The Damned Demon - Chapter 884

Chapter 884: Until The End Of Time

The world shifted again, reality rippling like disturbed water, scenes dissolving and reforming around Asher in ghostly waves.

He stood once more as a silent observer, suspended in the endless flow of memory and time, and this time, his heart trembled as familiarity seeped into his bones. The scene he saw now struck deeper, more personally, than any before it.

He found himself floating in the grand throne hall of his kingdom—Zalthor, the heart of the Bloodburn Kingdom. But this was not the place he remembered. Though familiar pillars rose high and imposing, marked by intricate carvings and curtains in shades of black and crimson, the architecture felt subtly different—newer, cleaner, brighter, untouched by the darkness and war he knew too well.

The hall hummed quietly, filled with murmured conversations, shifting of robes, and rustling of scrolls. Asher’s eyes swept across the assembly of nobles and ministers, recognizing none at first—until his gaze settled upon the raised dais at the far end of the hall. There, seated proudly, were two faces etched into his memory, though they appeared younger, their features softer, less burdened by years of conflict.

King Zane, Rowena’s father, sat on the throne, his fierce presence tempered by an expression of weary responsibility. Beside him, Queen Layla sat gracefully poised, her long raven hair shimmering in the flickering torchlight, her eyes calm yet carrying a depth of quiet sorrow. They both radiated youthful strength, unweathered yet by the stormy future that Asher knew awaited them.

A jolt of realization shook Asher. He understood now—this was the distant past, long before Rowena had ever been born, before the kingdom had drowned in the shadows of war. Yet even in this seemingly peaceful moment, the heaviness in their expressions hinted at the brewing storm.

And then his gaze drifted to a delicate figure among the gathered nobles. His heart gave another startled beat—it was Naida, but younger, more vulnerable, lacking the composed and calm grace she would later embody. Instead, she appeared uncertain, restless yet looking quite wary and tired as the assembly murmured quietly around her.

Asher’s breath caught as a sudden shift in the air, like the whispering breeze before a storm, filled the chamber. The murmurs faded into silence, unnoticed by the gathered nobles and ministers, yet Asher felt it keenly—a subtle yet powerful presence lingering unseen, unheard by all but a select few.

Then it came—the gentle, ethereal whisper, drifting through the hall as softly as moonlight through midnight curtains. It was a voice that seemed to echo from everywhere but only heard by very few minds.

“Zane... Layla... Naida... listen...”

Asher’s heart shuddered violently—he knew that voice instantly. It was Aira. Not the twisted, monstrous form from before, but the Aira who had ascended into immortality, her voice distant, poignant, and endlessly sorrowful. It held a profound resonance, carrying the weight of countless lifetimes, endless sorrows, and immeasurable hope.

Though not present here physically, Aira’s presence was unmistakable. Her voice echoed softly, like a tender caress from beyond reality, gently penetrating their minds and hearts, whispering promises and prophecies into their subconscious.

He saw Naida’s expression suddenly shift—her eyes widened, pupils trembling, as though abruptly pulled from a dream. Her hands gripped tightly to the edges of her chair, lips parting softly in shock, her breath catching in a quiet gasp as waves of revelation crashed through her mind.

“Remember... you must remember everything, Naida. Every cycle, every loop. You alone must carry this burden, to guide and suffer...until the final dawn comes.”

Naida’s chest heaved sharply, her slender body shaking, overwhelmed as memories she shouldn’t possibly possess flooded her consciousness. Her eyes darted around, panicked and uncertain, a silent scream trapped behind trembling lips.

She looked desperately towards Zane and Layla, yet their attention was elsewhere, their gazes fixed upon one another in tense, intimate silence.

Asher moved closer, feeling his heart squeeze painfully at the sight before him. Zane leaned forward slightly on the throne, jaw clenched, knuckles white as he gripped the carved wooden armrest, silently struggling with something immense. Layla gently placed her delicate hand over his clenched fist, her gentle touch carrying quiet reassurance.

The scene shifted once more and this time it was in one of the private courtyards,

“I feel it too, Zane,” she whispered softly, her voice carrying sorrowful understanding. “I hear her whispering in my dreams. The future this divine being speaks of... is it truly so dark? It doesn’t feel like a lie and it frightened me more than anything.”

Zane’s jaw tightened further, eyes shadowed by painful resignation. His voice was strained, burdened with reluctant acceptance, “Worse. And I...we must do terrible things, Layla. Acts that will stain our souls forever and hurt you...our family, most of all.”

Layla leaned closer, her voice tremulous yet fiercely determined, “I know what you are talking about. If sacrificing ourselves can save not only our kingdom but this entire world, then I will bear any sin alongside you. Together, we can endure it. Together, we will bear the weight. Think about our unborn children. We have to endure so that they can live.”

A quiet sob escaped from deep within Naida’s chest as she overheard them, realizing her role in the bleak cycle unfolding before her. She pressed her hands desperately to her temples, breath shaking, tears flowing quietly down her cheeks, yet her young heart steeling itself with grim determination.

Asher watched helplessly, a ghostly spectator drowning in understanding. His heart twisted with unbearable regret and guilt. For decades, he had hated Zane passionately, despised him deeply for his cruelty, his merciless destruction of the Eclipsion Kingdom, and the merciless torture inflicted upon his younger self.

Yet now, standing as a witness to history, he realized the terrible truth—Zane was merely following guidance from an immortal voice, acting on whispered prophecies and promises of a brighter future.

Zane’s cruelty was born not of sadism, but of necessity. Every act had purpose, even the brutal training and the destruction meant to ignite the Damned power within Asher, fueled by rage and anguish.

All of Asher’s burning resentment vanished instantly, replaced by painful compassion and understanding. His heart clenched as he watched the scene shift and saw Zane meeting up with Naida, his voice quiet yet steady, gentle yet unyielding.

“Naida, I know you heard her too,” Zane whispered softly, yet firm, his gaze kind but resolved. “You will bear the heaviest burden of all. The remembering, the cycles, the torment—it will break you again and again. But you must endure it, for your family, for our kingdom, and for the world itself. Promise me.”

Naida slowly raised her darkened face, her voice trembling with painful determination, eyes heavy with premature wisdom, “You don’t have to worry, Zane. No matter how often my heart breaks, I will endure. I will guide him...until the end. I have already done it for so long. One more can’t hurt...can it?” She asked with a calm smile, though the pain in her smile was as heavy as it could get.

Asher felt his heart shattering anew, seeing the strength in their resolve despite their pain, understanding the sheer magnitude of their sacrifices.

He finally understood the cryptic words Zane had uttered in his final moments, words that had haunted him since:

“But your story is only getting started...”

Asher closed his eyes, the echo of Zane’s words resonating deeply within him. He murmured softly, “If only I knew...”

As the scene slowly faded into gentle darkness, Aira’s immortal whisper resonated once more, tender yet filled with endless longing:

“I’m sorry... Forgive me.... Until I find a way, please hold on...”

Asher lingered in the quiet dark, feeling broken by everything he learned. Now he truly grasped the agony of their sacrifices, their burdens, their impossible choices—all orchestrated by the invisible hand of the Damned One while only having Aira’s immortal whispers as their only light.

Reality shifted once more, bleeding away like ink washing from a canvas. Asher stood disoriented, watching helplessly as another bleak, haunting scene unfurled around him—a distorted mirror of his world, Zalthor, yet the sun looked golden just like Earth’s unlike the crimson sun of his world.

The air choked him immediately, thick with decay and hopelessness. A bitter stench of death permeated everything, mingled with the acrid scent of burned bones and ancient sorrow. Ash drifted lazily through the air like cursed snowflakes, softly settling atop endless heaps of skeletal remains that formed an endless, grisly sea.

In the distance loomed a city—or rather, the charred remnants of one—sprawling outward in ruinous desolation. Only one structure remained standing amidst the devastation: a colossal, black edifice, its foundation resembling a pyramid cleaved violently through the center, and the edges clean as if it was cut through with such power and precision.

Its presence felt unnatural, alien, whispering forgotten, ominous secrets to the empty world. However, it reminded him eerily of the building he saw in the ruins. Could it be...?

But something else demanded Asher’s attention even more fiercely. A solitary figure stood silently amidst the towering piles of skulls and bones, motionless beneath a sky heavy with despair. His tattered black cloak fluttered gently in the sickly breeze, blending seamlessly into the shadows surrounding him. In his hand was clutched a familiar blade, long and crimson—the Void Reaver, the key that involved so much blood and death.

Asher’s heart thudded painfully as he recognized the weary figure beneath the torn cloak—it was him. Or rather, a reflection twisted by time, sorrow, and bitter loneliness.

The other Asher stood hunched slightly, shoulders sagging with exhaustion as if burdened by countless years. Beneath the hood, dull eyes stared lifelessly forward, framed by a gray mustache and beard that spoke volumes of endless suffering. His face, pale and hollow, bore scars not merely on flesh, but deeply etched into the soul itself.

Asher felt his chest constrict painfully. He struggled to comprehend how far this particular timeline had unraveled to yield such a haunting, desolate reflection of himself. What tragedy could have extinguished every living thing, leaving only this broken, hollow shell?

Then, amidst the grim silence, came Aira’s gentle whisper, drifting softly on the wind like a bittersweet memory, resonating tenderly in the older Asher’s tired mind:

“Let go, Asher. Don’t look back. I promise... I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The older Asher’s lifeless eyes flickered briefly with a fragile ember of determination. Slowly, he tilted his head upward, gazing silently toward the smoke-veiled heavens as though seeking something beyond sight. After a moment of silent communion, he nodded gently, whispering back in a voice cracked by sorrow yet fiercely resolute:

“So will I...”

With sudden, haunting finality, the older Asher raised the Void Reaver, its crimson blade gleaming ominously against the bleak sky. Before Asher could even process the horrifying action, he drove the cursed blade deep into his own heart.

“No!” Asher gasped helplessly, eyes wide in shock and despair, instinctively reaching out toward his doomed reflection.

But his protest was swallowed instantly as a devastating eruption of dark green fire burst forth from the blade’s entry point, consuming the older Asher’s body in a furious maelstrom of annihilation. The fire surged outward mercilessly, roaring like a demon unleashed, erasing everything in its path, bones and ashes alike disintegrating in its unstoppable wrath.

Asher stood paralyzed, engulfed entirely by that blinding dark-green inferno. He felt the heat, raw and unforgiving, tearing through him as his vision filled completely with searing brilliance, drowning all sense, leaving only the bitter echo of Aira’s sorrowful whisper:

“Forgive me, Asher. Until the end of time itself, I will never leave you...”

Then, everything dissolved into the searing abyss of light and darkness.

Ohhh...

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