Hell's One: Nothing But A Smirk (Past Arc)

Note: This chapter is set in the past and doesn't center on the current timeline of the story. Reading this chapter isn't mandatory for understanding the story, but it would enhance the overall experience. The choice is yours. ( Canon )

"O' how I yearn for this unworthy bloodshed to meet its inevitable fate, for the chains of battle truly choke me out."

8 Years Ago, Within New York...

A solid wall of blood emerges from the ground and takes shape, reaching a height of about 1 mile. This blood wall connects the locations of the murders that have been committed, forming a six-sided hexagon of blood.

Sanders then retrieves the HemoHex from the ground.

The clouds in the sky disperse, revealing a colossal eye forming in the sky, gazing down upon the city of New York.

"What the hell is that thing?!", Tamara asks.

"In this very moment, we see life beginning to embrace the touch of eternity while growing numb to death", Sanders muses.

"What are you talking about?!", Tamara shouts.

"I despise the ideology of weakness and death, and this is nothing but a step in opposition to that", Sanders says. "For those consumed by fear of their own existence, I see it as a kindness to relieve them of their burden".

This colossal eye contained a beguiling pupil, one that could manipulate someone to kill.

It really felt like Armageddon had begun.

Its pupil, an otherworldly hue of cosmic brilliance, gazes down upon the city, sending shivers through the very fabric of reality.

Manipulative beauty sure is a perplexing concept.

As chaos erupts within the walls encapsulated by blood, fear is devoured by the eye.

Fear, the elixir of this abomination, gains strength.

Sanders has executed a checkmate.

For if the fear absorbed by the eye is vast, it shall forge a weapon of immense power, a yearning he has harbored for far too long.

"Oculus magne potentiae, projice visum tuum ultra peccata nostrae quotidianae vitae. Concede mihi tuam immensam fortitudinem, et ego incipiam quod tu saeculis ante destinavisti", Sanders says.

"Since when did you learn Latin?!", Tamara shouts out.

As the colossal eye splits, it's a breathtaking sight. A surge of red Dark Matter races through space, not just fast, but with a kind of cosmic urgency. The shockwave isn't just about speed; it's like a thunderous symphony echoing through the vastness. Amidst this celestial drama, Sanders stands firm, unfazed.

After the beam ceased emanating from the eye, enormous intestines emerged, encircling the lingering smoke. Seemingly, this smoke enshrouds the long-desired weapon that Sanders has yearned for.

The smoke dissipates.

It appears that the large intestine surrounds the weapon in a circular manner.

Sanders walks toward the weapon, almost as if he hasn't been a fanatic in yearning for this piece of weaponry.

Nothing.

Absolutely Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Nothing but a smirk.

This weapon wasn't designed for stabbing enemies, nor could it be reloaded with a set of bullets to fire.

It was merely a syringe, filled with the purest dose of Dark Matter that may exist within a parallel universe without disrupting its balance.

The balance of souls within the paths decided by Fate's Domain.

The syringe had chains surrounding its exterior, a rather unusual feature.

Sanders grabs this syringe and inspects it.

"If I may, this seems anticlimactic compared to what you prophesized about the atrocities this weapon could commit," Tamara says, "but it's just a syringe, something you could get at any other hospital!"

"You're half right, Tamara. This IS just a syringe; however, never have I ever, in my years of life, judged someone or something's inferiority," Sanders says, "those with great power don't always flaunt it openly. They're like a snake concealing its fangs. Simply put, you must begin to understand the true nature of strength within this reality, or else you're fucked".

Sanders then begins to laugh once again.

He's finally revealing the excitement he had concealed behind nothing but a smirk.

Amidst his laughter, Captain Wyatt suddenly appears behind Sanders, his Rapier pointed at the back of Sanders' neck.

Tamara immediately responds by pulling a handgun from her skirt pocket, pointing it toward Wyatt.

"Let go of him, now!", Tamara says.

"Don't try it. Fate's on my side", Wyatt says.

Based on pure instinct, Tamara drops her handgun and raises both her arms, a gesture signaling immediate defeat or hopelessness.

"Now you, raise your arms and drop that syringe. It's our organization's property now," Wyatt says.

Though threatened, he shall not falter!

Once again, nothing but a smirk. 

He refused to raise his arms.

"Goddammit, raise your arms and let go of that syringe! Now!", Wyatt shouts out.

Sanders then lets out a slight chuckle and says, "see you there."

He drops through the ground, as if it turned into a liquid, vanishing from sight. Tamara follows suit, disappearing along with him.

Just like dropping a rock into a lake.

Another failure burdens the shoulders of the Devil Hunting Organization.

The shadows of that darkness continue to accumulate.

Wyatt then drops onto his knees and hands, resembling a defeated figure, much like a dog.

"When will it end?!" Wyatt screams out, "I simply keep on returning to my vomit, just like the dog that I am!"

The walls of blood vanish in an instant, and the eye disappears along with them too.

Sanders, through strategic prowess and unwavering resolve, has attained a victory of monumental proportions.

"I can't just stop here. Got to take care of Alastor's wounds...ones that I've caused myself," Wyatt says to himself.

Mistakes inflicted by oneself onto others return to oneself a thousandfold.

Back At The Devil Hunting Organization...

Both Captain Lisa and Captain Abigail return from their journey of self-discovery, and they've indeed stumbled upon quite the mishap.

Since they've encountered the entity representing all True Devils within everyone, its presence acts as an immense body, creating a gravitational field with intense time dilation.

A mere 2 minutes passed within that gravitational field, and that equates to 6 hours passing outside of it.

Since both captains already possess a significant amount of Dark Matter within them, they are able to resist the triggering force of the gravitational field, but only to an extent.

If it weren't for their Dark Matter, they would have been trapped in there for months, or perhaps years.

This entity is the True Devil, but it does not rule over Hell.

It is the root of all evil, the source of Dark Matter within all living species.

The darkness of the heart is governed by the True Devil.

The True Devil represents the equilibrium of one's morals.

"We barely got out of that. So much for being the 'balance of emotions', what a piece of scum", Captain Lisa says.

"Yeah, definitely. Thought he'd be a little more handsome too. He's just some starved skeleton with horns. Expected more from an entity of such great control and power," Captain Abigail says.

Suddenly, a pair of Neo-Geisters' henchmen emerge right outside the alleyway.

They too rise from the ground, transforming it into a liquid-like structure, akin to Sanders and Tamara.

Dressed in Neo-Geisters' uniforms, one with a plain black mask and the other with a skull-like visage topped by long horns, they emerged. The night's darkness enveloped them, blending their presence seamlessly into the shadows.

"We're here to exterminate, as per Sanders' will," the man with the horned-skull mask declares.

The other henchman remains silent.

"Now submit to us. It's for Sanders' cause, and no cause is greater than that", declares the man with the horned-skull mask.

Abigail places her hands on her hips and shoots a stern glance.

A look of disappointment. 

Nothing but a smirk.

"You can handle this on your own. Their presence here suggests the others might be facing trouble", Lisa says.

"Of course", Abigail says.

Lisa then disappears, utilizing her immense speed, creating the illusion of teleportation.

Silence then takes over the alleyway.

"Well, I wouldn't want you all to be bored now, would I? How about a little show? This is a one-time-only deal, something you'll remember for the rest of your lives! That should be enough to keep you entertained, don't you think?" Abigail suggests with a smirk.

"What are you speaking of, ignorant woman?", the man with the horned-skull mask asks.

Abigail then forms a triangle with both her thumbs and index fingers, placing it over her right eye, and says, "Mortal Epitaph!"

With a surreal twist, the familiar alleyway dissolves into a shimmering portal. Stepping through, reality shifts, accompanied by a subtle change in temperature and a kaleidoscope of colors, unveiling Abigail's consciousness world in all its enigmatic glory.

Suddenly, an ornate birdcage manifests—a delicate lattice of obsidian and silver, adorned with intricate engravings. Large enough to enclose a crowd, its presence evokes an otherworldly elegance.

The henchmen have been captured within that very birdcage.

A colossal lamp, towering at 300 feet, manifests above the birdcage. Its ethereal glow casts intricate patterns on the surroundings, illuminating Abigail's consciousness world with a mesmerizing radiance.

"Release us, or suffer from the prophecies of Sanders," the horned-skull masked man declares.

Abigail nonchalantly ignores them, proceeding to sit at a desk, holding a movie script in her hands. With legs crossed, she exudes an air of overwhelming cockiness.

"See this?" Abigail asks, displaying the script, "This is a script of mine that I've been working on for a long, long time, like seriously long. Now, I'm curious if you both will enjoy it."

Both henchmen stand in silent perplexity, grappling with their current surreal situation.

Abigail then blows a kiss, and her consciousness world plunges into darkness once again.

The henchmen suddenly find themselves on a stage. It's nothing extraordinary, really — a stereotypical design for a stage, complete with red curtains that part for the start of a show and close for its conclusion.

Once again, the 300-foot lamp materializes, positioned behind the seating area of a crowd, with Abigail now seated among the chairs. Surrounding her is a gathering of eerie-looking puppets or dolls, bearing an unsettling resemblance to voodoo dolls.

Each doll bears an uncanny resemblance to a human—each doll a haunting replica of humanity, their faces frozen in expressions of agony. Yet without the henchmen's knowledge, every one of these dolls represents Abigail's past victims. More than 50,000 dolls, each resembling a Hybrid, populate the eerie crowd around her.

"Well? C'mon, act! We've been preparing for this show for a while now; let us not disappoint this crowd," Abigail prompts.

The henchmen don't know what's going on.

"Follow the script, c'mon!", Abigail says with a huge smile on her face, "say the final line!"

The horned-skull masked man discovers himself seated in a chair, facing a mirror. Beside him, the black-masked man dons a female's wig and a purple dress, resembling the attire of an old lady from 19th-century London.

"I feel so infinite, yet so finite", the horned-skull masked man says while shedding a single tear.

The henchmen found themselves unable to control their bodies, let alone their own wills. As if under a spell, the crowd of dolls rises and erupts in applause for the performance.

"I always believed in you guys! Congratulations!", Abigail says.

Both henchmen then implode from the inside, utterly annihilating them. Even with blood staining her face, Abigail remarks, "they sure did put up an act."