Rise Of Hades' Hellborn: Trumpets Of The Damned

The Black Flame

In the heart of Kaelin’s underground chamber, the summoning circle began to pulse—a seething array of glyphs glowing blood red across the obsidian floor. Every wall in the chamber trembled with the pressure of what was being called forth. The air turned viscous, humming like a distorted bassline from the depths of a dying star.

Kaelin descended the spiral staircase carved into the stone, each step echoing like the ticking of a doomsday clock.

The cultists knelt before the sigils, their voice taut with strain as they chanted in an ancient tongue. With every word, their bones seemed to creak under pressure.

The circle burst open—wind howled inward, dragging light and heat into the void at its center.

From it stepped a tall, ragged figure wreathed in flickering black flame. Its face was cloaked in a metallic mask etched with infernal runes, and its hands were wrapped in barbed gauntlets that radiated cruel heat. Charred wings fluttered briefly behind its back before crumbling to ash.

The cultists all fell to the ground, coughing blood. The gate snapped shut behind the creature.

Kaelin smiled. “Welcome back, Sorran.”

The demon tilted its head. “You dare summon me again, Kaelin?”

“I brought you here because I need you to find the Avatar,” Kaelin said. “He’s awake—and he’s growing stronger by the hour.”

Sorran’s voice was layered with contempt. “And why should I obey you, mortal? You barely survived binding me the last time.”

Kaelin opened his palm, revealing a blackened shard of bone wrapped in runic chains. Sorran’s posture shifted immediately. Pain flashed through the fire in his chest.

“The Binding Sigil,” Kaelin said calmly. “You’re free here but one squeeze, and your essence fractures —and again mortal?” Kaelin took off his cloak showing his horns.

Sorran’s flames flared, but he remained still.

“Tell me what you need,” he growled.

Kaelin walked slowly around the demon, fingers behind his back. “Track the Avatar. Break him. But don’t kill him. Hades’ mark must be preserved. I want to know how deep that bond runs—and what memories still fester beneath the surface.”

Sorran didn’t speak. He simply turned toward the nearest wall, igniting a circular portal with a gesture of his hand. “I’ll return with answers.”

And like smoke caught in a breeze, he vanished.

***

[Paragon Holding Facility – Sublevel 3]

Myles sat cross-legged in a reinforced holding cell that hummed with enchanted barriers. Each breath he took was measured, slow—his aura dimmed to the bare minimum to avoid alerting the guards that anything unusual was brewing inside him.

Louise paced just outside the barrier, still dressed in his Paragon fatigues. “They’re watching you constantly. You do know that, right?”

Myles opened one eye. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to figure me out.”

“Yeah, but this time, it ain’t some back-alley demon gang. It’s Paragon. They’ve got protocols for protocols.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Louise stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before Myles could answer, the barrier flickered—then dropped.

Sandler stepped in with Winfield close behind, flanked by two armed officers.

“We need to know your answer, we've given you a choice,” Sandler began. “Work with us. Help us stop whatever this growing spike in demonic activity is. Or we keep you locked up and drained until you’re nothing but an interesting corpse.”

Myles tilted his head. “Charming. Do all your job offers come with a death threat?”

Winfield sighed. “Myles, listen. Something’s changed out there. Demons that shouldn’t be able to cross are slipping through. High-tier ones. If you are what you say you are… we need your help.”

“And if I say no?”

Sandler’s voice went cold. “Then we’ll force your hand.”

Myles stood. “I already am helping you, whether you admit it or not. But fine. I’ll play along—for now. Just don’t try any more taser tricks.”

***

[Elsewhere – The City’s Edge]

The portal that Sorran opened led him to the old water treatment district—long abandoned and buried beneath layers of graffiti, rust, and failed city plans.

He stalked forward, his presence distorting the lights in nearby buildings. Shadows bent toward him. Animals fled without knowing why.

In his mind, he replayed the final scream of the Avatar from years ago—when Myles died the first time. He remembered the way the human soul flickered before being pulled down into the underworld.

That soul had returned stronger.

But all souls bore cracks.

And he would find the ones in Myles.

***

[Back at Paragon – Training Arena]

The reinforced training arena’s walls were lined with enchantments, mirrored sensors, and observation booths. Myles stood in the center, facing Anna.

She held two curved shock-batons, her eyes unreadable.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said.

Myles shrugged off his jacket. “Still mad I let you zap me?”

She charged, batons crackling.

They clashed—her strikes fast, focused. Myles ducked, weaved, countered with fluid steps. Every move she made, he mirrored with preternatural grace.

“Vhorak,” she said between swings. “You took him down solo.”

Myles caught one baton, twisted her arm, and swept her feet out. “He was sloppy.”

Anna rolled to her feet, grimacing. “And you’re arrogant.”

“Guilty.”

The match ended when he caught both batons mid-air, disarmed her, and kicked her backward into the padded wall.

She lay there for a beat, catching her breath.

“You’re getting stronger,” she admitted. “Too fast.”

“I’m not the only one,” Myles said quietly.

Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I felt something. When Vhorak died. A pulse—like a warning. Something’s moving in the dark. Something worse.”

Anna stood. “You think more Heralds are coming?”

Myles looked up at the ceiling, eyes distant. “I think they already have.”

***

[Kaelin’s Lair – Observation Chamber]

Kaelin watched the footage from his surveillance drones—grainy images of Myles in the Paragon arena, moving faster than even the cameras could track at times.

“Sorran will test his limits,” Nixx said behind him.

Kaelin’s lips curled into a sardonic grin “That’s exactly what I want. Every Avatar, no matter how noble… bleeds eventually.”

He leaned forward, tapping the screen.

“And when he does… we’ll be ready to crack him open.”