom so deep it felt personal, as though our very existence offended him. To Krelth, we weren't kin; we were filth. Sewer rats to be broken, bled, and tortured until death felt like mercy. He had made sure we understood that, again and again.
There he was now, sprawled across his throne like the bloated tyrant he'd always been. His massive body sagged into the seat, wrapped in blackened silk robes stitched with runes that didn't just glow—they writhed, slithering over the fabric like living serpents. His skin was a sickly, mottled crimson, stretched tight over layers of excess, and his horns curled back from his forehead in arrogant, self-indulgent spirals. When his gaze met mine, those yellow, slit-pupiled eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction—like he'd been waiting for this moment his entire miserable life.
And of course, he wasn't alone.
Xyra sat beside him, his mate, coiled close like a beautifully lethal mistake. Her lithe form barely touched the throne, all sharp angles and restrained violence. Scales shimmered beneath the torchlight as she smiled—if you could call it that. Her lips were perpetually curled in a sneer, just enough to reveal venom-dripping fangs, her expression promising pain with unsettling enthusiasm.
The throne room itself was a festering spectacle. Demons crowded every inch of it—squat imps whispering and giggling to themselves, towering brutes looming like living walls of muscle and horn. They leered openly, claws tapping, jaws snapping, eyes bright with anticipation. The air buzzed with hunger, malice, and the unspoken certainty that whatever came next would be entertaining—for them.
For me, it felt like being dragged straight back into a nightmare I had never truly escaped.
"Ah, Vaelthor," Krelth boomed, his voice echoing off the walls like thunder in a crypt. He leaned forward, a cruel smile splitting his face, revealing rows of jagged teeth. "Look what the portal dragged in. My wayward nephew, back in chains where he belongs. I must say, it's been far too long since I had the pleasure of breaking you."
I straightened up as much as the chains allowed, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Uncle Krelth. Still squatting on my mother's throne like the parasite you are? I see nothing's changed—except maybe you've gotten fatter."
The room erupted in murmurs, but Krelth just threw his head back and laughed, a guttural rumble that shook the crystals overhead. "Oh, the audacity! But look at you, boy—hiding behind that pathetic human glamour. What is this? Pale skin, those ridiculous soft features? You look like one of those surface-dwelling worms. Pathetic!"
Laughter exploded from the crowd, a cacophony of hisses, snarls, and bellows that filled the hall like a storm. Demons pointed at me, their claws gleaming, mocking my appearance with crude gestures. "He thinks he's one of them!" one shouted. "Little Vaelthor, playing pretend!"
Xyra slithered forward from her seat, her eyes narrowing with wicked amusement. She raised a hand, and a surge of dark energy crackled from her fingertips—twisted magic that clawed at my illusion like invisible talons. I felt it rip through me, forcing my form to shift against my will. My skin darkened to its true demonic hue, a deep obsidian veined with shadows; horns sprouted from my forehead, curling elegantly; wings unfurled at my back with a leathery snap. The change burned, but I bit down on the pain, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a grimace.
"There," Xyra purred, stepping back to admire her work, her laughter tinkling like shattered glass. "Much better on the eyes. You were always such a pretty little demon, Vaelthor. Why hide it? Afraid the surface folk would scream at your true face?"
Krelth chuckled, clapping his hands in mock applause. "Indeed, my love. Wanting to look like those weaklings up there? It's laughable. You've forgotten your place, nephew. Down here, we don't mimic the light—we crush it."
The crowd roared with laughter again, the sound pounding against my eardrums like war drums. Nicholas shot me a sideways glance, his chains clinking as he shifted. "These clowns think this is funny? Wait till they meet the family reunion."
I smirked despite the situation. "Yeah, they're in for a show."
Krelth's expression darkened, his smugness twisting into command. He waved a clawed hand at his goons—four massive demons with muscles like knotted ropes and eyes burning with sadistic hunger. "Enough chatter. Remind these fools of their station. Beat them until they beg."
The goons advanced, cracking their knuckles with pops that echoed like breaking bones. The first one lunged at me, his fist slamming into my gut with demonic force, driving the air from my lungs. I staggered but didn't fall, shadows flickering weakly against the chains. Another grabbed Nicholas, pummeling his ribs with blows that would shatter mortal bones. Nick grunted, blood trickling from his lip, but he spat it out with a defiant grin, regenerating almost instantly thanks to his hybrid blood.
They kept at it—fists, claws, even a whip of shadow that lashed across my back, tearing fabric and skin. Pain flared hot and bright, but fear? Not a trace. I knew help was coming. As the beating paused, the goons stepping back to catch their breath, I wiped blood from my mouth and locked eyes with Krelth.
"Listen up, Uncle," I said, my voice steady, laced with that dangerous charm I'd honed over the years. "Out of courtesy—and trust me, you don't deserve it—I'm giving you one chance. Think twice before you lay another finger on us. I'm not the scared kid who fled this hellhole eight months ago. Release us, take us back to the surface, or you'll regret it. Deeply."
Krelth stared at me for a beat, then burst into laughter so loud it made the throne tremble. Xyra joined in, her high-pitched cackle slicing through the air like a blade. The entire hall followed suit—hundreds of demons howling, slapping their thighs, some even doubling over in hysterics. "Regret it?" Krelth wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Oh, Vaelthor, you've grown bold in your exile. But bold words from a chained pup mean nothing."
Xyra leaned in, her voice dripping with venom. "He's bluffing, my king. Look at him—still the weakling we tormented."
Krelth nodded, signaling his men again. "Beat them harder this time. Break their spirits."
The goons charged back in, fists flying. One cracked Nicholas across the jaw, sending him sprawling, while another kicked me in the ribs, the impact rattling my bones. But we held our ground, grunting through the pain, our eyes meeting in silent agreement. No fear. Just patience.
As they paused again, Krelth rose from his throne, striding down the steps with predatory grace. He loomed over me, his breath hot and foul like rotting meat. "You know what, nephew? I'm going to enjoy this. I'll lock you away in the deepest pits, torture you and your little friend here for eternity. Endless pain, day after day. And as for your sister, Sylthara? My men will scour every realm until they find her. Then, I'll gift her to them—as a breeding tool for the next generation of loyal demons. She'll scream, but she'll serve."
That did it. Rage ignited in my chest like a inferno, shadows surging against the chains despite their suppression. Nicholas visibly shook beside me, his body trembling not from fear, but from barely contained fury. His claws extended, scraping against the stone, and a low growl rumbled from his throat like distant thunder. The demons misinterpreted it, of course—one of them snickered, "Look, the hybrid quakes in terror!"
"Idiots," Nicholas muttered under his breath, his dark eyes blazing. "You have no idea what's coming."
I took a deep breath, centering myself amid the pain and anger. Then, calmly, I tilted my head back and called out, not to anyone in the room, but to the void beyond. "Dad," I said, my voice clear and unwavering, staring straight at Krelth. "I need your help. Find me and Nicholas—right now."
Krelth blinked, confusion flickering across his smug face. Then he laughed again, harder this time, clutching his sides. "Dad? What nonsense is this, Vaelthor? Have you forgotten? You have no father. Your pathetic sire, was probably a nobody your mother chose to breed with and abandon. And thanks to those surface goons, she's also gone and here we are. So, who are you calling to? Ghosts?"
Xyra cackled, leaning on Krelth's arm. "He's delirious from the beating! Poor little orphan, crying for a daddy that doesn't exist."
The hall dissolved into uproarious laughter once more—demons howling, pointing, some even mimicking my call in high-pitched mockery. "Dad! Oh, Dad, save me!" one jeered. Nicholas and I just stood there, enduring the ridicule, our expressions stone-cold. They had no clue.
Then, abruptly, the laughter faltered. The air in the throne room shifted, growing thick and charged, like the moment before a storm unleashes hell. A brilliant light erupted from nowhere, piercing the gloom like a divine spear, blinding the demons who shielded their eyes with snarls of pain. Simultaneously, an inky darkness bloomed beside it, swallowing the torchlight and plunging parts of the hall into absolute void.
The two forces coalesced, and there they stood: Rayma, my grandfather, the neutral force of creation itself, his form shifting between sunlit warmth and shadowy depth, eyes like swirling galaxies. Beside him, Shadow—my father—emerged from the darkness, his godly essence unchained, tendrils of eternal night coiling around him like loyal hounds. The room fell silent, the smug grins evaporating into wide-eyed terror.