Hades' fist slammed into Demian's face again, and again, until a dull ache crawled up his knuckles.
He hissed and shook his hand, staring at it in disbelief.
"Damn it," Hades muttered. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Demian lifted his head slowly. There was no blood. Not a scratch.
His lips curved into a lazy, mocking smile, eyes bright with amusement despite the punishment raining on him moments ago.
"Is that all?" Demian asked softly. "I thought you brought me here to suffer."
Hades didn't speak. He grinded his teeth, rage surging inside him, but something held him back from throwing another punch.
By the corner, Quentin Rastro sat, 5 armed men surrounded him as he smoked his big cigarette carelessly.
His expression darkened and he stepped forward. The toe of his polished boot nudged at Demian's knee. "You're a tough one, huh?" Quentin asked.
Demian snorted.
Quentin turned to Hades. "You punch like a fucking child! Beat him properly. I want to see blood. I want to see him beg." he snapped.
Hades flinched.
He picked his walking stick and pressed it hard against Hades's chest.
"I favour you like a son because I believe you have great potential as a business man. To succeed, you must be ruthless. Now, this young man has humiliated you before the whole universe. Now he sits here tied in a chair, and you can't even make him pay. Pathetic!"
Hades frowned on hearing those words.
Hades clenched his jaw. "I swear boss, I'm hitting him," he said through his teeth. "Hard enough to break a man's face. But it's like punching concrete."
"Excuses excuses excuses!"
Demian laughed.
The sound echoed in the abandoned warehouse, slicing through the tension like a blade. "You hear that?" he taunted. "Your best isn't enough."
Quentin chewed down his cigarette, his eyes burning.
One of his men spat on the floor. "Boss, this guy's mocking us."
Quentin came forward. His eyes narrowed. "Enough talk!" His voice was cold, sharp, terrifying. "Break him. Bones, teeth—everything! I don't care how you do it."
Hades wasted no time. He launched forward.
The men surged forward, grabbing wooden planks, iron rods, anything they could find from the corner.
The scrape of metal against concrete sent a flicker of something dangerous through Demian's eyes. This time, his smile faltered.
Not out of fear. But his secret. If they struck him like this, there would be no hiding it. His secret would be naked and screaming in front of them and the fun, the only thing holding him from crashing out, it'll all be over.
He couldn't let them know the truth yet.
At a go, Demian exhaled slowly, then reached inward to that familiar switch he rarely touched.
A sharp pain bloomed in his chest instantly as his immortality shut down, and his world came rushing back into fragile, mortal clarity.
The first blow landed on his ribs.
He screamed.
It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't controlled. It tore out of him raw and real, and the men froze for half a second, then grinned.
"There we go!" one of them shouted.
Within seconds, the wood cracked against flesh. Iron kissed bone. Demian's body folded under the assault, pain exploding everywhere at once.
He tasted blood, thick and metallic, spilling down his chin.
"Beg," Hades growled, striking him across the back. "Laugh now."
Demian groaned, words slurring. "You…hit like a bitch!"
That only made them angrier.
The beating went on and on, until the world blurred, sounds melting into a dull roar.
His thoughts scattered. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, and in less than ten seconds, he fell into the abyss.
Silence fell.
Hades was sweating. "Asshole! Move now. Not so dangerous now are you? Huh?" He likes Demian hard, but has no reaction.
"I think he passed out." One of the men said. Demian's white vest has turned red. Hades kicked the chair he was tied to, and Demian fell with the chair. No movement.
Hades knelt, fingers pressing against Demian's neck. His face paled slightly. As he rose quickly. His eyes widened. "He's not breathing."
Quentin Rastro stood up immediately and rushed to the scene. Another security man knelt and checked his pulse. "He's dead." He announced, and Hades jolted to his feet. His lips began to tremble.
Quentin stared down at the broken body, unmoved. "Then we're done here." He waved a hand dismissively.
"Get rid of him. Somewhere no one will ever find. And clean this place. I don't want so much as a fingerprint left behind."
They wasted no time. The men dragged Demian's limp body outside, tossing him into the back of a truck like trash. But, no one noticed the faint rise and fall on his chest.
At the river, moonlight shimmered over rushing water.
They threw him over the edge without ceremony and watched his body descend into the spring.
"Goodbye, Demian Kael," Hades growled, satisfaction curling his lips. "Rot in hell, loser."
Engines roared to life, tires crunching gravel, and then they were gone, convinced they had finally won. Convinced that the world would never know what had happened here today.
Four hours passed, just enough time for his internal wounds to heal. Something deep inside him stirred—his immortality surging back like a tidal wave and seizing control without permission. Lungs spasmed. His eyes flew open as he gasped violently, coughing water and agony.
Soft hands grabbed his shoulders.
"Hey! Don't move. Please, don't move," a woman's voice pleaded.
Demian was hauled toward the shore, his body heavy and uncooperative.
He collapsed onto wet earth, chest heaving as he sucked in air like it was his first breath ever.
He turned his head slightly.
She stood above him, moonlight kissing her face. Hair clung to her cheeks, eyes wide with worry. Her beauty was so striking it felt unreal against the pain wrecking his body.
"Who're you?" he asked but his vision blurred as exhaustion crashed over him. Then the darkness took him again into a deep sleep.