To His Hell and Back
Chapter 288: Give It Up-I

Chapter 288: Give It Up-I

Lastor fell quiet.

His complexion didn’t pale, but it took on a faint greenish hue, as if the memory crawling up his spine turned his very blood cold. His eyes unfocused for a moment, trapped in something he clearly didn’t want to relive. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to push it away, it clung to him, like a haunting ghost.

He wrung his hands, his jaw tightening as though the act of speaking would tear something loose inside him.

Then, in a low, brittle voice, he whispered, "Did you know there was once a demon who grew bored of everything, absolutely everything, around him?"

Arabella blinked, uncertain. Demons were foreign to her, creatures spoken of in books and tales, with rules she didn’t understand and desires even less. So when Lastor spoke of boredom, she tilted her head slightly, confusion flickering in her green eyes.

She shook her head.

Lastor gave a slow nod, as if he had expected that. His gaze drifted, not to her, but somewhere far away, as though what he was about to say wasn’t just a memory, but a confession.

"That demon," he began, voice thin and brittle at the edges, "once saw Hell as a playground. Fire, screams, endless torment, it was thrilling, in the beginning. But after a while... the excitement dulled. It always does. Especially to him."

His hands curled slightly, like he was holding something invisible, or perhaps holding himself together. "So he climbed out," he continued, voice softer now, almost reverent, "and wandered the world in search of new distractions. That’s when he found humans."

Arabella’s breath hitched slightly at the pause that followed.

"Fragile, volatile, hopeful creatures. So easy to break... yet endlessly fascinating. And when they broke, oh, how they danced in despair. How they screamed, how they loved. He found their pain beautiful."

Breathing in, she saw how Lastor wiped the dusts from the cupboard and reflected deeper, "That demon loves humans who made him smile but being a demon, kindness doesn’t make him smile, evil doesn’t also bring him smile. The only thing that ever brought him smile is... suffering."

In Lastor’s mind, a vision unfurled vivid, and impossible to forget. She stood beneath the falling snow, a crimson umbrella poised above her like a bloodstain in a white sky. Her cloak was lined with soft white fur, elegant against the winter air, and her hair spilled down her back like a river of wine, long enough to brush her ankles, wild enough to look untamed.

Her face was delicate, almost ethereal in its softness.

Innocent.

Fragile.

Too easily broken.

And yet...

The weight she bore was heavier than kingdoms. The pain she carried had no measure.

Her shoulders looked like they might crumble beneath it all, yet her eyes, once quiet and gentle, gleamed a piercing green. Unflinching. Resolute.

Then, Lastor remembered it clearly, the moment that would never leave him.

She reached out, her slender hand painted in blood, and summoned the demon. She called him from the depths with every drop of life she had left, and when he emerged, as a vast shadow, monstrous, golden eyed and yet she did not flinch.

Instead, she stepped forward and took his hand.

That single gesture, so small, startled the demon more than any blade could. She hadn’t hesitated. Not even for a breath.

"He found the first witch more entertaining than any other human he’d ever encountered," Lastor said quietly, his fingers curling over his chest, where the echo of something old still ached. "Her life was a storm he couldn’t look away from. To him, every hardship she endured... was a symphony of chaos. Beautiful. Maddening. Addictive."

His voice grew softer. Almost reverent.

"She served her time. Gave everything. And in the end, when her soul returned to him..." he paused, swallowing hard, "all that remained was the power. The power he left behind, now passed down to you."

Arabella nodded slowly, absorbing the tale. But something... something gnawed at the edges of her mind.

It felt incomplete. Uneasy.

"What was his name?" she asked softly, her green eyes narrowing.

Lastor’s throat tightened.

"Dantallion," answered Lastor after a while.

"Dantallion," repeated Arabella and she frowned.

She had heard, no see? or was it called that name before?

What she wasn’t aware was how the glass that held her reflection began to move and her own face formed a smile.

"What kind of power did the witch have?" Arabella asked, her brows drawn tightly.Her voice was calm, but the intensity in her eyes betrayed the storm of questions inside her."The one given by Dantallion... What exactly could she do?"

Lastor let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his head, clearly dreading the explanation."To... suck lifeforce," he mumbled.

"What?!" Arabella nearly fell out of her chair, jolting upright in shock. "What did you just say?"

"It’s not as bad as it sounds!" Lastor quickly waved his hands in defense, squeezing his eyes shut as if bracing for a slap. "What I meant is, she could drain the vitality out of living things. She didn’t... feast on it, like a vampire. She could rot things, wither them. Take that raw energy and use it elsewhere."

Arabella blinked, the thought crawling over her skin like cold fingers. "So she wore gloves to keep from... accidentally killing things?"

"Exactly."

Lastor nodded fervently. "She hated the power at first. Said it made her feel like death personified. But it wasn’t just destruction, she could convert that life force, redirect it. Heal someone else. Strengthen herself. Even twist the laws of nature a bit when she needed to."

He paused, then added more carefully, "But when it came to the big stuff, burning a field, splitting stone, calling storms, that wasn’t her. She whispered to the wind."

Arabella’s eyes sharpened. "And Dantallion would do it for her."

"Yes," Lastor confirmed. "But not for free. He always took something in return."

Arabella looked down at her hands, her thoughts racing.

Was that what she had now? A power that came with rot and ruin?

Or... could it be shaped into something else?

"Right in exchange of something," she whispered, "What was it that Dantallion took in exchange for the power he grants her?"

"Her womb," answered Lastor quicker than the rest of the questions she had asked. "She cannot have a child no matter how much she tries and the witch wanted a family. She had no choice back then but to use her magic to craft a child but to create a life, that’s something only the Goddess could do."

"But didn’t she succeed? I mean... aren’t I the product of that?"

"You’re different Princess," Lastor drawled, "Your power might came from her but your body comes from your birth mother. That’s what the witch could never create- a human body- a life."