Chapter 323: Chapter 323

The deeper they went, the darker the air became. The scent of rust and blood mingled with the thick, choking odour of smoke. The tunnels beneath the stronghold stretched endlessly, carved by claws and desperation, lit only by flickering crimson crystals embedded into the walls — each crystal rumoured to contain a trapped soul of one who failed to ascend. The faint light they gave off wasn’t comforting; it was haunting, as if the walls themselves whispered every scream ever made in this place.

The sound of dripping echoed through the silence — slow, deliberate. It wasn’t water. It was too thick, too heavy. Blood, perhaps. Kia didn’t ask. Her boots splashed against it as she followed Azrail, each step leaving faint ripples that reflected that crimson glow like living veins.

Kia walked close behind him, her face pale yet set with stubborn defiance. She didn’t speak — not since the last pit they crossed, where children no older than her had torn each other apart over a loaf of stale bread. There was something in her eyes now — not fear exactly, but something far quieter and heavier. The kind of silence that sinks into a person and stays there.

"This place..." she muttered under her breath, "...it reeks of hopelessness."

Azrail didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed ahead, watching the next gate — a vast iron door, cracked through the middle like a scar. Runes pulsed faintly along its edges, ancient and hateful, reacting to the faint thrum of his presence. He placed his hand upon it and murmured, "Welcome to the Hall of Broken Crowns."

The door groaned open, a sound like metal crying.

And what lay beyond it... was nothing short of madness.

It wasn’t a hall, not really — it was a massive cavern, large enough to fit a city, its ceiling lost to the shadows above. Thousands of figures moved within it — demons of every age and form. Some bore twisted wings, others horns that curled like molten blades, and many more with disfigured limbs and stitched flesh. They fought, ate, killed, and bled all under the same dim, flickering light.

In the center of the cavern stood a colossal structure made of bones a throne of sorts, decorated with skulls of fallen warriors. Around it were circles of training grounds where the "crowns" the demon prodigies, children of noble houses were thrown into endless trials. They were the "broken crowns," once heirs of pride, now stripped of their status and made to prove their worth through suffering.

"Every empire has its hell," Azrail spoke softly, his tone calm, cold yet his words carried weight. "This is theirs. The Hall where broken bloodlines are remade, or erased."

He walked forward, cloaked and invisible to the world, his hand resting on Kia’s shoulder as he guided her unseen. "Those who fail their family’s expectations are thrown here. Sons of lords, daughters of generals — all of them. If they survive, they regain honor. If they die... well, no one remembers their names anyway."

Kia’s breath came shorter with each step. She could feel the ground trembling under the weight of all that pain. The air was heavy — alive with screams, chants, and the metallic tang of burning flesh.

As they walked past, her eyes widened in horror. In one circle, a dozen youths were tied to iron poles while molten chains were wrapped around their arms. Their screams echoed as the metal melted into their skin, searing sigils onto their bodies. The overseer, a towering demon with molten eyes, barked commands — forcing them to stand, to move, to fight even as their flesh smoked.

"What... what are they doing?" Kia whispered, her voice trembling.

"Binding the Bloodmarks," Azrail replied. "A trial of will. If they break before the chain cools, they’re discarded. Those marks, if survived, awaken dormant power in their blood. The process either reforges their lineage... or burns them from existence."

He paused, looking at her. "This is the price of greatness here."

To the left, Kia saw a pit where demons fought blindfolded. The ground beneath them was filled with bones and spikes. They swung, clawed, bit and every miss drew blood from someone else. No one called for mercy. No one helped the fallen. When one collapsed, others tore into him, feeding on his body to restore their strength. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel·fire.net

Kia’s hands shook. "They eat each other?"

Azrail nodded once. "Here, the weak feed the strong literally. It’s their law, their inheritance. The Emoire family designed it that way. They believe only through consuming the defeated can one refine one’s essence."

"And they throw children in this?"

"Children, nobles, prodigies anyone who disappoints. It’s the great equalizer."

They crossed another passage. The cries grew softer, replaced by chanting. Ahead, a ritual circle glowed with demonic runes. A group of older demons surrounded a small girl, perhaps twelve, chained to the ground. Her eyes burned with fury but fear was stronger.

"She refused to kill her sibling," Azrail said quietly. "A sin here. Family means nothing if power isn’t proven. They’re cleansing her weakness."

The chanting rose, and the girl’s scream followed. Her shadow warped, rising as a black silhouette behind her — the shape of the brother she couldn’t kill. The ritual twisted her body, merging her with that shadow, turning love into a weapon.

The light around her dimmed as her voice broke the child’s final scream becoming something unearthly. When it ended, only silence remained. And the girl, no longer herself, stood her eyes hollow, her heart gone.

Kia turned her face away. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"Because," Azrail said, "you needed to understand that your gift, your life, isn’t a curse. It’s balance. You have time. They never did."

They walked again slower now. The floor was littered with bones and scraps of armour. The murals that lined the walls told stories of endless struggle demons rising, falling, and being reborn in agony. Some depicted a mother devouring her child to gain his strength. Others showed lovers killing one another for a single drop of divine blood.

Kia stopped before one — an image of a demon holding a burning crown above a pile of corpses. Beneath it, words were carved in the old tongue:

"To rule, one must first burn."

"Do they even believe in peace?" she asked.

Azrail chuckled softly. "Peace? In the Demon Empire, peace is just the pause between one slaughter and the next. They’ve learned to worship pain because it’s the only thing that never betrays them."

Further ahead stood a massive throne, smaller than the bone one in the center, but radiating something different — sorrow, perhaps. Upon it sat a figure — head bowed, unmoving.

Kia frowned. "Who is that?"

"The first of the Broken Crowns," Azrail said. "The one who made this place what it is."

The figure’s body was mummified, preserved by demonic energy. A crown of thorns fused to its skull, and faint whispers echoed from its hollow mouth. The closer they moved, the colder it felt, as if the air itself recoiled.

"They say he failed his trial," Azrail continued. "But he refused to die. He created this place to forge others in the same fire that burned him."

Kia stared. "He... cursed them all."

"Or freed them," Azrail replied. "Depends on how you see it."

The silence between them stretched. Around them, the sounds of pain and violence filled every corner of the hall. Kia’s face hardened her childish pride stripped away, leaving something raw and real.

"I don’t want this," she said finally. "I don’t want to be them. But... I understand now."

Azrail smiled faintly, unseen by her. "That’s why I brought you here. Power born in chaos isn’t always worth it. Patience is."

But before they could move further, the air shifted.

The ground trembled slightly, the flickering crystals dimmed, and every demon in the hall suddenly froze. A silence, heavy and sharp, fell across the cavern.

Kia stiffened. "What’s happening?"

Azrail’s eyes narrowed. "The Hunt begins."

A horn blew deep, ancient, resonating through bone and stone. From the far end of the cavern, massive iron gates opened, revealing a darkness that seemed alive. From it crawled monstrosities abominations of failed experiments, twisted demons, and corrupted beasts. The Broken Crowns screamed and ran, forming hunting packs, their previous rivalries forgotten.

The air grew wild chaos unleashed. Flames erupted, chains snapped, and the ground shook as the beasts poured out. Some of them had faces human faces stitched into their flesh, screaming in an endless loop. Others crawled like spiders, dragging blood-soaked limbs across the earth.

"The strongest feast tonight," Azrail whispered. "The weakest die forgotten."

He turned to Kia, his eyes gleaming faintly under the hood. "Now, we move to the heart of it. You’ve seen pain, you’ve seen cruelty... now you’ll see hunger the kind that turns gods into monsters."

And as the ground shook with the stampede of claws and rage, the two vanished into the storm of chaos, unseen yet surrounded by the raw, unfiltered reality of the demon empire where ambition was the only god, and survival the only prayer.

Somewhere beyond the chaos, in the deepest part of the stronghold, something older waited a chamber whispered to house the truth behind the Broken Crowns’ legacy.

That would be where Azrail would take her next.

But for now, the night belonged to the hunters.

And the Hall of Broken Crowns bled once more.