CHAPTER 21 – THE DEVIL'S OFFER
The room fell silent.
Kael stood over Erebus' dissolving body, chest rising and falling, the corruption still flickering through his veins like black lightning. His hands trembled—not from weakness, but from what he had just allowed himself to become. The Punisher sigil across his arm burned with a violent glow, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
But then…
A clap echoed across the chamber. Slow. Mocking. Too confident.
Kael turned sharply.
From the far end of the ruined cathedral chamber, the air twisted into a spiral of smoke. Shadows stitched themselves together like threads weaving their own flesh. The temperature plummeted, frost forming on the broken marble floor.
A figure stepped out.
Tall. Cloaked in abyssal black. Skin pale like moonlit stone. Horns coiled slightly from his temples—more elegant than monstrous. His long hair flowed like a river of ink, splitting into wisps of smoke at the ends.
His eyes were the worst part—two endless voids, swirling with galaxies of corrupted stars.
Kael recognized him instantly.
Every demon did.
Every human whispered his name in fear.
Lucithor.
The Devil Prince.
The one who owned the Devil's Choice.
The real mastermind behind Kael Riven's fall and rise.
"Impressive," Lucithor said, voice smooth as silk yet heavy enough to crush bone. "You defeated Erebus without fully losing yourself. The other candidates could never even withstand his presence."
Kael tightened his grip on his blade. "Then you should have picked one of them."
Lucithor smiled.
"Oh, but Kael… you misunderstand." He stepped forward. "You weren't chosen because you were the strongest. You were chosen because you were the only one broken enough to accept what was coming."
Kael felt a chill down his spine.
Lucithor waved a hand, and the corruption inside Kael's veins suddenly sparked violently, like lightning being twisted by invisible fingers.
Kael dropped to one knee, teeth grinding. "S-Stop—"
"I'm not hurting you," Lucithor said calmly. "I'm reminding you who truly holds that power you wield."
Kael fought against the invisible pressure until the sigils finally dimmed, releasing him. He forced himself back to his feet.
Lucithor studied him closely. "Tell me, Punisher… do you know why Erebus couldn't kill you?"
Kael remained silent.
"Because his authority ends at fear," Lucithor continued, circling him like a predator. "But you, Kael Riven, do not fear death. You fear becoming the very monster you hunt."
Kael's fist clenched. "Get to the point."
"The point," Lucithor said, stopping in front of him, eyes glowing with nightmarish brilliance, "is that the Devil's Choice was only the beginning. You've tasted power—true power. But what you wield now? It's nothing compared to the throne I offer you."
Kael froze.
"Throne?"
Lucithor lifted his hand, and reality around them peeled back like torn curtains. Kael suddenly stood in a burning wasteland suspended in the void—corpses of fallen kings, angels, demons all impaled on obsidian spikes.
Above them, a massive throne made of chained stars glowed with unbearable power.
"The Devil's Throne," Lucithor whispered, voice trembling in reverence. "A seat only the worthy can claim. My time is ending. I need a successor. A war is coming that will crush the weak and reshape the worlds."
He looked Kael in the eyes.
"I choose you."
Kael's breath stopped.
He spoke slowly. "Why me?"
Lucithor smiled faintly. "Because you have something no demon lord, no fallen hero, no archangel possesses."
Kael waited.
Lucithor leaned close enough for Kael to see the swirling galaxies in his void-eyes.
"You can hate without losing yourself."
Kael stepped back. "I'm not becoming your puppet."
"A puppet?" Lucithor laughed softly. "No, Kael. You're becoming a ruler."
The illusion faded—they were back in the cathedral ruins. Lucithor flicked his fingers, and Erebus' remaining essence condensed into a black sphere, which hovered above Kael's palm.
Shard of a Fallen Horror. Pure power. Enough to destroy armies.
"Consume it," Lucithor said, "and ascend to the next stage."
Kael looked at the hovering essence… then at Lucithor.
"What happens if I refuse?"
Lucithor's face remained calm. Too calm.
"If you refuse, Kael Riven… then everything you fought to protect will burn. The demons already know your name. Hunters already fear the power you possess. And above all—"
He snapped his fingers.
A vision exploded before Kael:
His mother, screaming.
His sister, crying and searching for him.
Rin, standing over a blood-soaked battlefield.
The world collapsing into a war of angels, demons, and monsters.
Then darkness.
Lucithor's voice echoed:
"—the war will come faster, and the only people strong enough to stand against it… will slaughter each other."
Kael staggered.
It wasn't just a threat.
It was the truth.
A prophecy wrapped in violence.
Lucithor extended a hand.
"Take the shard, Kael. Take the throne. And choose what kind of devil you will become."
Kael raised his eyes.
"Why give me a choice at all?"
Lucithor's smile slowly vanished.
"Because the Devil's Throne rejects the unwilling. You must choose it—not because you crave power, but because you accept the role."
Kael stared down at the swirling black sphere above his palm.
He hated demons.
He hated Lucithor.
He hated the corruption in his veins.
But he hated one thing more—
The idea of losing the people he still had left.
Slowly… painfully… Kael closed his fingers around the shard.
Lucithor's eyes gleamed in triumph—
But Kael didn't consume it.
He crushed it in his hand.
Energy detonated, shaking the entire chamber. Lucithor staggered back in shock as Kael forced the corrupted essence outward, ripping it apart with raw will.
"No," Kael said, voice calm but deadly. "I'm not your prince."
The sigils on his arm blazed with unholy blue and silver fire.
"But I will use your power."
He stepped forward, eyes burning.
"And I'll decide what the devil's choice means."
Lucithor stared at him—silent, unreadable.
Then…
He smiled.
"Very well… Kael Riven."
The ground cracked beneath his feet as the Devil Prince began to fade into shadow.
"Let us see," Lucithor whispered, his voice echoing like a prophecy, "whether your defiance becomes salvation… or damnation."
Darkness swallowed him.
Kael stood alone. Breathing hard. Shaking—but standing.
The Devil hadn't been defeated.
The war hadn't even begun.
But the Devil's Choice?
Kael had finally made his own.
---