To His Hell and Back
Chapter 290: A Child With Lots to Shoulder-I

Chapter 290: A Child With Lots to Shoulder-I

assius hummed a little more, just under his breath, a soft, almost haunting tune that echoed faintly through the dungeon’s stone walls. His voice, though raw and dry, carried a steady rhythm, one that gently lulled the silence... until he heard the soft snores.

Faint, uneven, and unmistakably human.

His lips curled, not in cruelty, but in understanding.

The guards had fallen asleep.

Not out of carelessness, but exhaustion. The palace had been thrown into chaos, panic and power shifting like unstable ground, and even those assigned to guard the dungeon were barely rotating shifts. For once, Cassius knew their weariness would betray them. And it had.

But did he use this chance to escape?

No.

Not yet.

Instead, he leaned his head back against the cold stone and shifted something in his mouth. a small, round object rolling between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. It resembled a large piece of candy, but its taste was metallic, bitter, laced with something darker than sugar.

It was Lastor’s gift, perhaps a medicine? Or a pill? A talisman? A seed of power? Even Cassius wasn’t entirely sure what it was. All he knew was what Lastor had said to him before their parting:

"This will help you. Control it, or let it consume you. That will be your choice."

Cassius didn’t trust easily. And he certainly didn’t trust Lastor completely, the man knew far too much, kept far too many secrets behind those fearful eyes.

But still... Lastor had given it to him not for his sake, but for Arabella’s.

That was what convinced him.

That was what made this gamble worth it.

He took one final breath, rolled the orb to the back of his throat, and with a slight tilt of his head, swallowed it whole.

It slid down like glass, large and cold, and his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as the thing settled in his chest like a stone.

Cassius exhaled, eyes closing.

He didn’t know whether it would empower him or rip him apart from the inside, but if it gave him even a sliver more control... if it made him one step stronger to protect her...

Then it was worth every risk.

At first, nothing and Cassius remained still, shackled to the cold stone wall, his head tilted back, waiting. The orb had slid down like a swallowed piece of glass, and for a brief moment, he wondered if Lastor had played him for a fool.

But then a slow burn began to bubble. It began from the pit of his stomach. Not like fire, no, fire was too kind. This was something else. Something ancient, crawling beneath his skin like hot oil, seeping into his veins with agonizing patience.

He gritted his teeth as the pain intensified. It wasn’t just physical. It was like his soul had been pulled taut and was now being burned thread by thread.

His stomach twisted violently, a nausea unlike any other clawing its way up through his chest. His breathing turned sharp and ragged, the chains above him rattling faintly with each involuntary jerk of his body.

And still the pain spread all over. From his stomach, the heat surged into his limbs, his fingers twitching uncontrollably as if something foreign had begun to wake inside him. A pulse, deep and dark, throbbed beneath his skin. His vision swam, his blood roared in his ears like thunder, and for a moment, he thought he might black out.

But he didn’t.

He endured.

Because pain, he knew pain. This was simply another storm to weather. And if this pain could give him the power he needed, then he would welcome it.

His head dropped forward, sweat dripping from his brow, soaking into the dirt below.

And then... something shifted.

Cassius stifled his groans. Thankfully he had suffered so much throughout his life that this much pain was still endurable. He knew if it was someone else forced to saddle this pain, they would have fainted, or worse, they would have cried out and yell in pain.

It was worse than the pain of being stabbed- or even the pain of the wounds he received when the demon he had killed rip out his heart in a "payment".

But suddenly, his vision darkened. His eyes turned blurry and although he was in so much pain that being unconscious was normal, he knew he could still endure it; but this darkness... it felt different.

It’s as if the medicine’s purpose was to put him out for a while.

Realizing this, Cassius accepted the darkness and allowed himself to be swallowed by the darkness.

He wondered where he would be brought to, or maybe, he would see that damned demon again?

Cassius despise that shrewd smile of the demon but what he recalled he hated the most was the demon’s wide delight as he disappeared to die.

As the darkness engulfed him, Cassius thought of Arabella, thought of her sufferings, and suddenly nothing was painful to him anymore.

The darkness that spread over his vision then turned into green. It spread over his vision and suddenly Cassius found himself standing in an old castle holding thick red books on his arms as if hugging them.

This made him raise an eyebrow.

The books, so familiar in texture, so ordinary in his current body, felt wrong in weight. His hands were smaller, softer. The spine of the top volume, usually something he could balance effortlessly with a single hand, now required both arms to keep from slipping.

Confused, he glanced down at his fingers, delicate, short, ink stained at the tips.

This isn’t my body.

Then, before he could think further, a voice cut through the corridor.

"I’ve told you not to stand in a daze in the hallway. Don’t you remember, Cas?"

This... voice, this familiar voice..

How could he mistaken this voice, ever?

He turned around to find his mother, the beauty with long black hair that reached to her ankle, her eyes that were bloody red in the shape of a snake. Her expression was similar as always, so sheepish, so uncaring yet strict at the same time.

He recalled that when he was young, before his father had brought a woman into the castle, and before his mother had turned crazy from her greed of power, she would never forget scolding him for standing in the hallway.

The culprit for him standing in the hobby was the portrait that was hung in this particular side of the castle, an oil painting of a woman who was crying in front of a grave with a black shadow spread behind her.

"Is this portrait so interesting to you?" His mother asked him, her red eyes studying him but not to understand, it felt as though she was trying to measure whether his answer was acceptable as the crown prince or a set of disappointment.

What did he answered to her again?

Before he could think, his own mouth spoke, "Why would the shadow behind her spread over?" Cassius asked, his little mouth spoke. When he was young, he was always praised for looking like an angel. Though he could never understand the people who had called him an angel when his eyes were the color of blood and his hair that of a bat’s skin.

"Are you questioning that because you don’t know what it symbolizes?" his mother asked, her chin tilting ever so slightly as her crimson gaze pierced through him. "But that shouldn’t be the case. You should know what it is."

"It represents demons," little Cassius answered quietly, brows furrowed in thought. "But... why would a demon protect a defenseless woman? She doesn’t look like the one who summoned it."

His mother chuckled, soft and almost musical, but there was something knowing, something edged in it. "Silly boy," she mused as she crouched before him, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his temple. "I suppose you’ve yet to learn that women, especially the desperate, the grieving, are far more powerful than men when it comes to summoning demons."

"Is that so?" he asked, blinking up at her. "Demons prefer women?"

"No," she said, lips curling into a cryptic smile. "Demons prefer potential. They prefer those with bottomless grief... and desires no god would dare answer." She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a silken golden handkerchief, her fingers deft and graceful. Then, with slow care, she began to wipe the ink from his small fingers, her touch light and cool.

"The story of this woman," she began, nodding toward the portrait, "is about someone who lost her lover to an accident. A cruel one. The people responsible fled. Hid. Laughed behind doors. And so, with blood in her mouth and her hands trembling, she offered herself to something far older than justice. She begged the demon to punish them."

Cassius stared harder at the painting now.

"But... she didn’t look angry."

"Because she wasn’t," his mother whispered, voice suddenly hushed. "She had moved past rage. Past tears. Past mercy. When a heart shatters that completely, Cassius, all that’s left is the echo, and demons love the sound of it."

The corridor felt colder then.

And Cassius, for the first time in years, wasn’t sure whether his mother had been warning him... or preparing him.

"Women, Cassius," spoke his mother, "Would never stop at anything. Anything."

Then as if what she spoke was a curse, the maid rushed toward her, pale and frightened.

"T- The King..." muttered the maid, "Has brought in a concubine, Your Majesty!"