Cain’s eyes shot open.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his claws digging into the couch fabric. His body felt hot, his heart pounding like he had just escaped something terrible.
The dream—Abaddon’s throne, the voices, the fire. It all felt too real.
It took him a moment to steady himself, blinking at the dull gray light filtering through the cracks in the blinds. The apartment was silent.
Then he noticed—Lilith was gone.
The spot beside him on the couch was cold, but her scent still lingered faintly in the air. She must’ve left early.
Cain sighed, running a hand through his messy red fur. No note, no message—typical Lilith. She wasn’t the type to say goodbye.
He needed to clear his head.
Cain sighed as he grabbed a small metal can from the counter, his claws making a soft scrape against the tin. With a quick motion, he jammed a knife under the lid and pried it open.
The sharp scent of oily fish hit him immediately. Cheap, salty, and cold—just how he always ate it.
He speared a chunk with the tip of his knife and popped it into his mouth, chewing lazily. No effort, no fire, no problem.
After swallowing, he grabbed a half-empty jug of water, taking a long swig to wash down the taste.
Same damn meal every day. But cooking? Too much work.
After finishing, he threw on a worn-out coat and stepped outside.
The streets of Wrath were alive with noise—vendors shouting, drunks stumbling out of alleyways, the smell of smoke and spice filling the air. This city never slept, never stopped.
Cain shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.
The streets were alive with noise.
Vendors shouted over each other, peddling questionable meats, rusted trinkets, and stolen goods from makeshift stalls. The air was thick with the stench of smoke, sweat, and old blood. Somewhere nearby, a drunken fight erupted, the sound of shattering glass followed by a chorus of cheers and jeers.
The buildings loomed tall and uneven, their stone facades blackened by years of filth and fire. Cracked signs swayed dangerously from rusted chains, and the cobblestone streets were slick with yesterday’s rain, pooling in the uneven ground like dark mirrors.
Overhead, wrought-iron lanterns hung from twisting metal poles, their flickering light barely holding back the gloom. This city never truly saw daylight—the sky was always choked with smoke from the countless forges and burning trash heaps.
Cain walked past a group of rowdy-looking thugs, their voices rough and slurred from cheap alcohol. One of them, a scarred boar-like man, spat at Cain’s feet, sizing him up.
Cain barely spared him a glance. Not today.
He pulled his coat tighter around him and kept moving.
As much as he hated this place, it was home.
For now.
Cain walked through the crowded streets, his boots splashing through puddles of filth and rainwater. The city of Wrath was a chaotic mess of violence and desperation, but here—at the heart of it all—stood something entirely different.
The Main Square was unlike the rest of the city.
A grand town hall rose from the center, its tall tower piercing the sky, crowned with a massive iron clock. The hands moved slowly, ticking away the minutes in a steady, unforgiving rhythm. The stone walls were polished and pristine, untouched by the filth that covered the rest of Wrath.
Above, the sky burned deep orange, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The sun barely shone through the haze of smoke, but here, in this place, the world looked almost… beautiful.
And then there was the fountain.
At its center stood Amon, the Princess of Wrath. A stone statue captured her in mid-motion—a regal, untamed figure, her wolf-like lower half poised as if ready to pounce, while her long snake tail curled around the base of the fountain. Her ears twitched in the carved marble, and though her face was human, her eyes held something inhuman—something dangerous.
But this was just a statue.
The real Amon? She was said to roam the city, keeping a watchful eye over her domain. It wasn’t rare for her to transform into something far worse, something that made even the most hardened criminals keep their heads down.
Cain sat on a bench, letting out a slow breath.
He glanced up at the tower’s clock. One week from now.
That’s when he was supposed to return.
Maybe this was the moment that would change his life.
Maybe it was just some idiot playing a joke on him.
Or maybe…
Maybe he was supposed to die here.
Cain leaned back, staring at the orange sky. A week wasn’t long.
But it was long enough to wonder if he wanted to show up at all.
Cain sat on the bench, lost in thought.
One week. That was all the time he had until the meeting. Until then, life went on as usual—stealing, surviving, and questioning if there was something more.
Then he heard it.
"That’s him!"
Cain’s ears flicked as he snapped his head toward the shouting voice.
A plump, red-faced merchant stood at the edge of the square, pointing straight at him. The owner of the shop they robbed last night.
"Guards! That’s the thief!"
Cain was already moving.
The first guard was still a few feet away when Cain bolted through the crowd. The market was packed, making it hard for the heavy-armored pursuers to push through.
Cain, however, moved like a shadow.
He ducked between stalls, leaped over crates, and nearly knocked over a fruit vendor, who cursed at him as apples spilled across the cobblestone.
A sharp whistle pierced the air, followed by the boom of a megaphone.
"By the order of Princess Amon, halt immediately!"
Yeah, not happening.
The chase had only just begun, but Cain knew the pattern—one guard turned into two, then five, then ten.
He needed to disappear. Now.
Cain suddenly veered left, darting into a narrow alleyway.
The guards hesitated for half a second before following. That half-second was all Cain needed.
A ladder leaned against the wall—a rare stroke of luck. He grabbed it, climbing three rungs at a time as the guards shouted below.
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By the time they reached the alley, Cain was already two stories up.
"He's going for the rooftops!" someone yelled.
No turning back now.
Cain swung himself over the edge, landing on the flat stone roof of a decrepit building. The city stretched before him, a sea of rooftops and chimneys.
Then he looked back.
His stomach dropped.
Half the town’s guards were after him.
On the streets.
On the rooftops.
Everywhere.
And worst of all?
He had nowhere to go.
Cain’s heart pounded.
The guards were getting closer, climbing higher, their boots scraping against stone as they reached the rooftops. He had to move—now.
The next rooftop was at least six meters away. A ridiculous jump for most. But Cain? He was no ordinary man.
He backed up to the edge of the roof, feeling the rough stone under his paws. His dragon tail twitched, ready to counterbalance his weight mid-air. He just needed one good sprint—one perfect leap—
Then he heard it.
The sound of flapping wings.
A shadow passed over him, massive and dark, blocking the evening sky.
Cain froze mid-step as the air around him shifted, the scent of blood and perfume filling his nose. He looked up and saw her.
Princess Amon.
She hovered just above him, her great black crow wings beating the air in slow, effortless motions. The setting sun made her figure almost glow—a goddess of war descending from the heavens.
She was exactly as the stories described:
- Orange eyes, slit like a hawk’s, piercing through him.
- Dark crimson lips, curled in amusement.
- A long snake’s tail behind her, sharp claws flexing at her side.
And she wasn’t alone.
Dozens of wasp-winged soldiers hovered behind her, their stingers gleaming in the dim light.
Cain barely skidded to a stop before he jumped straight into her.
His breath hitched. Now he truly had nowhere to go.
The city guards finally caught up, scaling the last few meters and pulling themselves onto the rooftop. He was surrounded.
Steel swords. Buzzing wings. Predator eyes watching his every move.
For the first time in years, Cain felt completely trapped.
A heavy silence fell over the rooftops.
Then, Princess Amon spoke.
"Going somewhere?"
Cain raised his hands slowly, palms open.
"Now, now," he started, forcing a smirk. "Let's not be too hasty. I think we can talk this out like reasonable people."
Amon tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing in amusement.
"Talk?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "You mean like the last time?"
Cain blinked. Last time?
He searched his memory, but nothing came to mind.
"I'm... not sure what you're talking about," he admitted.
Amon's face turned red.
The once-fearsome Princess of Wrath suddenly clenched her fists, looking more like an offended teenager than a merciless ruler.
"You—You forgot?!" she sputtered, her wings fluttering erratically.
Cain could only stare.
The city guards shifted uncomfortably, and even the wasp soldiers hesitated, as if unsure whether they were supposed to keep looking intimidating or not.
Amon pointed a sharp claw at Cain’s chest.
"You tricked me! You—You embarrassed me in front of my entire court! And you just... forgot?!"
Cain tilted his head. "...Did I?"
Amon stomped her foot on the rooftop, sending small cracks through the stone.
"You absolute idiot!"
Cain, still completely lost, just sighed.
"Look," he said, stretching his arms, "I don’t know what happened, but honestly? I don’t feel like running anymore."
Amon froze.
The guards and wasps froze.
Cain just lowered himself onto his knees and placed his hands behind his back.
"Go ahead. Take me in."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Amon’s jaw practically hit the floor.
"...What?"
Cain shrugged. "What, do you want me to run? Put up a fight? You’ve already got me surrounded, and I’m really not in the mood for an execution today."
Amon gritted her teeth.
"You—you can’t just give up!"
But Cain just smirked at her reaction.
"You sound disappointed," he mused.
"I am!" she blurted out. "This was supposed to be an exciting chase! Maybe even a battle! And you just... you just surrender?"
Cain shrugged again.
"Sorry to ruin your fun, princess."
Amon stared at him, completely dumbfounded.
Eventually, she groaned and waved a hand. "Fine. Whatever. Chain him up. We’re taking him to the castle."
The guards quickly secured thick iron chains around Cain’s wrists, binding his arms tightly. The wasp soldiers lifted him by the arms and wings buzzed loudly as they took off from the rooftop, carrying him toward the massive Castle of Wrath.
As the city disappeared beneath him, Cain only had one thought:
Well… this day got interesting.
The iron door slammed shut behind him.
Cain rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of his new restraints. Thicker chains, enchanted to hold even demons in place. The dungeon walls were damp, lined with flickering torches that barely held back the darkness.
He sighed. At least it was quiet.
For now.
Because, as expected, Princess Amon visited him personally.
At first, she didn’t say much. She would just stand there, arms crossed, watching him like a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. Sometimes she asked questions about his past. Other times, she just mocked him for getting caught so easily.
And every time she left, Cain felt more and more uneasy.
Tonight was no different.
As soon as the guards left him alone, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Cain didn’t even need to look up. "You again?"
Amon smirked, arms behind her back. "Me again."
She walked up to his cell, golden eyes gleaming through the bars.
"Don’t you have better things to do?" Cain asked. "Ruling an entire circle of Hell and all that?"
Amon just shrugged. "Boring."
Cain raised a brow. "Boring?"
"You’re more entertaining," she admitted.
Cain chuckled. "You need to get out more, princess."
Amon’s tail flicked, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she tossed something through the bars—a small bag of dried meat.
"Eat," she ordered.
Cain hesitated, then grabbed the bag and leaned back against the stone wall. "How generous."
Amon just smirked. "Try not to die in here. I still haven’t decided what to do with you."
And just like that, she was gone again.
Cain sat in silence for a moment, chewing on a piece of meat. Then, a deep chuckle rumbled from the cell next to his.
He turned his head to see an old lion sitting behind the bars.
Thick golden fur, a heavy mane streaked with silver. His sharp eyes shone like molten gold in the torchlight. He was big, even for a lion, yet something about his posture felt... relaxed. Like he was exactly where he wanted to be.
Cain raised an eyebrow. "Something funny, old man?"
The lion huffed. "Never seen her visit anyone so often."
Cain scoffed. "Yeah, well, I am a special kind of criminal."
The lion smirked. "Sure. Or maybe she just likes you."
Cain paused mid-chew. Then he barked out a laugh.
"Yeah, right. That crazy princess? She barely knows me."
The lion tilted his head. "Does she?"
Cain rolled his eyes. "Okay, wise one, what do you think she wants from me?"
The lion chuckled again. "I already told you."
Cain shook his head, leaning back. "Crazy old man… What are you even doing here anyway?"
The lion smiled, his sharp teeth glinting.
"Waiting."
Cain frowned. "For what?"
The lion didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes, as if enjoying the silence.
Something about him felt… different.
Cain had no idea who this guy was, but he was definitely more than just another prisoner.
From all of these questions his eyes closed on themselves.
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