The Overlord You Mocked

Chapter 2: Open Wound

Demian stepped out of the storm and into the quiet warmth of a small late-night boutique.

He moved like a man returning from a war only he understood.

The Overlord’s aura was gone, masked beneath an ordinary man's grief.

He wasn’t here as a conqueror.

He was here as a husband.

Demian picked out a bouquet of white roses—Marianne’s favorite.

Then he chose a navy-blue suit, crisp and elegant. Something worthy of an apology.

I should have never disappeared… even if it wasn’t my choice.

He imagined her smile.

Her tears.

Her arms around him when she realized he was alive.

He paid his bill in silence and stepped into the night.

The street where he once lived looked unfamiliar. Children played in the yard.

A new family stood on his porch, laughing as they decorated for the evening.

Demian froze.

My house…? It was the last property he had of his mother's.

What happened here? He thought.

His mother's house was no longer there. It had been reconstructed and another family was living in it.

Before he could speak, a bus drove past with a banner plastered along its side.

Marianne’s face.

Smiling, radiant, glamorous.

Beside her—Hades Buckley.

Demian's cousin, and longtime enemy.

Demian’s fingers tightened around the flowers until the stalks snapped.

Why is she standing with him? Why is she smiling with him?

He flagged a cab immediately.

“No 17. Palmsview Estate. Now!”

That was Hades's address. If he still lived there…

The taxi sped along, the city light blurring behind them.

The mansion still stood—taller, richer, more extravagant than before. Demian pushed the small gate open, walked up the steps, and knocked.

Silence.

The door was unlocked, so he pushed the door open.

Inside was just chaos. Clothes strewn across the living room floor. He crouched and lifted a woman’s shirt—delicate, lacy. He frowned.

He took one step toward the stairs—then saw a pair of panties lying midway up the steps.

His jaw tightened.

That's regular Hades. What would Marianne be doing with such a man? He thought.

Another step.

A bra hanging off the railing. He climbed and stared at the bra in total silence.

Then a moan.

Soft. Desperate. Familiar.

Too familiar.

“Don’t stop… please… harder…”

Demian’s breath hitched.

No… it can’t be…

He moved toward the master bedroom like a ghost being pulled by fate.

He pushed the door slowly. The scent hit him first—perfume he knew too well.

Then the sight.

Marianne.

Her legs tangled around Hades as their bodies moved together on the bed.

He froze, and his breathing stopped abruptly.

For a moment, the world became silent.

Hades glanced back mid-movement and paused… then smirked.

Marianne traced his gaze, and her eyes met Demian standing by the door. She pulled the sheets and covered herself. A mixed feeling swam inside her…

Not guilt.

Shock mixed with shame.

Then anger.

“You’re alive?”

Hades swung off the bed and walked toward Demian with a mocking grin. He didn't bother to cover his nakedness.

Demian stood frozen.

“Well, look at that,” Hades laughed. “The loser survived. How the hell did you even get into my house?”

Demian didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on Marianne.

His wife.

The woman he crossed universes to return to.

His legs shook, but Hades snorted.

“You didn’t actually think she would wait for you, did you? You vanished. Four years. She moved on.”

Demian finally found his voice—soft, cracked.

“Hades… anyone but you. You’re my brother.” Hades chuckled.

“Where are your morals? You have no dignity left. How could you take my wife to your bed?”

Marianne sniffled and looked at Demian, annoyed.

“Oh, don’t play that card,” she snapped. “You left me. Hades stayed.”

Demian's heart cracked.

Hades laughed harder. “And trust me, she prefers me. Isn’t that right, babe?”

He dragged Marianne into his arms, kissing her neck aggressively while staring at Demian.

Marianne bit her lip and nodded. “Yes. He’s the man I want.”

Demian’s fingers trembled. His aura flickered.

Marianne stood and wrapped herself in a thin nightdress, though it barely covered her.

She walked right up to Demian smoking Hades’ cigarette—and poured smoke over his face.

“What are you still doing here?” she mocked. “You didn’t seriously think I loved you, did you?”

Demian blinked.

“You didn’t even ask where I was for four years… I could’ve died.”

“That would’ve been better for everyone,” she said coldly.

He staggered as if struck.

“Oh you poor boy.” She mocked.

“Now I feel guilty.”

“I used you, Demian,” she continued with a cruel laugh.

“You paid my bills while I chased my career. That’s all you were ever good for.”

Hades wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her ear.

“Come on, man. She’s with me now. Don’t make this awkward.”

Demian didn't leave. “Is this really it? After everything?” He spoke under his breath.

Marianne cracked a smile. She stepped closer, her gaze fixated deep into his eyes.

She pressed her cigarette on his chest and watched it burn into his skin until the flame went out. Demian didn't flinch.

Then…

A slap.

Hard.

The sting of the slap sent a signal to his brain. She leaned into his face, eyes blazing hot.

“You are nothing before me. You were a loser, you're still a loser.”

“Get Out!”

Demian stood stunned.

He looked back at her, and all he could see was darkness in her eyes. The loving eyes with which she used to look at him were gone.

He had fought alien armies…

He had conquered realms…

But he had no weapon against this. It was cold. It was painful. Like a thousand cuts to his heart.

Hades chuckled, a deep humiliating laugh. “She said leave, dumb ass. Don't embarrass yourself further, boy.”

Demian paused. He could've said something, anything, but he had run out of words.

Realizing there was nothing left, he turned and walked away—his steps heavy, slow, broken.

He walked down the stairs, the weight of his legs threatening to pull him down. When he reached the living room, the main door opened.

A group of women entered, all noise, carrying gifts and flowers. Among the women was Martha, Marianne's mother.

Martha froze when she saw him—still tall, handsome, cute eyes, but something had changed in him, he looked tougher now. Her eyes were gleaming with disbelief like she had seen a ghost.

“Demian?” she whispered. “Demian Kael? You’re alive?”

The women behind her began whispering.

“How is he here?”

“Isn’t he the loser Marianne dumped?”

“I thought he drowned—”

“Hi Mom,” Demian spoke, clearing her doubts.

Martha's expression contained disappointment as she stepped forward and grabbed his jaw harshly.

Her eyes burned with rage. “You dare come back now? When my daughter is finally marrying a real man.”

Demian freed himself from her grip, and she slapped him violently. Her slap was so strong it made his chin burn.

Demian swallowed. His gaze retracted to her… “Mom?”

SLAP!!!

This time it was worse. “How dare you call me mother? I refuse to give birth to a waste like you.”

Another slap on his other cheek, and Demian staggered backwards. His both cheeks were burning hot.

Rage flared in her eyes as she stepped into his space. “You think you're good enough for my daughter? She's trying to build a career. Why couldn't you just stay dead?”

Demian furrowed his brows. “How can you say that? I came back to give y'all the best,” but another slap shit him up.

“What best? You have nothing to offer. A scumbag like you, what could you possibly afford that I want?”

The other women laughed from behind.

“It seems he will always bring Marianne down. I wonder how she married a failure like this.”

“You should teach him a lesson, Martha. Let him know his place. Perhaps, Hades could employ him as a wash boy if he's merciful enough.” another woman from the back said.

They all laughed.

“Oh well, isn't that what he is good at?” Martha came closer, her eyes stained with disdain.

“Kneeling and cleaning!” She snarled, like an angry animal. Demian didn't move, didn't flinch at her words.

He maintained calm, shocked but controlled.

Martha turned to leave but her attention was caught by the flower in his hands.

“What’s that?”

Demian was mute.

Her eyes raised. “Don't tell me…” she gasped.

“Wait a second. Is he trying to win Marianne back?” one of the women asked, and Martha's eyes went dark in beast mode. She threw her hand bag and pounced on Demian with slaps and fists across his face.

He tried to evade her hits but he respected her and wouldn't hit back.

“Useless piece of shit. Your mother must be rolling on her grave right now because she gave birth to a worthless loser.”

Hearing those words, it was as if something snapped inside him. He rose, after creeping in his eyes. She tried to slap him again, but this time, he seized her wrist violently.

“Let go of me, you bastard son of a whore!” She cursed, and he pushed her away—too hard.

She stumbled. Cries from the other women echoed through the house.

Then…

CRASH.

Martha fell onto the table, shattering it beneath her.

“Mom!”

Marianne’s scream pierced the air as she ran downstairs with Hades rushing behind her.