Chapter 300

The Devil watched from the cracks in the sky as the Goddess of Light descended. Her glow poured down like liquid gold, cascading over the earth below, touching everything with a softness that turned shadows to silver.

Her wings, white and graceful, folded behind her as she touched the ground with a delicate step, her feet never quite making contact with the earth. The world bent to her presence, and he felt the world become strange beneath his feet. His eyes followed her movement with a kind of distant ache.

She had come from the heavens, untouched by the dirt of the world. He had watched her many times before, but never this close. He knew better than to get too close, to tempt her with his very existence.

His darkness was not meant to touch her light. They were opposites, born of different forces that should never meet. But in this moment, as she stood before him, he couldn't look away. Her beauty, her purity—everything she was felt like a hammer against his chest.

And she saw him too.

Their eyes met, the silence between them loud, vibrating with the weight of what could be. She frowned, just slightly, her lips parting as if to speak but then hesitating. He smiled, a dark and twisted thing, but the expression was real. She didn't say anything, but there was no need. Her gaze remained on him, drawn to the figure who was not of light, who had no place in this realm.

For a long while, they stood there, separated by an invisible barrier—light and dark, heaven and hell, two forces that were never meant to meet.

"You don't belong here," she finally said, her voice soft, like wind passing through a field of flowers. The words were gentle, yet firm. They felt like a warning.

The Devil's smile widened. "But here I am."

Her gaze turned sharp, and she took a step back, but he saw her hesitation. It was brief, just a flutter of something in her eyes, something that might have been fear, or curiosity. He couldn't tell. She was the Goddess of Light—pure and perfect—but there was something unsettling about the way she looked at him. Almost as if she were waiting for him to reach out, to destroy the world she had built.

She didn't run.

"I cannot let you stay," she said, and there was a coldness in her voice now.

He watched her every movement, every breath. There was something about her that felt wrong. Her light—so bright, so beautiful—was not meant for this world. Not meant for him. But despite it, there was something familiar in the way she looked at him, the way her gaze softened, just for a moment, like she saw past the layers of hate and malice he wore so proudly.

"And what if I don't go?" he asked.

She hesitated again, her lips trembling, almost imperceptibly. "You cannot stay." There was a sadness to her words. Not pity, but sorrow. She stepped closer, the soft glow of her light bending toward him, wrapping around his body like a gentle embrace. She seemed to be asking him without saying it—asking him to let go of the dark, to come back to where he belonged.

He smiled again, this time more bitterly. "You don't understand."

Her eyes flickered. "I understand enough." She raised her hand, palm facing him. The power of the heavens gathered in her fingertips, glowing brightly. He felt the heat of it, the pressure against his skin, as if it wanted to burn away his very existence. But there was something strange about the way she held her power—controlled, but not quite.

"I understand that you can't keep me from what I want," he said, voice low, almost a growl. There was something about her, something he couldn't resist. Despite the pain, despite the fear she might feel, she was beautiful. She was everything he was not. And that terrified him.

Her eyes softened. The light around her flickered for the briefest moment, and then—just like that—it was gone. She stood there, without the glow, nothing but a woman before him. The goddess. The one who belonged to the heavens.

"I don't want to destroy you," she whispered, more to herself than to him. She stepped closer, so close that he could feel the heat of her skin against his. But there was no violence in her movement. No rage. Just sadness.

He reached for her, and this time, she didn't pull away. Their hands met, and the world seemed to stop. A shiver ran through him, but he didn't let go. The warmth of her skin felt wrong. It made him feel alive in a way that was both beautiful and cruel. He could feel her light against his darkness, both pulling at him. He wanted to tear it away. He wanted to make her burn in his flames.

But he didn't.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said again. The words felt strange on his tongue. How could he not want to? How could he not take her, possess her, make her his?

Her eyes met his, and for the first time, there was no fear in them. Just sadness. "But you will," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You always do."

Her touch became like ice. He gasped, pulling away. But she didn't let him go. Her hands, cold as stone, clasped his wrists. She looked up at him, her face inches from his, and he saw something in her eyes—something more than sorrow. It was understanding. She knew the darkness in him. She knew the hunger.

And it terrified her.

But she still didn't let go.

"I can't be what you want me to be," she said softly. "I can't be with you."

Her words cut deeper than anything he had ever felt before. It was a knife that didn't just pierce his flesh—it tore through his very soul.

And still, she didn't let go.

The air around them was thick, a pressure that pushed against him, suffocating him, wrapping around him. The devil closed his eyes, his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name. He could feel the heat of her skin against his, her heartbeat like a drum in his ears. But there was no warmth in it for him.

He wasn't supposed to feel this.

"I don't care," he whispered, though his voice wavered. He reached for her again, his fingers trembling, but the moment he touched her, it felt like the world had come crashing down on him.

He wasn't strong enough. The light was too much. It burned him. It seared him like a brand, marking him for eternity. He stumbled backward, falling to his knees, pain wracking his body. His skin blistered, his body starting to crumble away under the force of her power. He screamed, his mind a blur of agony, but still—still, she stood there. Watching.

His vision darkened. He tried to reach for her again, but his hands were nothing but ash.

"You should never have come," she said, her voice the last thing he heard before everything faded.

And as he burned away, she turned, walking into the distance.