Dan returned with the lazy confidence of someone who had never truly feared consequences.
The underground chamber greeted him with its familiar cold , faint veins of power pulsing like a buried heart.
The air was heavy, saturated with Hastur's presence, an invisible pressure that bent sound and shadow alike.
In Dan's right hand was a pinkish drink, shimmering softly as if light itself had dissolved into liquid. In his left, a bag of food, warm steam escaping through the folded top, carrying a mundane scent wholly out of place in a room meant for rituals and bindings.
Ellios lay where Hastur had placed him, body resting on a bed. He looked fragile there—human, breakable—his expression calm, unaware of how many forces now revolved around his existence.
Dan lifted the drink slightly and grinned.
"So," he said lightly, "do you want… you know, Like the glass guy?"
Hastur didn't turn at once. He stood near Ellios's side, his attention seemingly fixed on the slow rise and fall of the human's chest.
"The who?" Hastur asked.
Dan clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. You gave him a lifetime of trauma and he doesn't even earn a name in your memory. That's cold."
Hastur finally looked at him.
His gaze was flat, ancient, and deeply unimpressed.
Dan cleared his throat. "Victor. That Victor Blade. He definitely has phobias now. And trauma. I wonder if he can continue enjoying life as he used."
Hastur's brow creased faintly. "What did we do?"
Dan shrugged, swirling the drink in his hand. "Ellios's brother—the one who smashed a glass into you at the club. You remember that, right? Told me to manipulate his nightmares. Punished him using his dreams. Twisted a few memories. Let fear ferment."
Hastur frowned.
"Ooh," he said slowly. "Not like that."
Dan blinked. "Not… like what?"
"Not dreams," Hastur corrected. "Thoughts. Only thoughts. Subtle. Enough to make Ellios never want to leave here."
Dan sighed, rolling his shoulders. "That's tricky. You want to influence his thoughts. Attachment without madness. Humans are fragile, you know."
Hastur's voice dropped, sharp as frost.
"If you weren't incompetent and become a demon incubus lord—you could have just made him love me."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Dan's smile froze for half a heartbeat. Behind his eyes, something dark stirred—resentment, hunger, ambition.
Just give me your blood essence, he thought bitterly.
But outwardly, he only chuckled. "Well, yes. Technically. But this works too."
He stepped closer to Ellios, eyes glowing faintly pink. The chamber seemed to respond, as if recognizing the nature of what was about to happen.
Dan tilted the glass.
The liquid spilled—not into Ellios's mouth, but over his hair and forehead. The moment it touched skin, it vanished, absorbed instantly, as though Ellios himself had been waiting for it.
A ripple passed through Ellios's body.
His fingers twitched. His brow furrowed, lips parting slightly as if caught between a dream and waking.
Then stillness returned.
Dan straightened, satisfied. "Make sure the food's dosed too," he said, nudging the bag toward Hastur. "If he stops ingesting it, the influence weakens. He might start questioning things. Might even try to leave."
Hastur nodded once.
"Any more demon hunters?" Hastur asked.
Dan shook his head. "None after the last ones. Which brings me to a question—why don't you let me deal with that Marcus Blade? He's the one sending them. Old man's persistent. Dangerous."
Hastur turned slowly, his gaze settling on Dan with unsettling calm.
" There maybe more demon hunters in his house that what he sent that day. Be my guest and go deal with him," Hastur replied mockingly.
Dan frowned. "So we just wait?"
"He will come," Hastur replied evenly. "And when he do..."
His eyes lingered on Dan just long enough to convey something unspoken.
Dan swallowed the implication and forced a grin. "Your call."
He turned and left, the door sealing behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Beyond the Universe — The Domain of Desire
Far beyond stars.
Far beyond time.
In a hidden dimension shaped by longing and unfulfilled hunger, the God of Desire stood alone.
Perfect. Radiant. Unblemished.
And furious.
The air around him fractured as his laughter rang out—soft at first, then sharp, echoing across impossible distances.
"So," he murmured, lips curling. "Sealing you under universal rules really did rot your mind, Hastur."
He paced slowly, bare feet leaving ripples in reality itself.
"You think you won."
His laughter deepened, carrying a promise of ruin.
"I'll make sure you never get what you desire."
The God of Desire leaned forward and whispered—not a sound, but a truth. A secret about the key to Hastur's lost power.
The whisper did not travel through space.
It traveled through comprehension.
Only beings vast enough to understand could hear it.
And they did.
The Pharaoh's Laughter
Under a dying sun, a Black man clad in ancient pharaonic robes stood at the edge of a ruined town.
Moments earlier, he had taught a trembling witch the final syllables of a curse. Now she screamed as the magic rebounded, consuming her—and the town—with grotesque efficiency.
He watched, amused.
Then his head tilted.
"…Hastur?" he murmured.
A slow smile spread across his face.
His hand twisted, flesh unraveling into writhing tentacles that tore the land apart.
"We will meet again," he laughed softly.
"Nephew."
The Sleeping City Beneath the Sea
Deep beneath black waters, an incomprehensible being stirred within a sunken city of impossible angles.
Ancient eyes opened, reflecting knowledge older than stars.
The whisper brushed its mind.
Recognition flickered.
Then the eyes closed once more.
Not yet.
The Cave of Black Waters
Monsters circled endlessly as a lone man stood upon liquid darkness inside a cavern that defied depth.
Suddenly whispers passed mentioning the name Hastur.
"…Interesting," the man muttered.
The Devourer of Stars
A figure floated beside a dying star, consuming it slowly.
The whisper reached him.
His feeding paused.
His gaze shifted—toward Earth.
While all was going on, Ellios's eyes started to wake up.