Chapter 19
Vastro could not rember the last ti he felt pain like this.
No. That was wrong.
He could not rember the last ti he felt pain at all.
It had been a very, very long ti.
And yet here he was.
What tore through him now was not normal pain. Not even abnormal pain. This was insanity given form. A suffering so deep it went beyond the flesh and dug straight into the core of his existence.
He could not hold it in anymore.
A heart‑wrenching scream ripped from his throat, tearing through the void and shaking the entire space. The sound echoed endlessly, raw and broken.
The hell projection watched.
Its grin widened.
Even now, it maintained that calm, unnerving posture. Even standing before an entity that inspired dread in the hearts of all existence, Vastro had remained undeterred.
His declaration of putting hell itself on his hit list had not been bravado. It was belief. Absolute belief in his own capability and ntal will.
Which was why this mont pleased hell so much.
Seeing Vastro scream.
Seeing him break, even for an instant.
The joy was indescribable.
Still, excitent aside, hell acknowledged the truth.
Vastro was by far the most outstanding being to ever clear the hell trial. A hellbound in the making. If he survived, he would be essential to its plan. Hell was counting on him.
But before that, he had to pass the binding.
Perhaps hell should have told him beforehand.
His chance of surviving the binding process was roughly ten percent.
That number existed only because Vastro had already surpassed the Existential Source Realm. Without that, his odds would have been far lower.
The truth was cruel.
Only three percent of those who entered the hell trial ever reached the final ninety gates. Only ten percent of those passed the trial itself. And of those who passed, less than 0.000000001 percent succeeded in binding with hell.
It was the most hideous soul‑binding process in all of existence.
As hell mulled over these thoughts, Vastro drowned in unrelenting agony.
Pain tore through his mind, his body, his soul. It threatened to erase him completely.
He tried everything.
He had no access to external power. No skills. No laws. Nothing but himself.
So he turned inward.
He seized control of his own mind, forcing it to endure. Using sheer will to suppress the suffering.
It did nothing.
The pain did not lessen.
Just as he was about to collapse, a thought pierced through the chaos.
How far he had co.
How close he was.
Hell was already on his hit list. Maybe third.
Drakkon was still at the top.
If he died here, binding to the very entity he planned to hunt one day, how pathetic would that be?
The greatest usurper.
The strongest slayer across the Eight Realm.
Dying like this would be a disgrace.
That refusal to be disgraced anchored him.
But more than pride, it was spite that kept him going. Spite toward every na carved into his hit list. Spite toward everything that stood above him.
The pain continued.
But Vastro’s mind was already elsewhere.
Planning.
Calculating.
He would rise. Rapidly. Violently.
He would bring destruction upon Drakkon and the other usurpers. Then he would surpass existence itself.
And after that.
He would bring down hell.
What ca next did not matter.
Whatever it was, he would face it.
Even if it ant crawling through agony itself.
That was the thought that road through Vastro’s mind as his body, soul, and mind endured the brutal torture of the binding process.
Strangely, focusing his mind didn’t make the pain vanish entirely....but it dulled it. His body barely felt anything, since it was mostly dead. But his soul... his soul was still being shredded.
Right in the center of it, amidst the core of his blue cosmic energy, a small sigil appeared. A hellish mark, embedded deep within him.
And then the scene shifted.
The blue cosmic flas around his soul seed to seal, only to be overtaken by hellfire. The flas poured into the sigil, making it flare with a piercing glow.
Every law coursing through Vastro.... Abyss, Chaos, countless others... resonated with the sigil before falling silent.
The binding was done.
Vastro’s eyes slowly opened. He floated down, landing on one knee. His breaths ca in ragged, uneven bursts, each inhale and exhale a battle. Not just for his lungs, but for his mind and soul.
"How is this possible?"
The hell figure appeared before him, towering and inscrutable, curiosity lacing its voice.
Vastro did not answer. He closed his eyes and examined himself.
What he found was unnerving.
His existence orb... the anchor of all his power... was gone. Everything that had contributed to his strength, even the chaos energy he had just mastered, had vanished.
All except one thing.
A sigil. Wrapped around him in hellish chains. Subtle, but radiating raw, terrifying power.
It was a hellbrand. The mark of hell itself.
Vastro’s mind was flooded with information about the sigil, its purpose, its rules. He understood now: he was truly an hellbound.
But there was more. Instructions appeared in his mind, detailing how the sigil functioned.
He could set it to his preferences, though it would remain dormant until his rebirth. When he returned, it would awaken, ready to obey.
His mind raced. mories surfaced of fighting system wielders, tedious but thrilling battles that had cost him greatly. Back then, he had wondered what it would feel like to wield a system himself.
Now, the impulse hit. He would configure the hellbrand like a system interface.
He began setting it. Brutality for strength. Life as vitality. Speed, resilience, countless hidden paraters.
He added things he barely understood. Features he might regret. The absurdity of it thrilled him.
Finally ca the last touch.
Hell would not leave its chosen subject untested. Before sending him to rebirth, it allowed him to select one ultimate skill.
The first option: FINAL HELL.
The na alone sent chills. Activating it could make him as terrifying as hell itself. But the cost was severe. The backlash would punish his already bound soul.
It might sound simple, but the suffering backlash from hell itself wasn’t sothing Vastro wanted, not one bit.
Hell might seem kind, but anyone who knew its true purpose understood that cruelty was rcy compared to what it could do.
The second ultimate skill was more direct in application. Total Dominion. It allowed Vastro to completely dominate an opponent.
But the flaw was brutal: every single use would render the target utterly powerless.... just like him, reborn. The skill was devastating, but the cost was catastrophic.
The final ultimate skill caught his attention. The Oath of Slaughter. Description: the host returns to the pinnacle of their power... the true Tier 90, the peak of Vastro’s strength before his fall.
His eyes glead as he read. This was more than powerful... it was beyond godlike. Few could comprehend the scale of his peak power. At his best, he had been unmatched in the Eight Realm.
Even now, feeling the unfathomable presence of hell itself, he knew he would lose to it. But at his peak? He could still cause minor damage. That alone spoke volus of his true strength.
Vastro wasn’t a fool. He knew every ultimate skill carried a flaw. Reading the Oath’s, he blinked.
The flaw? When this skill was used, the host would lose those closest to them. The number was variable.... from one to infinity.
He grinned. That was perfect. He had no attachnts... except Drakkon. The loophole suited him. He would use it to rise faster.
The glow faded. Vastro found himself in the middle of the space where the hellwardens waited. He scanned the area. Hell itself seed gone.
That was deceptive. One face alone told him they were still being monitored.
"Your rebirth procedure has been completed. Step into the portal, and you will be reborn," Sorius said, his voice more respectful now.
He made sure Vastro didn’t veer onto his darker instincts.... but it was already too late. Vastro never forgot a grudge.
And with the wardens on his hit list, Sorius was dood.
"Your race, location, and origin will be entirely random. But everything else.... mories, skills, knowledge... will remain," Sorris instructed.
Vastro listened carefully, face calm, nodding at each warden in acknowledgnt. Then he looked at Sorius and offered a warm, casual smile.
"Goodbye. We shall et again."
Sorris felt like he was drowning. Survival instincts screaming. That smile.... it wasn’t friendly. It was predatory.
Vastro looked up at the hell figure nearby. Its presence should have been sealed, yet it lingered.
"And you as well. Wait for ," he said.
The hell figure didn’t flinch. Instead, it grinned. Predatory. Unnerving. But Vastro was already moving.
Sorius muttered under his breath. "Any realm that lunatic enters is dood to beco a war zone... I pity any world unlucky enough to host him."
The other hell wardens nodded, silent acknowledgnt.
Vastro stepped toward the portal.
"Finally... I’m coming for you," he whispered under his breath.
Drakkon.
He grinned and stepped inside.
To be continued...
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