Shouts echoed violently through the vast stone halls of Hades' stronghold, their fury bouncing endlessly off black stone pillars and vaulted ceilings carved with scenes of conquest and suffering. The air itself seemed to tremble with the king's rage. Servants fled into the shadows while lesser demons pressed themselves against the walls, careful not to draw attention in fear of the king's wrath.

At the center of the storm, weapons and communication devices shattered against the obsidian floor. Metal rang like bells of warning as they broke apart, their destruction serving as nothing more than an outlet for a temper that could not be contained.

"You dare return in defeat?!" The king's voice struck like a thunderclap. Though, it was not necessarily domination. Rather, it was merely noise that offended the ears.

Before the kneeling demon general could even answer, a powerful hand struck across his face. The sound cracked through the hall like a whip. The force of the blow snapped his head to the side, his body barely managing to remain upright through sheer discipline.

"You could not keep the tower," the king snarled, his voice dropping into something colder, more dangerous, "and you could not find the star!"

A strike to the face rarely drew blood from a demon of Aklys' rank. Aklys had endured countless battles, countless punishments, and had emerged unbroken. But, Aklys no longer possessed his prior strength. It had been sealed away, deemed forbidden. Aklys had become a threat, so he now was but a shadow of who he once was.

The metallic taste filled his mouth almost instantly. A thin line of blood slid from the corner of his lips before he forced himself to spit the small mouthful onto the polished floor rather than disgrace himself further by swallowing it. Despite the rage within him, Aklys did not look up. He did not wipe the blood away. He simply lowered his head further, his crimson eyes fixed on the cold stone beneath him as the king turned away in disgust and ascended the few steps leading to his towering throne.

The seat itself was a monument to domination, carved from bone-white stone and lined with dark metals that seemed to drink the light around them. The throne had been a new addition, created as a congratulatory statement to commemorate Vitrius' ascent to fulfill the role of Hades' ruler.

Silence followed Aklys' displacement of blood from his mouth. The silence was filled with uneasy anticipation for what was to come. Fear coiled in Aklys' chest when he heard the king issue a simple command to his guards. "Bring him."

Those two words were enough to make Aklys' stomach tighten. Aklys did not move, but his hands slowly curled into fists as dread began to bloom inside him. He already knew, he already feared his punishment. And the sound of dragging footsteps confirmed it.

The kneeling general forced his expression into stillness as an angel was hauled into the throne room like discarded cargo. The prisoner's body hung limp between the guards, his bare feet leaving faint streaks of blood across the dark stone as he was delivered roughly to the steps of the king's throne.

It took every ounce of Aklys' control not to react. Not to move. Not to betray himself. Though his memories of the angel were faint and glitchy, the emotion that stirred within Aklys held no lie to the depths of his despair.

The angel gave a weak grunt of pain when the king kicked him without hesitation, as though testing whether he was still alive just for the fun of it. Blood seeped from countless wounds carved into pale flesh. Bruises darkened his skin like storm clouds, while older cuts had already begun to split open again from fresh torment. The once luminous silver-blue of his hair was now tangled and stained crimson, dulling its celestial beauty.

His lips were parted slightly, breath shallow and uneven. His brows were drawn together even in near unconsciousness, his body unable to forget the pain inflicted upon it.

"Rion...!" The name escaped Aklys before he could stop it, horror threading through his voice. Seeing the actaeon like this tore through him far more brutally than the king's strike ever could. Rion. The actaeon was broken and bleeding, but still alive.

"We had a deal," the king growled, his eyes narrowing as he watched Aklys carefully. With a simple gesture, he summoned one of the guards forward. The demon obeyed immediately, stepping toward Rion and grabbing him mercilessly by his blood-stained hair. The actaeon's head was jerked back, exposing his throat as a sharp dagger was pressed against his skin.

The cold steel drew a thin line of red instantly. Rion's eyes flickered open slowly, heavy with pain but still burning with defiance. Golden-honey irises met Aklys' gaze for only a second, but it was enough to shatter whatever composure the demon had left. Realizing Rion stood on the edge of execution because of his own failure, Aklys bowed lower.

"I will find him!" Aklys vowed quickly, the words edged with desperation he could not fully hide. "I will deliver the star to you. Please...grant me another day."

The throne room went still. The king watched Aklys in silence, weighing the request and measuring the value of mercy against the satisfaction of cruelty. His fingers drummed slowly against the arm of his throne, and finally, he spoke. "Bring him to be before the blood sun. And keep in mind...I need that star specifically."

Aklys bowed his head deeper. "Yes, sire."

"I would advise you to hurry," the king continued, irritation creeping back into his tone. "I am losing my patience. He has already transferred five angels!" Vitrius' hand gestured sharply toward Rion's battered form. "How many more angels will I lose before the blood sun?!"

Despite everything, despite the blade still at his throat, a small smirk formed on Rion's lips. It was weak and exhausted, but it was unmistakably defiant. If he had the strength, Rion would have spoken the insult aloud. Instead, his eyes carried the message clearly enough.

Fuck you. Though his body was failing, his will remained unbroken. I will transfer all the angels you drag down here Vitrius, he promised silently. Even if it means I die when the blood sun rises.

The dagger pressed slightly deeper before finally pulling away once Aklys' promise had been accepted. A thin cut remained across Rion's throat, bright red against his pale skin. A pained groan slipped from Rion as the guards seized him again and dragged him away without regard for his broken body. His fingers twitched weakly against the floor as he disappeared from view.

Aklys watched him go, helpless and silent. Every instinct screamed at him to intervene. To fight. To burn the entire throne room down. But he did nothing. Because one wrong move would mean Rion's immediate death, and he no longer possessed the strength or memories that were needed to free the imprisoned actaeon. The only thing Aklys knew was the actaeon's name and the pain and despair that consumed him upon seeing Rion's broken body.

So, Aklys memorized the sight instead. He burned the way Rion had looked at him into his mind, so that he could never forget the way Rion had endured. Endured everything, the pain, the torment, and the longing and heartbreak of losing your most loved one to a greedy king, who had sealed Aklys' memories and power during his most vulnerable state.

Then he forced himself to rise and back out of the room, his face once again becoming the mask expected of a general of Hades.

"Aklys!" The call broke through his thoughts as he stepped into the dim hallway beyond the throne room. A younger demon hurried toward him, worry written plainly across his face. "What did he say?" Bomihn asked upon reaching his general.

"He gave me until the blood sun," Aklys replied while turning toward the younger demon.

Relief flickered across Bomihn's expression. "That's good. What are you going to do?"

Aklys' expression hardened. The softness from moments ago vanished, replaced by something sharp and immovable. "I'm going to find the star," he said firmly. "Ready my men. We leave in two hours."

Bomihn straightened immediately. "Yes, general." He rushed off without another word, his footsteps fading quickly into the darkness. Aklys remained behind, just for a moment. And then he heard it. A cry of pain, faint but unmistakable, rising from the prison levels far beneath where he stood.

It was a cry he had heard many a time upon waking up to find himself pinned under Vitrius' control. It was a cry he had etched into his heart and allowed it to haunt his dreams. It was Rion.

Aklys' hands clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. "Hold on, Rion," he whispered to the empty corridor. "Please...hold on."

For a brief moment, his composer threatened to crack. But he swallowed the emotion and turned sharply, his fists clenched tightly as he strode toward preparation. He would return, that was certain. And when he did, it would be with the star. No matter what it cost him, he would find the star and deliver them to Vitrius, even if he had to tear fate itself apart to do it.