As the footsteps of the two cloaked figures faded into the distance, the echo of their boots gradually dissolved into silence. Cassandra remained still, her sharp gaze fixed on the door that had just closed again. Seconds ticked by, and when silence once more wrapped the corridor like a shroud, she knew the moment had come.
With a slow, controlled breath, Cassandra raised her hand. The dark aura cloaking her body began to dissipate. The camouflage spell that had merged her seamlessly with the shadows faded, revealing her presence once more in the darkness of the underground chamber.
"…It's time," she whispered.
Her eyes locked onto Eliana, who still hung helplessly, and she began to move—slowly, cautiously. She knew there could still be traps or surveillance spells lingering. But now, Cassandra was ready to take the next step, whether to save Eliana… or to delve deeper into the horrors of this cult.
She crept forward, each step silent, until she knelt in front of the bound girl. With gentle hands, she uncorked a small vial filled with a translucent purple liquid—a recovery potion of her own making—and tilted Eliana's head so she could drink it.
"Drink this… slowly," she murmured.
The potion trickled down Eliana's throat. Moments later, her ragged breathing began to steady. But as awareness returned, her eyes—those once-lively greenish-grey irises—snapped open in terror. Her body trembled at the sight of Cassandra before her, as if the figure standing there wasn't a savior, but something far more terrifying than her captors.
Cassandra wasn't surprised.
"Stay calm," she said—flat, but with a voice that brooked no argument. She raised one finger, placing it gently in front of her lips, and stared directly into Eliana's eyes.
"Don't listen to anything in this place. Leave the rest to me…"
In that moment, Cassandra's golden eyes flared like embers of hellfire, revealing the creature hidden beneath her human guise. Eliana held her breath, her pupils shrinking in dread. Not because Cassandra would harm her—but because she realized what truly stood before her: a being capable of devouring the cult's darkness whole.
A faint, chilling smile played on Cassandra's lips—not out of satisfaction, but because her plan had just begun.
Eliana gave a weak nod, though her body still trembled and her eyes remained hollow. The fear hadn't left her, but somehow, Cassandra's piercing, threatening gaze gave her a glimmer of hope. Without another word, Cassandra reached out and began unfastening the rusted chains that bound the girl's body. The sound of metal scraping echoed starkly through the damp, cold corridor.
Once free, Eliana nearly collapsed, but Cassandra caught her with swift grace. She didn't say much, merely nodding toward a large wooden chest in the corner of the room. "Hide in there. Don't come out until I return," she whispered—cold, but firm. Eliana obeyed, crawling into the chest and taking a deep breath, trying to suppress the panic clawing at her throat.
Cassandra closed the lid slowly, placing a small protective charm atop it—a relic of ancient magic she had mastered long ago. Once she was sure Eliana was safely hidden, she inhaled deeply and reactivated her Predator power. Her body shimmered into a veil of faint energy that blended perfectly with the darkness. Her presence vanished—visually, spiritually, even otherworldly creatures wouldn't sense her now.
Silently, she slipped through the narrow, dark corridors. Each step was precise, as if the ground and air themselves remembered her touch. The scent of old blood, damp mold, and burning wax filled the atmosphere. The air wasn't just thick with death, but with something older, something forbidden, something that existed long before humanity ever knew the light.
Cassandra moved through every branching path, her eyes scanning the symbols carved into the walls. She could feel the pulse of restrained magic surrounding the place—an ancient rite was being prepared, and Eliana had nearly become its final offering.
But now, the true predator had arrived. And that night, the silent forest above would witness a blood-soaked reckoning.
In one dimly lit chamber, the walls smeared with dried blood and black charcoal runes, Cassandra found something that seized her attention more than evidence. An ancient stone table sat in a corner, piled with worn documents and scrolls—and atop them lay a large, leather-bound tome. It looked grotesquely old, almost sentient in its menace.
Dust swirled as Cassandra touched it, and the moment she opened the first page, a strange scent hit her, ash, sulfur, and charred flesh. The pages were filled with arcane language and symbols only understood by those who had once walked hand in hand with true darkness.
One page bore a sigil resembling a circle of hell, with a crown and an inverted burning sun at its center. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, reading slowly, her lips mouthing the words inscribed in the parchment.
"The Call of me… fire aspect of the hell… the light of evil…"
Her voice was soft, but it echoed down the corridor, as if awakened from ages past.
"Bellion…" she whispered, and then, she grinned.
The name shook the air itself. Bellion, also known as Belial, one of Hell's most formidable demons, lord of unrelenting flame, able to reduce civilizations to ash with a single whisper. The ritual described in the book wasn't just a summoning, it was the unlocking of a gateway to destruction in the form of primordial fire.
Cassandra's eyes glowed faintly not from fear, but from desire. There was something in this darkness that stirred the deepest part of her being. Buried sins, forgotten secrets, and a power far beyond the reach of ordinary men.
Now, she stood at the threshold between duty and destiny, between salvation and damnation. Her lips curved into a thin smile, not of joy, but the smile of a hunter who had just found the most dangerous prey imaginable.
As her gaze traced page after page of the Devil's Bible, something inside Cassandra unlocked as if a tightly sealed gate had been blasted open by a flood of ancient memories and forbidden knowledge. In a blink, her mind raced forward, every symbol and sentence no longer foreign, but something she had read... or had been taught in a shadowed past she never dared to confess.
The chants, the pronunciations, the choreography of blood magic, the offerings required they all spun through her mind like a half-forgotten nightmare returning in vivid detail. She remembered the summoning circles, the meaning behind every glyph, and how the demon Bellion demanded not only sacrifice, but the free will of the summoner. Power came not only from blood, but from pure, untainted malice.
Cassandra closed the book slowly, her eyes now dim but glinting like smoldering coals.
Silently, she moved to the adjoining room. The decaying wooden door creaked open at her touch, leading her into a space colder, quieter… and more terrifying. The stench hit her immediately as the door opened fully. Inside, a grotesque collection of ritual tools lay waiting blood stored in glass vials, hearts still fresh, hair, human bones, and black magic sigils carved into human skin stretched like parchment.
But what made Cassandra pause for a brief moment was the pile of corpses in the corner of the room. Dozens of mutilated human bodies, each marked by a gruesome, painful death. Some had their mouths frozen in a final scream, others stared wide-eyed into the void eyes left open, as if they hadn't found peace even in death.
She looked at them, not with pity, but like an analyst solving a puzzle. Every cut, every severed limb had a pattern. This wasn't just a summoning ritual it was structured, deliberate. Perhaps to mimic the form of Bellion himself, or to reinforce the contract's binding through symbolism.
Cassandra exhaled softly and whispered,
"Looks like this cult went too far… and I do love a challenge."
Her steps grew steady again, pacing into another darkened section of the room. The hunt was far from over, and Cassandra wasn't nearly satisfied.
She began descending a moss-covered spiral staircase, each step muffled by her enchanted cloak. The stone steps were narrow and ancient, likely untouched for centuries. The deeper she went, the heavier the air became thick with dampness and the sharp, metallic tang of blood, merging with the suffocating darkness.
Dim torchlight flickered against the walls, casting shifting shadows that hinted at unseen movement. At the base of the stairs, Cassandra approached a corner and peered into a vast underground chamber. The ceiling stretched high, adorned with carvings of demons and ancient sigils glowing faintly with dark energy.
In the center of the room stood robed cultists in crimson, encircling a bloodstained altar, chanting in a language older than time the tongue of Hell.
At the altar's base, freshly slain corpses were stacked like offerings of flesh. One by one, the cultists began dismembering them, their chants growing louder, echoing words now all too familiar in Cassandra's mind:
"Ner'Ashtu Bel'Zar... May thy flame devour the heavens, Bellion, Rise..."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed, a faint gold light flickering within the shadows. She knew those words. They were part of the Grand Summoning Rite the very ritual she had just read in the Devil's Bible. Every cut, every drop of blood, every syllable... it was all aligned with the ancient invocation of Bellion, the primordial fire demon from the deepest layer of Hell.
There was no doubt now. This cult was trying to open the gate. They were trying to unleash Bellion's will upon the mortal world.
"So you really are trying to bring that monster into this world…" Cassandra muttered, almost in awe yet burning with a deep, smoldering fury.
Behind her calm facade, her heart surged with unrest. This was no longer just about rescuing Eliana. This was a mass sacrifice, a forbidden summoning, a catastrophe waiting to happen. And Cassandra knew if this ritual succeeded, even halfway the world as they knew it would be changed forever.
She took a deep breath, her hand reaching for the dagger. But before acting, she decided to observe a little longer.
Because in wars like this, information was far more valuable than bullets. And Cassandra wanted to know, just how deep the curse being awakened tonight truly was.
Tongues of flame erupted from within the summoning circle, licking the altar drenched in blood and scattered body parts. Explosions of magic and the screams of bound spirits echoed through the underground chamber, shaking its aged, crumbling stone walls. From within the blaze, a colossal figure began to take form—tall, twisted, with a burning body radiating heat like a damned sun.
It was Bellion.
The fire shaped into sharp horns upon his head, his face a mask of ember and wrath, devoid of human features. His eyes glowed a molten red-gold, like lava glaring from a hellish crater. In his hand, he held a massive sword forged from pure fire a blade that did not reflect light, but burned it.
The cultists immediately knelt, throwing themselves to the ground in worship and delusion.
"O eternal lord of fire… come forth and burn the lie they call 'truth'!" cried the cult leader, his voice trembling between fear and awe.
"God's truth is false!" shouted another. "We offer you our bodies, souls, and honor, Bellion!"
The demon slowly bowed, flames running down his body like molten magma. His voice emerged not from his mouth, but as if it echoed directly in their minds. Heavy. Slow. Bone-rattling.
"This offering... is small. I require more. Fire does not burn with ash."
Each word shook the air, pressing down on their chests like a hundred tons. Some followers screamed just from hearing that voice too closely, their ears bleeding. Yet they still bowed, still worshiped, still begged.
And Cassandra…
She stood there, only a few meters from the flames that birthed the demon, hidden within an advanced concealment technique. Her eyes stared directly at Bellion's face—the face of a true demon, a face likely seen by countless souls now erased from existence.
A faint smile touched Cassandra's lips.
"He hasn't noticed yet…" she whispered in her thoughts, her hand lowering slowly to her weapon's sheath.
She knew she didn't have much time. But she also knew something important:
Bellion might be the oldest fire demon from hell, but tonight… she was the hunter. And the night was far from over.
The cultists continued chanting their twisted prayers, begging for strength and blessings from the fiery entity they had just summoned Bellion, the demon of destruction from hell's deepest layer. But despite their prayers, Bellion only sat on his throne of glowing embers and human bones, his blazing eyes like twin red suns watching them without awe or interest. He knew… they were tools. Tiny flies begging to be sacrificed.
And that was when soundless footsteps slithered from the shadows.
Cassandra emerged. As if born from the darkness itself, her body merged with the void appearing in the center of the room, origin unknown. Bellion's flames flickered in surprise. The demon's voice thundered, dragged from the depths of the world's gut.
"You… human... how did you sneak in?!"
The underground chamber trembled slightly, as if every stone recognized the name just spoken. The cultists panicked, some reaching for weapons, but their movements halted when Bellion raised one fiery hand. A blade-shaped flame formed, not to strike, but to warn.
"Hold… do not touch her..."
Those blazing eyes stared at Cassandra, watching her intently and in the silence broken only by crackling fire, Bellion spoke again, softer, curious.
"You want to speak… I see it in your expression."
Cassandra didn't flinch. Her golden eyes reflected the firelight, challenging the demon's existence in return. Her body was calm, yet the aura surrounding her grew heavy, making some cultists shudder unconsciously. She didn't answer… not yet. But Bellion already sensed something unnatural. There was a reason he hadn't detected her presence earlier.
There was more than just a human… standing before him now.
And the demon knew, this night would not end as planned.
Cassandra remained silent. Her steps were slow, almost arrogant, as she approached the core flame where Bellion sat, flames not from this world, but from the depths of hell that devour existence itself.
With a casual motion, she pulled a cigarette from her pocket, placed it between her lips. She leaned in and without hesitation lit it using Bellion's own body.
Flick. The cigarette caught flame.
The first exhale blew smoke straight into the demon's face, forming a delicate ring that hovered mockingly before the creature of hell.
Silence. Tense.
One cultist, unable to contain his fury, took the act as blasphemy against his lord and screamed,
"You… you filthy wench!!"
He lunged at Cassandra, but before he could even cover half the distance, fire surged from below, consuming him in a single instant. There was no scream. No remains. Only dust.
Bellion still stared at Cassandra, his eyes narrowing, the fire on his face roaring wilder. But it was not rage, no. It was caution.
"You bear no mark of a devil's worship… nor of any god… And you are darker than the pit of hell itself..." Bellion muttered, his voice like suppressed embers growling.
He leaned back, yet his gaze never left the woman now standing before him, exhaling smoke like she was savoring a quiet morning.
"And you used hellfire to light your cigarette…? Intriguing, human." Bellion's tone now held both awe and discomfort, like an old god realizing he was witnessing something he could not control.
Cassandra only gave a faint smile. She hadn't said a word. But the room now felt like a battlefield before the war began.
And for the first time, a demon who had erased thousands of lives… sat in caution before a human.
The air grew heavier. Cassandra's cigarette smoke drifted slowly through an atmosphere thick with the scent of blood, corpses, and infernal flame.
Bellion's gaze sharpened. The fire on his body burned wilder, and around the altar, charred hands, once belonging to the sacrificed corpses, began to emerge. They crawled out of the flames, glowing embers in their joints, moving slowly but lethally.
"Who are you, human…?" Bellion's voice now plunged deeper, darker, rattling the black stones of the chamber. His glare burned not with mere fury, but something worse: a bruised ego.
Cassandra still didn't flinch. She raised one eyebrow, took another drag from her cigarette.
And with a calm tone, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, she replied softly, as if her words weren't worth being spoken aloud:
"Just a private detective."
Instantly, the fire-born hands shot from every corner, as if Bellion now wished to show that no human could ever mock an entity like him. The flames of the corpses formed a glowing ritual sigil around Cassandra.
But she did not flinch. Did not step back. Not even stubbed her cigarette.
Her gaze remained sharp.
In her silence, she flipped the scene. She was not the one under threat… but Bellion who now felt his pride challenged.
Because to a demon, nothing is more painful than being stared at… like an object.
And Cassandra had just stared at Bellion… like a boss eyeing a worthless employee.