A bitter, biting force that clawed at Belial's skin as he leaned against the jagged stone of the entrance. His violet hair whipped across his face, strands catching in the stubble of his jaw, but he made no move to tame it.
His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where gray, mist-choked mountains loomed like silent sentinels. The world beyond seemed to blur into nothingness, a canvas of desolation that mirrored the turmoil roiling within him.
He hadn't wanted any of this. Not the fracture, not the betrayal, not the sudden, jagged severance of bonds he'd once thought unbreakable. Belial's hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms until he felt the sharp sting of blood. The pain was grounding, a tether to the present when his mind threatened to spiral into the past.
Xin.
The name burned in his thoughts, a wound that refused to close. Why had it been Xin, of all people, to turn on him? Xin, who had fought beside him through blood-soaked fields, who had shared the weight of survival when the world seemed intent on crushing them both. Belial had never questioned Xin's loyalty...not until now.
The memory of their confrontation replayed in his mind: Xin's eyes, once warm with camaraderie, now cold with accusation. The words they'd hurled at each other had been like blades, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Belial kicked a loose rock, sending it skittering down the rocky slope. The clatter echoed into the void, swallowed by the wind's relentless wail.
"Who even cares anymore?" he muttered, his voice low and bitter.
"Who would remember their names? They're dead anyway!"
The anger simmered in his chest, a dull, persistent heat that refused to be extinguished. After everything he'd done for them—after the countless times he'd pulled them from the jaws of death, after he'd trusted Xin with a powerful weapon, after he'd risked his life for their survival—this was his reward? Betrayal? Doubt? Abandonment?
"Fine," he spat, turning his back on the mountains and the wind. "If Xin thinks they can clear this Act with just that merry go band of newbies Be my guest! Let them try to survive without me. Let's see how far they get."
He slipped deeper into the cavern, the darkness swallowing him as the walls narrowed. His boots crunched against the uneven stone floor, the sound a steady rhythm against the howling wind outside. The darkness felt like a balm, a reprieve from the weight of the world above.
Good. Let it all disappear. Let the people outside rot for all i care.
As he walked, words spilled from his lips, venomous and unbidden. "This is better anyway," he hissed. "Now I can move how I want. No more looking over my shoulder. No more holding back because of them." His voice bounced off the stone walls, returning to him in ghostly echoes, but he didn't stop. Each step felt lighter, each breath easier, as if the mountain itself were peeling away the chains that had bound him for so long.
"I can act freely now," he continued, his tone sharp with defiance. "No Time wasted. No plans ruined because someone was too scared to follow through. No dead weight slowing me down." The realization hit him like a spark in the dark: they had been holding him back. Always second-guessing, always needing protection, always demanding explanations and reassurances. Without them, he was free. Truly free.
The cavern deepened, the light fading until the world was reduced to shades of black and gray. Belial's feet moved with instinct, as if the mountain were guiding him, welcoming him into its heart. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—not out of joy, but out of a strange, twisted relief. He didn't owe them anything anymore. He didn't owe anyone anything.
He paused at a crumbling ledge, gazing into the abyss below. The pit was endless, a void that swallowed sound and sight alike. Belial stood there, feeling the familiar pull in his chest—the whisper of something greater, something beyond the petty squabbles of the surface world.
"Actually…" he murmured, a cold chuckle escaping his lips, " Yeah this is for the best."
His voice was barely audible over the wind leaking through the cracks in the stone, but the mountain seemed to hear him. No more attachments. No more chains. He could move without restriction, follow his own path, no matter how dark it became. There was a strange joy in it—twisted, heavy, but real.
Belial pressed forward, descending deeper into the mountain's veins. His heart, once weighed down by duty and regret, now beat with a sharp, new rhythm. Freedom. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he allowed himself to believe in it.
No more Xin.
No more of the others.
If they wanted to forget him, betray him, doubt him—then so be it. They would learn. The next time they found themselves on the edge of death, they would think of him. They would wonder how much easier it would have been if Belial had been there. But by then, it would be too late.
The path opened into a wide cavern, lit only by the faint glow of ether seeping through cracks in the walls. Luminous moss clung to the stones, casting eerie greens and blues across the space. Belial stood still, listening to the slow drip of water in the distance. He tilted his head back, letting the chill seep into his bones, welcoming the stillness.
He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone. He was stronger this way.
The cavern felt like a sanctuary, a place where the weight of the world couldn't touch him. Belial's thoughts drifted, unmoored from the anger that had driven him here. He saw flashes of the past—battles fought, lives saved, promises made. He saw Xin's face, not as it had been in their final confrontation, but as it had been in better days: laughing, fierce, unbreakable. The memory stung, but Belial pushed it away. That Xin was gone. The person who'd turned on him was a stranger.
Belial's gaze drifted to the moss-covered walls, their faint glow a stark contrast to the darkness he'd walked through. The ether pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, and he felt a strange kinship with it.
He sank to the ground, his back against a smooth outcropping of stone. The cold seeped through his clothes, grounding him in the moment. For the first time in days, his mind was quiet. No plans, no strategies, no contingencies. Just silence.
But the silence didn't last. A flicker of doubt crept in, unbidden. Had he been too quick to walk away? Had he misread Xin's intentions? The questions gnawed at him, but he shoved them down. Doubt was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not now. Not when he'd finally tasted freedom.
He closed his eyes, letting the cavern's stillness envelop him. The drip of water, the faint hum of ether, the distant howl of the wind—it all blended into a symphony of solitude. Belial's lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. Let the world above burn. Let it crumble under the weight of its own failures. When the ashes settled, he would still be here. Alone. Unbroken. Free.
The thought carried him forward, a beacon in the dark. He rose to his feet, his movements deliberate, and continued deeper into the cavern. The path narrowed again, the walls closing in until they brushed against his shoulders. The air grew colder, heavier, but Belial didn't falter. He was no stranger to the dark.
As he walked, he let his mind wander to what lay ahead. The surface world was a mess of alliances and betrayals, a game of power he'd grown tired of playing. But down here, in the mountain's depths, there were other forces at work. Ancient, primal things that cared nothing for the squabbles of mortals. Belial had felt their presence before, in fleeting moments of clarity—a pull, a promise of power beyond anything the surface could offer.
He knew what hid find in the mountain would be awake or not, but he knew it would be his. His path, his power, his freedom. No one would take that from him. Not Xin, not the others, not the world itself.
The cavern opened again, revealing a vast chamber where the ether glowed brighter, casting long shadows across the stone. Belial paused, his breath catching at the sight. The air fluttered with energy, a low vibration that resonated in his bones. This was it—the heart of the mountain, the source of its power.
He stepped forward, Whatever lay ahead, he was ready. The world above could rot. The people he'd once called allies could fade into memory. Belial was done with chains, done with regrets.
He was free to play the game however he wanted.
And when the time came—when the world was reduced to ashes and broken promises—he would still be standing.
Alone.
Unbroken.
Free.