Rise Of Hades' Hellborn: Trumpets Of The Damned

Requiem Activated

“Hey man,” Louise’s voice cut through the thick fog in Myles’ head like sunlight through mist.

Myles blinked a few times. The world came into focus—white walls, glowing blue lines across a polished metal floor, and his broker sat at a corner of the bare room. 

“Where am I?” Myles rasped. His throat was raw, like he’d swallowed glass.

“Paragon stronghold, I bet,” Louise replied with a shrug, gesturing vaguely at the room. “And boy, do you look awful.”

Myles groaned, rubbing his temples. “Try getting drugged multiple times in the span of twelve hours and see how you’d look.”

Louise chuckled. “Fair. You also died once. That doesn’t help the skin tone.”

Myles managed to sit up. The restraints were gone—at least someone had decided he wasn’t a rabid animal. The lights in the room dimmed automatically as his vitals stabilized, some AI probably tracking his every breath.

Louise voice turned a shade more serious. “You really brought hell to that alley. And now they think you’re some sort of anomaly.”

“They’re not wrong.”

“You remember anything new? About… whatever’s inside you?”

Myles shook his head. “Just flashes. A deep cold, a presence that’s always watching. Like there’s a shadow behind every heartbeat.”

Louise didn’t look surprised. “Sounds like something ancient.”

Before Myles could respond, the air in the room shifted.

The lights above flickered.

Then buzzed.

Then died completely.

“What the hell?” Louise stood up, hands raised. “Wasn’t me, I swear.”

A low hum began to swell in the air—like a tuning fork pressed against his bones.

Myles stood slowly, instinct already screaming that something unnatural was building. The floor beneath them began to vibrate. Thin lines of violet energy started crawling along the metal tiles in patterns that looked far too arcane to be anything Paragon ever sanctioned.

BOOM.

The center of the room erupted in a flash of purple light.

A circular rift split open midair, a jagged tear in space itself. Wind rushed outward, whipping Louise’s coat and sending papers flying across the room. The air smelled like burnt ozone and ancient incense. Symbols carved in molten gold danced along the rim of the portal, spinning faster with every second.

“What the—” Louise took a step back.

The portal pulsed, louder now. A tone, musical but discordant, echoed through the walls.

Director Sandlers and Winfield were the first to notice the anomaly.

“What’s happening?!” Sandlers snapped.

“The system’s detecting a quantum rupture!” Winfield’s hands flew across his console. “Source unknown—looks like a dimensional tear.”

“Myles,” Sandlers muttered, realization dawning. “Lock down corridors six through ten!”

The reinforced steel door behind them slammed open. Anna burst through first, followed by Director Sandlers, and three armed Paragon guards.

“What happened?!” Anna demanded.

“We don’t know!” Louise shouted, pointing toward the rift. “It just opened! No one touched anything!”

Anna’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the symbols. “This isn’t a demonic portal. It’s… something else.”

The rift shifted.

Myles staggered forward, something in his chest pulling him toward the light. Not a force dragging him—a call. Ancient. Familiar.

“What’s happening to him?” Louise yelled.

Myles turned to face them all, his irises flickering with a faint glow. “ What do you know, this might be my way outta here”

“Myles, don’t—” Anna started, but it was too late.

He stepped into the portal.

The world tilted, turned inside out, and vanished.

---

The portal sealed with a thunderclap behind Myles, and all he could hear afterward was the sound of his own breathing.

The chamber around him was massive — old, stone-lined, and pulsing faintly with arcane energy. It wasn't another dimension. It was beneath New York. The stale air carried the faint scent of candle wax and ash.

Myles stepped forward, boots scraping against runes carved into the granite floor. Torches flared to life on ancient pillars, revealing towering stained-glass windows sealed behind dust and reinforced iron. An old cathedral, gutted and repurposed into something far more sinister.

“Welcome, child of Death,” a voice called, smooth as silk over a dagger’s edge.

From the far end of the crypt, a figure emerged — tall, draped in ceremonial robes that shimmered darkly like oil in firelight. His hood hung low, but the eyes underneath blazed a cruel shade of pale blue.

“My name,” the man said, “is Veylar. And you, Myles, are trespassing on sacred ground.”

Myles didn’t flinch. “You’re the one who opened the portal.”

“True.” Veylar tilted his head slightly. “But only because you’re carrying something that belongs to powers far older than you comprehend.”

He gestured, and a gust of wind slammed the massive doors shut behind Myles.

“Let me guess,” Myles growled. “You want the watch.”

Veylar chuckled, stepping down from a stone dais. “The watch is just the casing. What I want is what lies within you.”

The mark.

Myles stiffened, unconsciously clenching his right hand into a fist. The hand which had the sigil that  sometimes burned under his skin — the ancient symbol of Hades, branded into him during resurrection.

“You’re trying to draw it out,” he said coldly.

“Trying?” Veylar smiled. “No, Myles. I’m going to.”

With a flick of his wrist, the torches dimmed — and the runes on the floor ignited with red light. Symbols twisted and reformed under Myles’ boots, glowing as the circle activated.

“You think this’ll hold me?” Myles flared, the echo of death magic already surging in his veins.

“I’m not holding you.” Veylar raised both arms, and an arcane pulse slammed through the room. “I’m peeling you open.”

Myles dropped to one knee, gasping as pain seared across his chest. The Mark of Hades blazed beneath his skin — dark tendrils creeping up his neck and arms, pulsing like molten chains.

“ Don't tell me Hades avatar’s crippled because he has no pistols on him” Veylar sneered. 

Veylar’s eyes widened with greedy satisfaction.

“There it is,” he breathed. “The divine sigil. You have no idea the power you carry — power wasted on a half-formed mortal still grieving over a mother and sister long gone.”

“Don’t. Talk. About them,” Myles hissed.

“Oh? Your poor mother, burned for hiding the truth. And your precious twin… lost in the shuffle of fate. Tragic.” He leaned closer. “But useful.”

Myles surged to his feet. “ Yes I may be crippled without pistols but I won't allow myself to be handicapped” 

“You want a piece of this?” he snarled. “Come take it.”

Veylar raised his arms, energy coalescing into jagged crimson blades above each palm. “Gladly.”