Eon of Damnation Part II

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Warning

The following novel contains material that may be harmful or traumatic to some readers.It contains graphic descriptions of murder, violence, and other unpleasant text.

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* images in "Characters" section are AI Generated Images and serve as inspiration and may not fully represent the author's vision. *

For a better experience, I recommend opening the Characters section so you can visualize the character as accurately as possible. The descriptions here will not be very detailed.

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728 Years ago

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Empire of Jeremiah, Kingdom of Taro

Ekpesu, Merchant's District, Chamber of Rulers

Celestis Calendar : Day 2, Month of Gabrielis (2/9)

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The Chamber of Rulers is currently empty... Yet it remains majestic even without human presence. The most important room in Ekpesu. The place where decisions are made, where the city's fate is shaped.

A large circular table, accompanied by thirteen chairs.

Thirteen chairs... for the thirteen most powerful figures in the city.

The main gate of the Chamber swings open, and among the first to enter is the spokesman, carrying several scrolls in his hands. He moves to a seat far from the table, positioning himself deliberately apart from the council.

Behind him, twelve figures follow—men and women alike. Each of them walks with confidence, their steps unwavering as they move toward their respective places. A few exchange hushed words along the way, but most remain silent, their expressions weighed with contemplation.

They all share a single thought—why was this meeting summoned so abruptly, so unexpectedly?

Yet one detail does not escape them.

At each seat, a stack of papers awaits them. A quill and an ink bottle placed neatly beside.

...

A tension lingers in the air, a mix of curiosity and unease. Even without a single word spoken, a natural order takes shape. Instinctively, they prepare themselves.

And then, a moment of pause.

Each stands before their chair, all except for one.

A presence—arriving slightly later.

From the same grand entrance as the others, he enters.

Cedric Ulbridge.

The acting overseer, the pillar of the Ulbridge dynasty, and the city's leading voice.

A figure whose very name commands respect... and whose silence alone is often enough to sway decisions.

Cedric strides toward his seat, and the twelve others offer him a subtle nod—an unspoken acknowledgment of their respect for the Ulbridge family.

He takes his seat with authority, a silent command for the rest to follow suit. One after another, they lower themselves into their chairs, the air thick with anticipation.

...

From his position near the table, the spokesman, the first to enter, rises. His hands tremble slightly as he lifts a parchment and begins to read aloud.

"Esteemed lords and ladies... The noble representatives of Ekpesu..."

"This meeting is sudden... and because of its urgency—undeniably crucial."

A tense breath escapes him. His voice wavers under the weight of his next words.

"It is crucial... because this meeting has been called upon request... of Archangel Jeremiah."

The mere utterance of the name shatters the room's composure. The chamber stills.

Jeremiah. The Angel of Protection. One of the Eight Archangels of the World. The most revered celestial being in the Empire of Jeremiah. A divine authority whose word is beyond question.

Cedric's fingers tap rhythmically against the table. A subtle, yet telling gesture. While his peers remain frozen in awe, he alone wears the expression of a man already burdened by what is to come.

The spokesman is visibly shaken. His voice cracks as he wipes the sweat from his brow, steadying himself before continuing.

"Archangel Jeremiah, with the full knowledge and endorsement of our kingdom's Patron—Angel Taro—has presented a decree. A decree that you..." His voice falters.

"You, the ones chosen to govern this city... must fulfill."

A heavy silence follows.

"Before each of you lies a collection of papers... written by none other than the Archangel himself."

He gestures toward the documents.

"Please... read them. Now."

A brief hesitation. Then, one by one, they take the papers in their hands.

The title is bold, clear, inescapable.

"Eon of Damnation."

Only Cedric does not reach for his papers.

Instead, he watches them.

He watches as their faces shift.

From curiosity...

...to understanding.

From understanding...

...to horror.

And then—

A smile.

A twisted, delighted, hungry smile.

They begin to exchange glances.

And as their understanding deepens, so does their joy.

A growing, sickening joy.

Until, one by one... their eyes fall upon Cedric.

Awaiting his voice. His approval.

Cedric meets their expectant stares.

He inhales deeply... and rises.

"From childhood, we were all taught a singular truth..."

"A truth we must never stray from."

His voice is firm, commanding.

"The words of the Heavens... are the most sacred words of all."

"To defy them is to commit sin. To turn away is to condemn our souls to the other side."

"The words of the Divine are our command. They are our solace. And, above all... they are our guide to the righteous path we must follow."

"They gave us life..."

A pause.

His gaze sweeps over them.

And then—

"And we... shall give them our obedience."

A slow smirk creeps onto his lips.

He lifts his wine goblet high.

"So let us raise our glasses... to our creators!"

The room erupts.

They rise with fervor, snatching their goblets with unrestrained excitement.

Cedric watches them. Their greed. Their glee.

He takes a sip.

And they follow, drinking with unhinged enthusiasm.

To an outsider, it would seem as though he was one with them.

But inside...

Inside, Cedric knows the truth.

To defy an Angel's command... is the same as throwing oneself from a cliff.

And expecting to survive.

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Present Day

A few hours after speaking with Tira

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Empire of Jeremiah, Kingdom of Taro

Ekpesu, Ekpesu's Ghetto

Celestis Calendar : Day 9, Month of Raphaelis (3/9)

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Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...

I stare at my open palm.

I don't even have enough for a single fucking month of rent.

I'm fucked.

I lean my head back against the wall, clenching my fist before slamming it into the stone.

Yeah. I'm pissed.

Hours wasted.

Stomach empty again.

And I still don't have enough.

I slide down against the wall, sitting with my legs bent, resting my fist—clutching a few pathetic bronze coins—on my knee.

I look around at the wretchedness that surrounds me...

A place where I fit perfectly.

And then—Tira.

I think about my anger.

I think about how I made her sad.

Yeah. Best day ever. Fucking fantastic.

I sigh... 

Rubbing my tired eyes.

And then, I feel someone sit down next to me.

I glance to the side.

A kid.

Dirty. Skin and bones. One arm missing. A scarred face.

Why the fuck did he sit next to me?

There's plenty of space everywhere else.

His smell makes me want to gag.

But for now, I keep my mouth shut.

...

Minutes pass.

The kid doesn't say a word.

Honestly... I expected him to start begging for money. Or food. Like any other kid looking like him.

But he doesn't.

He just sits there. Watching the street with me.

Alright. Time to—

"Bad day too?"

The sudden voice startles me.

The kid spoke.

I watch him for a moment...

But he doesn't even look at me.

His eyes stay fixed on one spot.

Staring into nothing.

"Like every day." I mutter.

"Is that obvious?" I ask, still observing him.

Without even thinking, he answers.

"Pretty much..."

And then, to my surprise—he smiles.

A child. Smiling.

That's something I never saw in myself when I was his age.

Such a stupid thing made him smile?

"Is that funny to you?" I ask.

"What are you even doing here?"

Again, he answers thoughtlessly.

"Wandering and just thinking."

Thinking?

"Thinking about what?" I ask again.

This time, he pauses.

Like something heavy is crawling through his mind.

Something consuming him.

"Well?"

The child looks at me and asks, "Does it hurt?"

I frown.

"Does what hurt?"

...

"Does death hurt?"

The question throws me off.

And most of all... how the fuck would I know? I'm still alive.

"I'm alive. So is everyone else. You'd have to ask the ones who aren't." I say with slight irritation and ironic tone. "Why are you even asking things like that?"

The child pauses, then taps my shoulder with his missing arm.

I turn to him.

He smiles.

"You know... when my father cut off my arm, it hurt like hell... But maybe death doesn't hurt as much, right?"

"So I started wondering..." the boy continues.

"Does it hurt more to live? To think about death every day?"

"Or does it hurt less... to just die and finally have peace?"

His words punch the air out of my lungs.

I turn to him again—

And I see it.

He's serious.

He's thinking about killing himself.

But first—

He wants certainty.

A guarantee that it won't hurt.

Fuck.

Fuck, this is bad.

I start realizing something.

Was I ever this bad?

This lost?

I've thought about death before.

But only when I was scared.

Never just... like this.

"Do you want to die?" I ask.

I don't breathe as I wait for his answer.

I just wait.

And wait.

"Yes."

I inhale sharply.

I look away so he won't see the shock on my face.

Hearing someone say they want to die—

It destroys you.

At least, it does to someone who still feels.

How could anyone let this happen?

How could someone allow another person to suffer like this?

Every day.

Every minute.

We live in an era where angels watch over us—

And this is what they allow?

Jeremiah, the Angel of Protection—

And yet he failed to protect this child... And many others.

I stand up.

I walk away.

My heart is flooding with rage.

Hatred.

Sorrow isn't enough anymore.

It's exhausting.

But as I take another cowardly step away, another thought strikes me.

Why run?

Why not face it?

I stop.

I turn back to the child.

"Hey..."

The boy looks up at me with those eyes.

Waiting.

"Do you have at least one good memory in your life?"

I ask with a serious tone, my expression firm.

He pauses.

Digs deep into his mind.

Searching through the years...

Searching for something.

Something that proves he was ever happy.

For most people, this search takes time—because they have so much to collect.

But him?

A single tear rolls down his cheek.

A tear of despair.

He has nothing.

I should have expected that.

I sigh.

I walk toward him, kneel in front of him, and lock my gaze onto his.

He looks into mine.

"Look deep into my eyes," I say, my voice steady.

"Tell me... what do you see?"

"Or rather... what do you feel?"

He stares into my eyes longer than he searched his own memories.

His face twitches—his thoughts wrestling with something.

Like he's trying to say a word...

A word he's never used before.

What is it?

"H... H... Hope?"

His voice is quiet.

Calm.

And then—

He smiles.

A single, fragile emotion.

The mere sight of something like hope...

And it makes a child smile.

And fuck, I'm glad he said that word.

Even though I thought I lost it this morning.

"Exactly... A small sliver of hope is what keeps me going when I need it the most."

"But I don't want to be the one you look to for certainty..."

I take his healthy hand, open his palm, and with my other hand, I place the only bronze coins I managed to get today into it.

The child stares at his palm in shock.

Like someone who has just seen kindness for the first time.

His confused gaze shifts between me and the coins.

"Leaving this world without a single memory to be proud of... that's the worst thing you could do."

"It's not much, but use it to get something... something you want. Something that makes you happy. Even if only for a brief moment."

"And then decide."

"Decide whether that brief moment of joy is worth fighting for... or whether it's enough, and you choose to give up your soul."

My voice is calm.

But my heart is heavy.

I stand up.

Even though I need the money...

I had to do this.

There is still humanity inside me.

And this was my duty.

Even if it means I'll end up on the streets because of it.

I don't know what the fuck I'm going to tell Saul.

If I had kept the money, tomorrow I could have at least managed to pay for one month...

But this was the right choice.

I tilt my head back, staring at the sky.

And in silence, I curse the beings called 'Angels.'

They are the ones who are supposed to bring hope.

Joy.

We're supposed to be grateful for life?

For this?

Should I laugh?

Life?

I wipe my face.

And I walk away.

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Main Street of Ghetto

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I walk, lost in thought...

But ahead of me, I see a turn to the left.

Yeah...

The turn into Life Street.

The place where I was born.

And, as one would correctly assume...

It's the street of whores.

I move to the edge of the street, standing at the corner, peering deeper inside.

A crowd.

People flocking here, seeking their release.

Sex dulls the hunger.

And it's cheaper.

The older the whore, the cheaper the price.

And there—

I spot her.

My mother.

An aging woman—gray-haired, lightly wrinkled.

Everyone in this city knows her name.

She's been in the business longer than any of them.

I am her only son.

The son of a whore.

But I didn't come here by accident.

This is the last option.

Begging her for money.

Like it or not...

She has it.

For years, she's spent nothing.

Which is almost unbelievable.

She also holds considerable influence over some of the biggest names in the Ghetto.

For example—

Gideon Voss.

Known as The Butcher.

And for good reason.

He's a cannibal and a human trafficker.

Especially children.

He frequently buys newborns from the whores.

Takes care of them for a while...

Then butchers them for their organs—selling them beyond the wall.

Brutal, isn't it?

Seems like we're not the only animals here.

We're just caged animals.

But out there—

There are wild beasts.

With no one to keep them in check.

But my mother's greatest influence is over Synn.

The owner of these whores—and Gideon's main business partner.

She knows everything that happens in the Ghetto.

And crossing her?

A death sentence.

They call her The Mother of Shadows.

Fitting.

Fuck it.

I swore I'd never ask her for anything.

And I'll stay away from her as much as I can.

I keep walking along the main road.

The sun is setting.

I should head back home.

I refuse to wander these streets at night.

Not when I'd be nothing but a target for every piece of shit lurking in the dark.

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Some Time Later

In Front of Saul's House

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I can already see Saul.

Sitting in front of his house.

In his old-ass chair.

And watching me from a distance.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Here come the lectures.

His eyes are locked on me.

And from him, I can feel it.

That hunger.

The craving for money.

I walk up the steps...

"So? The money? Did we find it, did we find it?" Saul asks with a grin.

I stop.

Think.

Tell the truth?

Or not?

Hmm...

I think I already know the answer.

I turn to him and smile.

"Got the first half today. Going to get the rest tomorrow."

I chuckle, pretending to be relieved.

"Didn't fucking expect things to work out this well."

That actually catches Saul off guard.

"So—"

"So you'll get your money tomorrow." I cut him off.

"I'm not giving you half now and the other half later. I can't handle double the pain."

I laugh ironically.

And Saul joins in.

Then, he struggles to get up.

I sigh, walk down the steps, and help him up.

"I don't need help!" Saul snaps.

But still—he lets me.

He looks at me.

For a moment, he just stares.

Then—

"You know, kid... You're probably the only one around here who actually understands how shit works."

I pause.

And listen.

"Never thought I'd find someone who actually pays rent in this shithole... You can't rely on anyone here."

"But you..."

He taps my forehead.

"You proved me wrong.

You're a good kid... but don't let it go to your head."

His words throw me off.

From him?

I didn't—

I really didn't expect that.

Then, without another word, Saul turns and heads inside.

I just stand there.

Mouth slightly open.

What the fuck just happened?

A new Saul?

I appreciate his words...

But at the same time—

Do I deserve them?

I lied to him.

And yet...

...

Whatever...

The night is slowly settling in.

People hurry into their homes.

And I should do the same.

But then—

I notice something.

Saul left his chair outside.

Did he forget?

I really don't want to drag that heavy piece of shit inside...

But fine.

I grab the chair.

And haul it inside.

Fucking hell, this thing is heavy.

How the fuck does he drag this out every day—

And then back inside?

Old bastard....

I place the chair beside his door.

Wipe the sweat off my forehead.

"Fuck... That thing is a nightmare to carry."

I drop into the chair for a moment.

And think.

Tomorrow, they'll march in again.

Take dozens of people beyond the wall.

...

This thought brings me back to Tira.

What is she doing right now?

Stealing beyond the wall again?

Fuck...

I wish I could see it too. The other side of life.

Tomorrow, I have to be chosen.

But I'm not about to beg the heavens for it. Never...

I'll—

Believe that my life wasn't made just to survive.

That there's something more.

I stand up—

And then—

A loud crash.

From inside Saul's room.

I freeze.

What the fuck was that?

My eyes snap to his door.

And without knocking—

I rush inside.

Saul is on the floor.

Face down.

His body convulsing.

His limbs jerking.

I instinctively move toward him—

But then—

A single thought strikes me like lightning.

Rent.

Housing.

If he dies...

I don't have to worry about it anymore.

What the fuck am I thinking?

I shove the thought away and run to him.

I roll him onto his back.

His eyes—

Pure white.

Rolling back and forth, lost in his skull.

Blood trickles from his nose.

And I—

I don't know what to do.

I slap him.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

"SAUL!"

"FUCK, SAUL!!"

I panic.

I slap him harder.

Then—

Nothing.

The convulsions stop.

He lies there—

Still.

Not moving.

And I—

I—

Did I...

Did I kill him?

No... NO...

FUCK. FUCK.

I press my ear to his chest.

No heartbeat.

Nothing.

His heart has stopped.

Shock rips through me.

I stumble backward.

Breathe.

Breathe.

But my mind screams at me—

MURDERER.

MURDERER.

No no no no no...

I lunge back to him.

Press on his chest.

Push.

I don't know what I'm doing.

But I'm not a murderer.

I'M NOT A MURDERER.

I press harder.

Harder.

With everything I have.

I'M NOT A FUCKING MURDERER!!!

Then—

The temperature shifts.

A sudden chill floods the room.

I feel it.

Like a wave of guilt crashing down on me.

I shiver.

I'm not a murderer.

I'M NOT.

...

...

"You are."

A deep, distorted voice echoes through the room.

A cold, wet gust of air rushes past me.

I snap my head around—

But there's nothing.

My breath quickens—

With every inhale, every exhale, I see my breath.

The air is freezing.

What the fuck was that?

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

I stumble to my feet and run.

Straight upstairs.

Straight to my room.

I burst through the door, slam it shut with all my strength, and press my body against it.

Holding it like my life depends on it.

Did someone break in?

Is someone trying to kill me?!

WHOSE VOICE WAS THAT?!

The cold is weaker here—

But instead, something worse replaces it.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Climbing the creaking stairs.

Each step—

Louder.

Closer.

SOMEONE IS IN THE HOUSE.

SOMEONE IS COMING UP HERE.

FUCK!!!

SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL ME.

Panic seizes my body.

I grab my bed and drag it to the door.

It feels light as air in my hands—

Because adrenaline is flooding my veins.

The footsteps draw near.

I back away—

Eyes locked on the door.

Every step I hear behind it—

I take a step toward the window.

One after another.

...

Until—

...

My back hits the cold glass.

The footsteps stop.

I breathe.

Deep, fast, uncontrollable.

The silence.

It's worse than before.

And somehow, worse than that.

I stare at the door.

Like an audience watching the main act of a theater play.

What if I just lost my fucking mind?

Or—

A LOUD, VIOLENT POUNDING shakes the door.

I freeze.

Terror rips through me.

And without thinking—

I throw myself through the window.

Falling.

As I plummet—

A single thought enters my mind.

I might not survive this fall.

Even if I do...

Someone will finish the job.

Everything slows.

And in that moment—

I realize how fucking awful this life has been.

I've known nothing but fear.

Nothing but hopelessness.

Nothing but falling.

Hah.

Fitting, isn't it?

Falling.

Falling to rock bottom.

Falling onto the street.

Falling—

And waiting for the end.

But my mind—

It doesn't dwell on the past anymore.

As I drop, I think only of hatred.

Hatred for the heavens.

Hatred for my mother.

And hatred I will carry straight into hell itself.

I think only of the future—

The irony of it.

Because my only future...

Is a few seconds away.

Ah...

...

Goodbye, you miserable fucking life.

AND FUCK YOU ALL, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!

...

Darkness.

To be continued...

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