Chapter 58

I stepped forward, the scorching heat of the underworld licking at my skin, yet it did nothing to touch me. The hung souls trembled before me, bound to their wooden pillars, writhing in terror.

As my gaze settled on one of them-the assassin whose head I had personally severed-I felt no pity, no remorse. His spectral form quivered, his eyes darting everywhere but toward mine. He knew exactly who I was, and that knowledge consumed him with fear.

"So," I began, my voice calm yet laced with a deadly undertone, "would you like to tell me who sent you?"

The soul's trembling intensified as he stammered, "Please! Leave me, I just want to go back to-"

"To where?" I interrupted, my brow raising ever so slightly.

My voice began to deepen, layers of otherworldly echoes weaving into my words. The air around me grew heavy, oppressive, as if reality itself recoiled from the sound of my corrupted tone.

"Do you truly believe," I said, each word dripping with malice, "that you have a place to return to? Where would you go? You're not even alive."

Then, just as suddenly, my voice snapped back to that of a cheerful child's, my lips curling into an innocent smile.

"So, just tell me who sent you, okay?"

The assassin's spectral lips quivered. "No! I... I really don't-"

Before he could finish, I summoned my scythe in one fluid motion. Its dark, gleaming blade hummed with power as I swung it, severing his head cleanly once again.

But unlike before, his soul didn't dissipate into the aether. It ignited, burning away into nothingness, leaving no trace that he had ever existed. I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space he had occupied, my thoughts briefly wandering.

Was this too much? The smallest part of me-a remnant of my past self-hesitated. But then I remembered the attack on Mama. I steeled my resolve. No price was too high to protect her.

Then, I heard it-a chuckle.

I spun around, my eyes narrowing as I focused on the source. It was the leader of the assassins, his spectral form bound like the others but somehow exuding defiance.

His laughter grew louder, echoing through the hellish landscape. For a moment, I thought he had lost his mind, but then he spoke, his voice steady and filled with mocking amusement.

"You all," he said, shaking his head, "don't even know the basics of torture. Demons or not, you're still too soft. Too naive."

The other souls remained silent, still paralyzed by fear. But the leader stood out-his confidence unwavering, even in the face of damnation.

I leaned forward on my throne of skulls, my corrupted voice layered with ominous echoes. "Tell me something, mortal. Do you truly believe you understand the art of torture better than I do? Or are those just desperate words meant to shield your fragile hope?"

The assassin leader sneered, his voice laced with defiance. "You're just a child playing pretend. Torture isn't about fear or pain-it's about control. And I've faced real demons, ones that would make your little games look like nursery rhymes."

I tilted my head, amused by his insolence. "Oh? Then enlighten me, oh great master of agony. Teach me, and I might spare your miserable soul." My voice dropped into a deeper growl. "Or at least let you keep your arrogance a little longer."

The leader smirked, emboldened by the others' silence. "Torture without knowledge is pointless. Do you think we know who hired us? We're expendable pawns, sent to die. And as for your threats..." His eyes glinted with dangerous confidence. "Pain doesn't matter to the dead. What can you possibly offer that would make any of us talk?"

I leaned back, letting his words hang in the air. Slowly, deliberately, I summoned a faint white orb into my hand. Its glow was soft, deceptively serene.

"Ah, yes. Hope, you said? The one thing mortals cling to even in the abyss?" The orb expanded, its light washing over the room. "Let me show you something."

One by one, the souls began to shimmer. Their translucent forms solidified, flesh and bone reappearing as if by some divine miracle. Gasps echoed through the chamber as they realized they were no longer mere specters-they were alive, whole, hanging on the pillars in their earthly bodies.

The leader's smirk faltered, his defiance wavering. "W-What is this trickery?"

I rose from my throne, my eyes glowing with an unholy light. "Do you feel it? The heartbeat in your chest, the air in your lungs? You're alive again, mortal. But make no mistake-your life now belongs to me."

The assassins squirmed in their bindings, terror replacing their bravado. The leader's voice cracked as he spoke. "Why... why would you do this?"

I leaned closer, my grin wide and predatory. "Because hope is a double-edged sword. It can uplift-or it can crush. You said pain doesn't matter to the dead, but what about the living? What about the knowledge that you could walk free, only to lose it all again?" My voice darkened, each word dripping with malice. "Tell me what I want to know, and I might just let you go. Refuse, and you'll learn the true meaning of despair."

The leader's gaze flickered with conflict, pride battling desperation.

I smiled, my voice filled with finality. "Decide quickly. Every second you waste is another piece of your hope burned to ash. Tick..."

The leader's resolve crumbled. "Wait! Stop! Let's talk this out!"

I let my grin widen. For I was no mere child, and in my realm, hope and despair were mine to wield.