Rise Of Hades' Hellborn: Trumpets Of The Damned

And The Lines Cross

Myles walked through the darkened alley, pistols drawn, each footstep slow, precise, calculated.

His senses were on high alert.

Behind him, a large, man-sized wolf materialized from the shadows, low and silent. Its breath steamed in the night air as it crept closer—four meters away and closing.

Myles spun on his heel like lightning and opened fire.

The shots cracked through the silence. The wolf gave a low growl and retreated into the shadows.

“Great,” Myles muttered with a grin. “Got a little pup on my hands.”

Moments later, it returned—flanked by two more.

“Look who brought friends,” he said dryly.

They lunged.

A fast smattering of bullets sent two stumbling. Myles ducked low and charged the third, facing it head-on.

He waited—perfectly still—until the last possible second, then launched sideways. The wolf skidded, trying to correct, but crashed into the concrete.

“Okay,” Myles said with a grin, “I’ve got six rounds in each pistol. So y’all gotta share.”

They came at him again, this time faster, more vicious.

The first lunged with terrifying speed, claws flashing. Myles raised his pistols and fired—one shot into its open mouth, the second between the eyes.

It dropped mid-air like a ragdoll, skidding to a halt in front of him.

Myles didn’t stop moving. He cycled to the next pair, launching off a nearby wall to elevate himself. Hanging mid-air, he unleashed a blistering spray—five clean headshots in a single arc.

He landed lightly, smoke rising from the still corpses at his feet.

“Easier than I thought,” he whooped, reloading and holstering both pistols.

But then—behind him—the shadows moved.

They slithered, coalescing into a semi-solid form. A six-foot humanoid figure, forged from darkness itself. Its mouth didn’t exist, only two narrow, glowing green slits where eyes should’ve been.

It advanced with silent steps.

One hand morphed into a jagged blade as it drew near. Just as it raised its weapon, a sudden chill in the air warned Myles.

He twisted away, barely dodging the strike.

“Damn quiet for a demon,” Myles said, rolling to safety.

He unleashed a pair of custom-made Desert Eagles, their polished steel glinting in the alley light. He fired twice—but the bullets passed harmlessly through the creature.

The demon’s distorted voice growled. “Give me your watch.”

Myles frowned. What?

Before he could ask, the creature’s left hand morphed into a black tendril. It cracked through the air like a whip, slamming Myles into a brick wall.

He hit hard and dropped to his feet, barely standing—before the tendril wrapped around him like a serpent, bones creaking under the unholy pressure.

The demon raised its blade. It hovered inches from Myles’ face.

---

[Paragon HQ – Tactical Room]

The large surveillance room buzzed with tension. Gen. Sandler stood with arms folded, eyes on the live interrogation feed. Dozens of demon hunters had been questioned, but nothing solid had emerged.

“We’re chasing ghosts,” he muttered. “Winfield, anything useful?”

“Not much,” replied Dr. Winfield, Paragon’s lead theoretical scientist. Then his expression shifted. “Wait—the last guy said something about someone who hires demon hunters. Name’s Louise Parker.”

Sandler leaned toward the monitor.

He activated the mic. “You mentioned someone who hires hunters. Who is he?”

The man on-screen—handcuffed to a steel chair—lifted his head. “If you’re looking for someone like that, Louise is your guy. Last I saw him, he mentioned a job from some off-grid demon. Didn’t think much of it back then. Maybe I should’ve.”

Sandler narrowed his eyes. “Where can we find him?”

“Clubs. He’s always at some nightclub or another,” the man said with a shrug.

Sandler muted the feed. “This Louise might be a lead.”

Winfield was already typing furiously. “Found him. Louise Parker. American. Frequent club appearances in New York. I’m pulling addresses now.”

---

[Back in the Alley]

Inside Myles’ skull, a voice thundered—not external, but internal, ancient, and deep.

Now that you've seen how useless mortal weapons are against higher demons… let me show you real power.

The demon’s blade remained still, just inches from Myles' head.

The creature paused.

A sudden heat radiated from Myles’ palm—intense and unnatural. The demon shifted its grip, inspecting him.

“What… is this?” it murmured.

On Myles’ palm, a glowing purple sigil had formed—faint at first, now searing bright.

Then Myles looked up—hair falling over his eyes, which now burned with violet fire.

He grinned.

With a sudden twist, he broke free from the tendril’s grip, tumbled backward, and sprang to his feet.

“Now it’s my turn.”

His pistols glowed—no longer ordinary. Purple runes danced along their barrels.

He fired.

Three shots slammed into the demon’s chest. One tore off its right arm.

“Bye-bye,” Myles whispered.

He fired one last round—this one blazing with infernal light. The bullet pierced the demon’s skull. It staggered backward, silent as it collapsed into shadow, disintegrating into the void.

In the aftermath, a figure shimmered into view.

An image of Hades, regal and composed, hovered before him.

“Well done, mortal,” Hades said approvingly.

“Did I kill it?” Myles asked, breathing hard.

“No,” Hades replied, smiling faintly. “It will take more than bullets—no matter how divine—to destroy that one. But that’s not really the question you wanted answered.”

Myles narrowed his eyes. “How would you know what I was thinking?”

“I’m a god,” Hades said simply. “And the knowledge you seek isn’t yours to have. Not yet. But you’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”

Myles sighed. “Yeah. That was a setup…”

He holstered his pistols, his jaw tightening.

“Hell… Louise has a lotta explaining to do.”