Chapter 42 — The Hunter of the Fallen
The rain had stopped.
Liberty City lay under a soft silver mist, its lights shimmering like dying stars beneath the clouds. The mansion on the hill was quiet, save for the faint crackle of a dying fireplace.
John Stellman sat motionless in his chair, still gripping the sword — Jack's sword — its cold edge glinting faintly in the orange glow. His eyes were hollow, his mind far away. His blood had dried along the hilt, and yet his grip did not loosen.
He whispered hoarsely,
> "I can still feel him… his laughter, his voice… why does it haunt me?"
Then, from behind him, came a voice — soft, melodic, tender.
> "Because you haven't let go, John."
He froze. That voice — it melted through the iron walls he had built inside his heart. He turned slowly, and there she was — Gina.
She stood at the doorway, wrapped in a flowing robe of pale silk, her hair damp from the rain, her eyes warm and glistening with sorrow. Her beauty was almost unreal — radiant yet fragile, like light through crystal.
John's chest tightened. He dropped the sword and whispered,
> "Gina…"
She walked closer, her heels silent against the marble floor. She reached out and placed her hands gently on his shoulders.
> "You've been fighting ghosts, John," she said softly. "You've punished yourself enough. You need rest."
But he shook his head violently, his jaw clenching.
> "Rest? After what he did? After what he took from us? I can't rest. I won't rest until H.I.M's blood paints the streets of this cursed city."
Gina's eyes softened with grief. She knelt before him, her hands cupping his face.
> "Then you'll lose yourself too. And when that happens… who will bring you back?"
Her words struck him like a blade, yet her touch calmed the fire raging in his heart. Her warmth… it had been years since he felt anything human, anything gentle.
He stared into her eyes, and for a fleeting second, the rage melted.
Without another word, she leaned in and kissed him — slow, deep, passionate — a kiss that felt like both a farewell and a promise.
John's trembling hands pulled her close. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to breathe. The world outside faded. The only sound was their heartbeat — two broken souls trying to find solace in the ruins of their war.
As dawn began to creep through the windows, the city exhaled, unaware of the storm about to descend again.
---
Far beyond the mortal plane, within the Obsidian Spire, the Supreme Lords gathered — ethereal beings cloaked in light and shadow, their voices echoing through the chamber like thunder across eternity.
A great mirror of black glass hovered in the center, showing the image of H.I.M, cloaked in blood and shadow, tearing through the streets of Liberty like a phantom of vengeance.
> "He has lost his balance," one of the Lords spoke, his voice deep as the ocean.
"The curse of the Devil has consumed his mind. He is no longer our chosen."
Another voice, colder, sharper.
> "Then he must be eliminated."
The room went silent until the silver-cloaked figure at the far end of the table rose. Her presence alone bent the air around her — graceful, deadly, and radiant.
Her name was Asha, the Hunter of the Fallen.
Her reputation whispered through dimensions — the blade of the Lords, the woman who hunted corrupted souls and never missed her mark.
Her golden eyes shimmered with anticipation as she smirked.
> "You finally call for me," she said, her voice both seductive and dangerous.
She stepped forward, her twin daggers hanging at her sides — curved, silver-edged, engraved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the dark.
> "H.I.M.," she whispered with a predatory grin. "The once divine vessel… turned devil's shadow. How poetic."
The Supreme Lord of Light spoke sternly,
> "He was once one of us, Asha. You must strike without mercy."
Asha tilted her head, her long braid swaying slightly.
> "Mercy is for saints, my lord. I was never one."
With that, she spread her arms. Her aura flared — golden and blue — her wings of light unfolding behind her as she leapt from the Spire into the endless night below.
Her eyes narrowed, locked on the distant lights of Liberty City.
> "The hunt begins."
---
Back in the mortal world, H.I.M stood atop the church where it all began — where his descent first started. The storm clouds swirled around him, his coat whipping in the wind. His crimson aura bled into the sky, turning the heavens red once more.
He felt it — a pressure in the air, a new presence descending upon him.
Someone fast… someone pure.
He grinned darkly.
> "Finally… they send one of their own."
A bolt of golden light struck the roof across from him, and from it rose Asha, eyes burning like twin suns, blades drawn.
> "H.I.M. of Liberty," she called out, her voice echoing through the storm. "By decree of the Supreme Lords, your existence is condemned. Prepare yourself."
H.I.M smiled through the rain, his eyes gleaming with both madness and sorrow.
> "You think you can end me?" he said quietly. "I've already ended myself."
The air trembled as their auras collided — darkness and light, vengeance and justice.
And as thunder cracked across the sky, the Hunter of the Fallen launched her first strike.
The war for H.I.M's soul had begun.
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