Rise Of Hades' Hellborn: Trumpets Of The Damned

The Ashes Within II

The world was burning.

Myles stood frozen in the living room of his childhood home, the air thick with heat and the acrid stench of smoke. Curtains flailed violently like possessed spirits, tongues of fire licking the peeling wallpaper, devouring every photograph, every trophy—every memory—one by one. The flames crackled hungrily, a choir of destruction singing in hell’s own harmony.

Each breath scorched his lungs. His eyes watered from smoke, blurring the horror in front of him into a surreal, flickering fever dream.

It was exactly as it had been ten years ago.

The same nightmare. The same choking air. The same overwhelming helplessness, as though time itself had shackled him to this moment and refused to let go.

He was thirteen again.

Barefoot. Trembling. Skin sticky with sweat and ash. The floor beneath him creaked like it was alive, groaning beneath the weight of the fire’s fury. The distant thump of collapsing furniture echoed like distant thunder. Every heartbeat felt like a countdown.

Then, through the smog—his mother.

She burst into view like a wraith rising from the blaze, her hair wild, face smeared with soot and fear. Her voice cracked as she screamed, “Myles! Out the window—now!” Her grip on his arms was tight, urgent. He could feel her hands shaking.

But he hesitated.

“Wait here while I get your sister. Promise me—you’ll take care of her!”

His mouth was dry. His heart a hammer in a cage. He nodded, voice lost in the storm, tears mixing with soot on his cheeks.

She turned and vanished into the hallway.

And then—

Boots. On tile.

Voices. Shouting.

Flames. Roaring to life.

The hallway erupted. Fire surged like a tidal wave. His mother’s scream was sharp, final.

And then—silence.

The inferno behind him roared louder. The air grew impossibly hot. Something inside him broke loose, and his thirteen-year-old self hurled through the shattered window just as the house behind him caved in, swallowed whole by flame.

Blackness.

***

Myles shot up in his cot, lungs aching, breath tearing from his chest like broken glass. The room spun around him. Sweat soaked through his undershirt, sticking him to the thin sheets like glue. The metal bunk creaked beneath his sudden movement.

The hum of the suppressor field buzzed in his ears—louder than usual. Harsher. It clawed at his skull, like static grinding against bone.

“God…” he rasped, running his palms down his face.

The sterile walls of the Paragon facility greeted him with indifference. Dull gray steel. No windows. No comfort. No escape.

He turned his head to the digital clock on the wall.

00:00.

Midnight.

Right on time.

The nightmares always arrived like clockwork—faithful and cruel.

He slumped back onto the mattress, exhaling through clenched teeth. The cot was cold beneath him, the blanket tangled around his legs. He stared at the ceiling, tracking the faint seams between the tiles as if they held answers.

But sleep didn’t wait for him.

It never did.

It dragged him under like a riptide, relentless and cold.

***

This time, the world was wrong.

Gray skies loomed above, lifeless and heavy, as if the heavens themselves had turned to ash. The wind was absent, yet the fog slithered across the ground like a living thing, curling around his boots, chilling his bones.

The road was shattered. Cracked asphalt stretched in jagged lines like veins through a dead city. Burnt-out husks of cars stood silent, overgrown with brittle vines. The air reeked of decay and old fire—an aftermath.

Corpses littered the ground like discarded marionettes.

Hundreds.

They lay in piles, sprawled over broken streets and sidewalks. Faces twisted in fear. Eyes wide, unseeing. The silence was unbearable.

But worse than the numbers were the faces.

Not strangers.

Soldiers. Civilians. Paragon agents. Teammates.

People he had trained with. Fought with. Laughed with.

People who had trusted him.

It looked like the end of the world—and he was standing in its center.

He stepped forward, breath hitching in his throat. Bones crunched underfoot. A sickening, wet sound.

Then—movement.

A sound: dragging, groaning, like the dead refusing to stay buried.

He turned toward it, heart pounding.

And there she was.

Anna.

She lay crumpled on the pavement, her limbs twisted unnaturally. Her clothes were torn, streaked with blood and ash. And through her chest—his sword. Oblivion Requiem. The blackened hilt gleamed like obsidian, jutting out from her body like a mark of betrayal.

“Anna!” he cried, sprinting to her side.

He fell to his knees, hands shaking as they reached for hers. Her skin was cold. Her breaths shallow.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Myles…” she whispered. A single tear slid down her cheek. And then—stillness.

Gone.

“No… no, no, no!” he shouted, voice cracking. He shook her gently, desperately, but she didn’t move.

He cradled her head in his arms, rocking slightly.

Something inside him shattered his irises flared—bright violet. Lines of glowing runes flared across his arms. The hellfire in his blood surged, rising like a volcano waking from slumber. The sky above twisted in response.

“Yes… let it all out, Myles.”

A voice, soft and smooth, wrapped around him like a coil.

He turned slowly.

Kaelin emerged from the mist, hands behind his back, strolling as if admiring the scenery. Smoke curled from his boots, each step leaving faint embers.

Myles rose to his feet, fury rippling from him like waves of heat. “I’ll end you.”

Kaelin’s smile was calm. “I’m sure you will. Eventually. But answer me something first.”

Myles’s fists clenched. “What?”

“Why did you do it?”

Confusion flickered. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You did this,” Kaelin said, motioning to the corpses. “All of it. The hellfire. The seal. The moment you let go… this world was born.”

Myles staggered back. “No…”

“Yes,” Kaelin replied, voice almost gentle. “You became the thing you swore to fight.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Myles stammered.

“Intent doesn’t matter,” Kaelin said, stepping closer. “Look.”

The corpses began to move. One by one, they twitched. Eyes snapped open—black, empty, accusing.

Louise rose first. His old friend. His mentor. His family. “What did I ever do to you, kid?” he asked, voice hollow.

More stood.“You promised to protect us.” “You said we mattered.” “You said you’d never let us die.”The dead closed in. Dragging their broken limbs. Moaning. Accusing.

Myles backed away, tears burning down his face.

“No… please…”

Their voices rose into a deafening chorus of betrayal.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his head, screaming as the fog thickened, the sky shattered, and the ground buckled beneath him—

***

He jolted upright in his bed.

Chest heaving. Skin burning. Energy crackling faintly across his arms—traces of violet, fading fast.

The suppressors in the walls hummed louder, desperately working to dampen the aftershock.

His hands gripped the edge of the cot like it might anchor him to reality.

02:12 AM.

He stared at the numbers, unmoving.The nightmare’s echo still rang in his ears.But it wasn’t a dream.

Not anymore.

It felt like a memory. A warning. Or maybe…

A glimpse of what he might become.

He swallowed hard, voice raw as he whispered into the darkness.

“Am I becoming him?”. Kaelin? Or something worse? He didn’t fear dying anymore.

He feared what might survive him. And what it would do next.