Kael staggered.
His body twisted.
Not from a strike.
Not from an attack.
From himself.
Belzebuth's blood burned inside his veins
like a blade heated to white.
Every breath tore a piece of air out of him.
Every heartbeat slammed too hard.
Too fast.
Too deep.
He swayed.
His fingers clawed at empty space.
His chest hollowed sharply.
A ragged sound climbed his throat,
brutal, strangled, inhuman.
Even the shadows recoiled.
The Replacement stepped back.
— What…
— …what is happening to him…?
No one answered.
Kael tried to lift his head.
His eyes trembled.
Not from fear.
Not from rage.
From pure pain.
His body folded in half.
He crashed to his knees.
Blood spilled from his lips.
Blood too dark.
Too ancient.
Too heavy for a mortal.
Belzebuth stared at him.
Confusion still carved into his brow.
But it didn't last.
A breath changed.
A vein pulsed.
And the Prince's expression shifted.
Not to surprise.
Not to fear.
To rage.
Cold.
Muted.
Unyielding.
Kael collapsed fully.
Unconscious.
Broken.
Breath shattered.
Muscles trembling even in stillness.
A heavy silence fell.
Too heavy to be accidental.
The Replacement swallowed hard.
— He…
— He collapsed…
Belzebuth didn't even blink.
His hand slid slowly along his mutilated throat.
Black blood still dripped between his fingers.
Each drop sparked a new twitch of hatred.
He stared at Kael.
For a long time.
Without breathing.
Then, in a whisper that barely resembled a voice:
— You think… this is where it ends?
— You…
His voice vibrated.
Broken.
Torn.
— You, worthless insect…
He squeezed at his ruined throat.
Black blood slid again through his fingers.
— You dared to humiliate me.
— Me.
— Royal blood.
— A Prince of Hell.
Each word scraped the air like a blade.
— And on top of that…
His breath turned into a growl.
His pupils dilated to obsession.
— You dared to defile my body…
— By devouring me?
— BY EATING ME!?
The entire floor shook beneath the scream.
Belzebuth lurched forward,
trembling with rage,
his jaw twisted out of shape.
— And now…
He pointed at Kael.
A finger shaking with hatred.
— YOU DARE…
— PRETEND YOU'RE GOING TO PASS OUT?
A laugh broke out of him, joyless and breathless,
the rictus of a wounded beast.
— As if nothing happened?
The Replacement froze for one second.
Just one.
Then he understood.
Too late.
Belzebuth was no longer a wounded Prince.
He was a storm waiting to rupture.
The Replacement's aura contracted on its own,
instinct of a cornered creature.
He stepped back half a pace…
and his own demonic blood dragged the rest.
— My Prince…
His voice shook.
— This human… he… he defiled you.
Belzebuth turned his head slowly toward him.
His eyes burned.
The Replacement inhaled sharply.
He thought he needed to say something clever.
He didn't.
— I… I can finish him.
— I can—
Belzebuth cut him off with a guttural snarl.
A sound with nothing human left in it.
The Replacement felt his heart melt in his chest.
But he continued anyway,
with that demon madness that rises at the smell of blood:
— Give me the order.
— I'll crush him.
— Reduce him to dust.
— Erase the shame.
His aura twisted, opened,
spilled a darkness he wasn't even controlling anymore.
— This insect… will not leave this room alive.
Belzebuth turned fully toward him.
Slowly.
Far, far too slowly.
His eyes were two blades.
— Stop there.
His voice cracked like a whip.
— It's my honor to restore.
The Replacement gulped.
Just a reflex.
It didn't help.
Belzebuth straightened a little.
The aura around him vibrated,
bending the air as if a storm lived under his skin.
— Unless…
He tilted his head.
Very slightly.
— …you wish for me to erase you as well?
The Replacement paled instantly.
His aura snapped tight.
Instinct screamed no before his mouth could.
— N–no!
— Not at all!
He lifted his hands in panic, then forced himself upright.
His eyes narrowed.
He tried to retrieve a firm tone.
— Then allow me to conclude this Floor.
He emphasized each word.
— That way, you won't be penalized by the Tower…
A silence.
Heavy.
— …for breaking your pact when you free yourself from the seal—
Belzebuth stared at him.
The Replacement continued, frantic,
too deep to back out:
— —and release the powers of the copy you are!
The words spilled too fast.
Too loud.
Too direct for a lesser demon.
He realized too late what he had just said.
The room trembled.
Belzebuth didn't move.
Not a millimeter.
Not a breath.
But the air turned glacial.
And the Replacement understood he had stepped
far too close
to a forbidden truth.
— Shut up… and do what you must.
Belzebuth spat the words, cold.
— I don't have much time left.
The Replacement nodded.
His pupils shrank.
His aura twisted into a black spiral.
— Very well.
He gave a nervous smile.
— This may… sting a bit.
"Sting" was grotesquely understated.
A heartbeat later,
Belzebuth screamed.
A Prince's scream.
A scream that cracked the walls.
That climbed the entire floor
like a wave of white-hot metal.
The Replacement had forced something.
Something that should never have been touched.
Something sleeping in the depths
of the demonic fragment.
Black glyphs split open above the Prince.
Circles layered over each other,
twisted, unstable, ravenous.
Belzebuth arched backward.
His veins burst with black light.
Archdemon blood erupted and evaporated before touching the floor.
His aura turned into a storm.
His cry tore stone apart.
The Replacement stepped back, impressed despite himself.
— Hold on…
His voice quivered between respect and panic.
— I need to redo the bond. Otherwise you'll… implode.
Belzebuth screamed again.
Not in pain.
In rage.
Pure, absolute, ancient rage.
And the Tower
screamed with him.
Then, abruptly,
the screams stopped.
Not because the pain had ended.
Because something else
had taken its place.
A silence fell.
Heavy, deep, visceral.
A silence that forces shadows to bow.
Belzebuth rose slowly.
Very slowly.
As if each movement crushed a piece of reality.
The light warped around him.
The air contracted.
The floor vibrated under his feet.
His royal blood still dripped from his throat,
but his aura…
his aura regenerated
into a monstrous mass,
thick, crushing.
— That will do,
he growled,
his voice barely recognizable.
He raised a hand.
Just a hand.
And the world recoiled.
Space folded around his fingers,
as if reality itself tried to flee.
The Replacement watched,
pale, trembling, frozen.
Forbidden glyphs appeared in the air,
one by one,
like open scars
on living parchment.
They turned around Belzebuth,
slowly,
closer and closer,
tighter and tighter.
Each glyph pulsed
like an independent heart.
A black heart.
A deadly one.
Belzebuth inhaled.
His chest opened like a chasm.
Dark energy,
thick,
viscous,
condensed in his palm.
The air grew heavy.
Very heavy.
Too heavy.
Pressure crushed the stone.
Cracks crawled up the walls.
The ceiling bent
like an animal sensing death.
The Replacement whispered, horrified:
— You're… actually channeling that?
Belzebuth didn't blink.
— He ate my flesh,
he breathed.
— He soiled my name.
— He touched my blood.
His aura exploded outward in concentric rings,
ravaging the ground.
— So yes…
His voice became tectonic thunder.
— I'm channeling.
In his hand,
the energy condensed again,
again,
again—
until it became
a nucleus of absolute darkness.
A fragment of abyss.
A black sun.
Forbidden.
Ancient.
Unnameable.
A power that should
never
be used
in a Tutorial.
Belzebuth dipped his wrath into it.
And the energy reacted.
It shuddered.
Bit the air.
Screamed silently.
The entire floor groaned.
The Tower understood.
The System understood.
Even the walls understood.
This Prince
was surpassing the limit.
And Kael, lying on the ground,
unconscious,
broken,
became the target
of an attack capable of erasing even his soul.
Belzebuth lowered his hand slightly.
Just a millimeter.
Enough for death
to begin taking shape.
— You'll die by MY hand, he said.
— And honor will be restored.
The black nucleus pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
The strike descended.
Straight toward Kael.
Dense enough to crush an entire floor.
Belzebuth brought down his hand,
slowly,
with murderous precision.
The forbidden core vibrated,
swollen,
hungry,
ready to strike.
And just before impact—
Another hand caught his.
No sound.
No light.
No pressure.
A simple gesture.
Almost casual.
As if stopping an arm one had seen a thousand times.
The Guide's gloved hand.
Belzebuth froze.
His breath blocked in his throat.
His heart skipped.
He blinked once.
Only once.
Then panic flooded his veins.
Cold.
Violent.
Total.
The Replacement nearly collapsed to his knees.
His mouth opened.
No sound emerged.
Sweat poured instantly.
Belzebuth understood he should feel fear…
but he didn't know why.
Not how.
Not what had moved in the room.
He looked at the figure standing beside him.
A calm shadow.
Stable.
Motionless.
His throat tightened further.
An oppressive silence fell.
Then—
The Replacement burst out, panicked:
— Wh-what are you doing here, Guide!?
— You… you weren't supposed to return before tomorrow!!!
Belzebuth opened his eyes slowly.
Very slowly.
And only then—
in that precise moment—
he understood.
The Guide hadn't planned anything.
Hadn't anticipated anything.
Hadn't foreseen anything.
He had just returned earlier.
By pure coincidence.
Belzebuth froze.
His arm locked.
His attack suspended.
His heart… absent.
The Guide's gloved hand simply held his.
Calmly.
Quietly.
And Belzebuth felt something he had never known.
A void.
A cold.
An internal collapse.
His breath cut abruptly.
A spasm ran through his chest.
His pupils shrank to two white dots.
His mutilated throat vibrated on a strangled gasp.
Sweat slid down his temple.
One drop.
Then another.
Then more.
Uncontrollable.
Impossible to hide.
Every second the Guide's hand touched his
devoured his pride.
His rage.
His power.
Belzebuth trembled.
He.
A Prince.
Trembling.
He recoiled a millimeter…
then realized he couldn't move.
His body refused.
His aura refused.
Even his blood refused.
Beside him, the Replacement shattered entirely.
His legs buckled.
He dropped to his knees.
His fingers clawed at the stone.
His aura collapsed,
as if blown out by a silent hurricane.
He gasped.
Hard.
Violently.
Every breath like the beginning of suffocation.
His eyes jumped
between the Guide and Belzebuth,
then Kael,
then the hand,
then back to the Guide.
He couldn't even talk.
Fear locked his tongue.
A demon.
A hell-born creature.
Reduced to a trapped animal.
His heart pounded too fast.
Too hard.
Too erratic.
Panic rose.
Higher.
Higher—
so much his aura tried to flee his own body.
Belzebuth too tried to understand.
To breathe.
To think.
Nothing worked.
Because the Guide's presence
said nothing.
Judged nothing.
Moved not at all.
It crushed.
By mere existence.
And that simplicity
was what destroyed them.
Belzebuth trembled again,
harder this time.
His stomach knotted.
Pressure.
Pain.
An instinct old, animal, shameful:
The instinct
to fear death.
The Replacement began to cry.
Not emotional tears.
Pure panic tears.
His body could no longer stand.
He slid onto one knee,
then both.
His throat made a strangled sound.
Not a word.
Not a cry.
Just a dying reflex.
The Prince stared at the gloved hand.
The Replacement stared at the floor.
Both trembling.
Both suffocating.
Both on the verge of collapse.
And the Guide…
said nothing.
Did nothing.
Didn't even look at them.
That silence…
was what killed them the most.
Belzebuth opened his mouth…
but no sound came.
The Guide didn't even lift his gaze.
His voice fell.
Calm.
Sharp.
Without a tremor.
— Belzebuth.
A breath.
— Get out of my sight… and go home.
Belzebuth twitched—
a reflex he couldn't control.
The gloved hand never let his go.
— I will visit your father later to settle this.
That single sentence
shattered his aura.
Royal blood froze.
Belzebuth went pale.
Very pale.
He stepped back once…
twice…
and vanished.
No word.
No glance.
Just the silent panic of a Prince
who had just brushed erasure.
The Guide turned toward the Replacement.
The demon tried to speak.
A gargle.
Nothing.
The sentence fell like a divine blade.
— As for you, worthless filth…
The Replacement shrank.
His aura burst into black dust.
— I strip you of all your rights.
— All your power.
— All your privileges.
Each word tore energy out of his body.
His back bowed.
His breath broke.
— In the name of the Cosmic Axis…
The stone vibrated.
The System hissed.
The demon choked.
— …you are condemned to undergo the Infernal Trial of the Tower.
A cold breath.
— Alone.
— Under this condition.
The Replacement screamed.
A brief, broken, ripped cry.
Then he collapsed to his knees,
emptied,
hollow,
returned to what he had always been:
A minor demon.
And a coward.
The Guide didn't spare him another glance.
His gaze landed on Kael.
A double gaze.
Proud.
And sad.
Like a mentor watching a monster being born…
and knowing he will not be able to hold it for long.
— You may come, Sir Hypnos.
His voice stayed soft.
— You have a window of a few seconds.
— Take him and leave quickly.
Hypnos appeared in a midnight-blue puff.
The Guide continued, simply:
— Take care of him.
— He deserves it.
— But be very careful.
Hypnos raised a brow.
— Is that… a threat?
The Guide shook his head.
— No.
— You did not understand me, Sir Hypnos.
His gaze drifted to Kael,
unconscious,
but vibrating with a twisted, unstable aura
far too ancient for a mortal.
— Beware the entity… buried deep within this young man.
Silence.
Heavy.
Cosmic.
— That is all.
He bowed slightly.
— I wish you a safe journey.
One last request:
— Tell Lady Thanatos of my involvement, please.
He turned.
Almost leaving.
Then, very softly,
almost to himself:
— Farewell.
A breath.
A crack in his voice.
— Farewell… my future King.
And so ends Act I of Echo of the Past.
Thank you to everyone who followed the story this far, whether from the very beginning or along the way. Watching Kael cross these first 100 Echoes has been a long journey.
Act II is already in preparation.
However, a short break will be necessary before its release in order to properly finalize Volume I and prepare the continuation under the best conditions.
This pause does not mark the end of the story.
Quite the opposite.
The real journey is only beginning.