Did he die today, yesterday, or maybe tomorrow?
He was once an ordinary man. Now he is the lord of hell, who defeated Lucifer himself.
A million years of battles, countless victims, an army of the fallen... and in the end, silence.
His name was Mister. He was praised and feared.
But he was the only one left on the wreckage of this victory, with a crown in his hands and three names in his heart: Gray. Bella. Mom.
This chapter is the story of the end of his journey. A story of sorrow, choice, and hope.
The story of a demon who decided to become human again.
———————
In the depths of Hell, where there is no place for life, stretched the endless desert of Samatha.
Once barren, it is now littered with piles of mangled bodies. The air was saturated with the iron stench of blood. The inexorable sand slowly formed new dunes, hiding the traces of a desperate battle.
More recently, these bodies were hordes of ruthless warriors who struck unbridled fear into the hearts of simple devils who dared to appear in their path.
Now everything is frozen. Only time continued its funeral ceremony.
At the top of the highest dune, a lone male silhouette was kneeling. In his stillness, he resembled a statue, imbued with an aura of sorrow and loneliness. His face, covered in blood and dust, showed no emotion, and his gaze was fixed on the horizon, where rows of motionless bodies stretched to the very edge, merging into a single dark mass — a mute testimony to his victory and his curse.
It's only when you look closely that you can see a single tear slowly rolling down his dusty cheek.
This once handsome young man, now just a lost demon, was dubbed Mister by the inhabitants of Hell. For a million years, he inspired terror with his very name. Upon seeing him, the devils prostrated themselves, and the monsters fled with their tails between their legs.
But how did it end?
Not so long ago, his endless legions raised their banners in this gloomy desert. Their ferocious aura was ready to soar to the heavens and devour whatever their enemy provided. Unfortunately, even such a powerful army was essentially just an army of suicide bombers.
They all knew that they were going to certain death. They knew that it was almost impossible to survive the battle. But that wasn't the goal either. All of them only wanted to tear apart the enemy, considering it an honor to give their lives for the glory and goals of their Mister.
And they did. They gave their bodies, their blood and sweat, their hearts and souls. They gave him everything.
Only madmen came here.
And they all fell.
Only the Mister remained to continue the fight.
Like a whirlwind, he swept across the battlefield. Thousands of commanders fell at his hands, dozens of generals lost their heads. In the end, he killed Lucifer, the lord of Hell, with his own hands.
He snatched the Pyrrhic victory from his clawed paws! And as proof, he held a black jagged crown, the sharp teeth of which painfully dug into the skin, leaving bloody wounds.
Yes, he had avenged the fallen, but he had not been able to hear their last wishes. The words that they shouted at the top of their lungs, dying on the endless battlefield, remained unheard forever.
They fought for him and his ideas, but what did they get in return? Only a burial without a grave.
For three days now, the Mister had been continuously maintaining a kneeling position and desperately remembering why he had started all this. Why were you gathering countless troops? Why did you send them to their deaths? Why did you keep clinging to a meaningless existence for a million years?
Yes, it's Hell. Yes, murder is a common thing here, but there is no trace of pity. Yes, existence itself is synonymous with the words "pain," "despair," and "fear."
So... Was the goal worth the sacrifice?
Plunging into the farthest corners of his memory, the Mister remembered how he first appeared here, completely green by the standards of this ruthless place. He remembered the early years when he had wandered through the first layer, dreaming of escaping the endless agony and finally ending the merciless torture by fire.
It was a painful time. Back then, death seemed like a beautiful dream to him.
Every step on the surface of Hell was like walking on broken glass. With each breath, flames burst into his lungs, causing unimaginable pain to his already burned body. Thirst and hunger became his faithful companions.
And the worst of all is loneliness. There wasn't a single soul within a thousand miles of him.
At that time, he was just walking, not knowing how much, why, or where, only to find, not knowing what.
He walked along, going over the happy moments of his past life bit by bit before ending up in Hell. A life that, even with all possible efforts, he now couldn't remember.
He walked along, meaninglessly repeating three words: "Grey," "Bella," and "Mom." It was only these three names that kept him from losing his mind completely. They became his mantra and anchor in this sea of madness.
The endless days of loneliness in this gloomy world had dulled all his senses. A traveler driven only by instinct, without purpose, without hope, accompanied by three names, he almost turned into a soulless doll.
And suddenly — this meeting. A strange casual creature, furious and hungry, rushed at him with the obvious intention of tearing him apart.
At that moment, a whole firework of emotions broke out in the Mister's soul. Fear — sharp, piercing, made the blood run faster through the veins. But with it came something else—joy. The paradoxical, insane joy of not being alone anymore. That there was still something alive in this ruthless world, even if it was hostile.
This palette of conflicting emotions turned out to be so strong that even now, after thousands of battles and struggles, the memory of it caused the Mister to tremble slightly. For a moment, his lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile—a bitter one, but a smile nonetheless. It was the first emotion he had allowed himself to show since the end of the battle.
The memories kept scrolling....
The years merged into decades, decades into centuries, and the battle continued. The battle is insane and pointless. A battle to satisfy eternal hunger with the flesh of enemies and thirst with their blood.
It was an endless confrontation in which there was no room for mercy. Every blow, every movement was aimed at engulfing, destroying, wiping out all living things from the face of the earth.
Gradually, the inexperienced young man turned into a ruthless killer worthy of the nickname Mister. His body was covered with scars and wounds. His eyes, once blue and full of life, now burned with red fire, betraying his inner essence—the essence of a predator.
In this world of darkness, death, and pain, there was no place for the weak. Only the strongest survived, and he became the embodiment of this principle. He was ready to do anything to satisfy his insatiable desires, not knowing fatigue and pity.
He finally turned into a predator consumed by thirst for blood and flesh. He became a part of this world, a part of Hell and its endless battle that had been going on for millennia.
This predator was desperately repeating:
"GREY, BELLA, MOM"
"Mommy, Grey, Bella"
"Bella, mother, Grey"
"Grey Mom"
"Grey Bella"
"GREY, GREY, GREY, GREY, GREY, GREY"
And so, after years of endless hunting, he met another intelligent being — just as lost as himself. This creature endlessly repeated "PALLOCK," just as he himself repeated "GREY, BELLA, MOM."
Something about this creature caught his attention, sparked a spark of interest in his tortured mind.
Instead of rushing at him right away, the Mister slowed down, watching. His eyes, burning with red fire, narrowed, assessing the opponent. The predator's instinct was still clamoring for blood, but something deeper, almost forgotten, kept him from attacking immediately.
Finally, unable to contain his bloodlust, he leapt at the creature, aiming his teeth at its neck. But it wasn't an ordinary fatal bite—there was curiosity in his movements, almost a playfulness he hadn't shown in millennia.
"Grey?" He snarled, clutching at his opponent's flesh.
"Pallok," the creature replied, thrusting its arm out and trying to punch him in the stomach.
Their fight continued, but it was no longer just a fight for survival. There was something new about her, a glimmer of recognition, an echo of a long-forgotten sense of connection.
"Mom?" — The Gentleman croaked, loosening his grip for a moment.
"PALLOCK!" the creature replied furiously.
"Bella!" The Gentleman shouted, jumping back.
"PALLOCK, PALLOCK, PALLOCK!!!" — The creature screamed furiously.
After a long struggle, they lay side by side, panting and endlessly repeating four words now.
Thus began the joint journey of two "highly developed" predators, who found in each other a reflection of their own loss and pain.
It was the beginning of a new chapter of the Mister's life in Hell. The beginning of a journey that eventually led him to the desert of Samatha, where he knelt, holding in his hands the crown of omnipotence over this cursed world.
Finally, the Mister got up from his knees and approached the giant's motionless body. Every step was difficult, as if my legs were filled with lead. It was the body of Pallock, his first general and loyal friend. He's certainly grown up over the years.
The Mister pressed his forehead against the giant's cold skin and addressed him one last time.:
"Goodbye, my first general," he whispered in a trembling voice. "Goodbye, my friend... Goodbye, Pallock..."
"Thanks for everything. I hope there's no more pain where you've gone. Rest in peace."
The Mister felt that his resolve was wavering. Part of him wanted to stay here, to mourn the fallen, to sink into sorrow and regret. But the other part, the one that had guided him through a million years of suffering, whispered urgently.:
'Don't stammer.'
"Don't look back.'
"Keep going.'
"You've chosen your path. You shouldn't regret it. Death is not an option for you. The opportunity presented itself. You should have taken this opportunity. Grab it with both hands and keep going.'
"We don't have time for regrets or grieving. You always knew that the path to our goal is paved with mountains of corpses and victims.'
With a heavy heart, the Mister turned away. His gaze became firm, determined. He knew he had to move on, that he couldn't let himself drown in regret.
Placing the bloodstained crown on his head, he headed towards a lonely tree, preparing to put the last stop on his journey. As he passed by, he picked up the broken dagger and katana, and then stepped on Lucifer's hated face one last time.
There was a small tree in the distance. Its sparse green leaves seemed almost illusory, and a single plum-sized fruit swayed gently on the branches. The tree clearly did not fit into the gloomy surroundings of Samadhi. Of course, this is the legendary Tree of Reincarnation, nurtured from the phoenix flame. The fruit of Life ripened in the Realm of Death. In a word, it's a contradiction.
The surface of the fruit radiated a soft glow, and a delicate fragrance filled the air around it. All the signs unmistakably indicated that the fetus had reached full maturity. It was this fruit that caused chaos in the whole Hell, and it was the ultimate goal of the Mister, or rather, the means to achieve it.
Cutting off the cherished fruit with one sharp movement, the Mister said in a trembling voice: "Bella, Mom, I do not know what will happen next. I did everything I could! I entrust everything else to fate. I hope I will be able to meet you again..."
Suddenly, his voice changed, becoming sonorous, filled with authority and power.:
"The power given to me by the Biblical HELL. I, GRAY, surnamed Mister, the current rightful Lord of dimension 169 563 271 458, hereby resign immediately and embark on reincarnation!"
The black crown flashed with a bright light. The entire dimension trembled .
Without hesitation, the Mister greedily swallowed the fruit.
With one decisive movement, he plunged the broken katana into his heart and the dagger between his eyes. And... in the blink of an eye, he disappeared from the bloody desert, leaving only the echo of the last word reverberating across the vast Samatha.