They Should Have Kept Him Locked Up

High above the treacherous, rolling waves of the international high seas, the harsh sun beat down upon a solitary, ominous landmass known only to the terrifying legends of the underworld as Alchemy Demon Island Prison.

The roar of a twin-engine AW-101 Merlin helicopter tore through the silence, its rotors slicing the humid, salty air with a deafening rhythm. As the aircraft began its descent, the massive downdraft whipped the dry earth below into a frenzy, creating a blinding sandstorm that seemed to rise up and swallow the sky, obscuring the sun itself.

Two figures emerged from the cabin, stepping onto the cracked, sun-baked concrete of the landing pad. An old man, dressed in a dignified Traditional Tunic Suit that fluttered violently in the wind, stood alongside a young woman. They walked to a designated waiting area outside the colossal iron gates of the prison and stopped.

The wait was long. The sun was merciless.

The young woman’s face was flushed a deep crimson from the oppressive heat. She wiped sweat from her brow, her patience fraying with every passing second. Finally, she couldn't hold back her irritation any longer.

"Grandpa, this is ridiculous," she complained, her voice sharp with entitlement. "Our family, The Hanks Family, is a super-elite dynasty from the Imperial Capital. We control assets worth tens of billions of dollars. We walk the corridors of power."

She gestured angrily toward the imposing black walls of the facility. "Jack Brooks is nothing but a convict. A nobody. Why on earth did we have to travel thousands of miles, crossing dangerous waters, just to stand here in the dust and wait for him? What kind of ability could he possibly have to make us—"

"Shut your mouth!"

The shout from the old man was thunderous, cutting through the wind and silencing her instantly. His face, usually composed, was twisted into a mask of terrifying fury.

"How dare you?" he roared, his voice trembling not with age, but with a profound, instinctual fear. "Do you have any idea what you are saying? Do you think you have the qualifications to speak the name of Hades with such disrespect?"

As he spoke, a surge of invisible energy—Internal Force—erupted from his body. The shockwave was so potent that it blasted the swirling curtain of yellow sand backward, clearing the air in an instant. The young woman, caught in the periphery of this outburst, was lifted off her feet and thrown several yards back, landing hard in the dust.

The old man didn’t even look to see if she was injured. His eyes were fixed on the prison gates, shimmering with a deep, reverence-filled dread.

"Alchemy Demon Island Prison," he whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly low. "This place holds one hundred thousand of the world's most vile, bloodthirsty, and irredeemable villains. These are men who have slaughtered armies, toppled governments, and plunged cities into chaos. Just releasing a single one of them would be enough to send shockwaves through the four corners of the globe."

He turned to his granddaughter, who was clutching her bruised arm, staring at him in shock.

"And yet," the old man continued, his eyes burning with intensity, "every single one of those monsters must bow their heads and scrape the floor in submission when they face Hades! Do you know why?"

He took a step toward her, emphasizing every word. "Because Hades is unrivaled. His medical skills, his martial arts cultivation, his physiognomy... in every discipline known to man, he is invincible."

The old man pointed a trembling finger at the guard towers. "It requires ten Supreme War God level experts just to keep watch over him. Ten! Do you understand the scale of that power? In front of such a being, our The Hanks Family is nothing more than an ant that can be crushed without a second thought."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "You call him by his mortal name? You question his worth? Are you tired of living?"

The young woman sat in the dirt, her body trembling. The pain in her arm was forgotten, replaced by a cold chill that ran down her spine despite the heat.

"Ten... Supreme War God experts... just for him?" she stammered, her voice small and filled with fear. "Grandpa, are you saying... is he even more powerful than the The Ten Heavenly Kings stationed at the The Northern Frontier?"

When she said the words "Heavenly Kings," her eyes inadvertently softened, replaced by a look of sheer idolatry.

In The Republic, the The Ten Heavenly Kings were living legends. They were the guardians of the nation’s borders, commanders who suppressed entire regions with their might. They were the idols that millions of young women dreamed of marrying—the pinnacle of heroism and strength.

"The Heavenly Kings?"

The old man let out a cold, dismissive laugh. "The Heavenly Kings receive their mandate from the heavens. They command hundreds of thousands of troops, guarding the gates of The Republic and ensuring a century of peace for their territories. It is true, if you pick any one of them at random, their mere presence is enough to shatter the courage of an enemy army."

He paused, looking down at her. "They are indeed strong."

"But so what?" The old man’s voice dripped with a terrifying truth. "You idolize them, but you do not know the reality. Out of the The Ten Heavenly Kings, eight of them have come here to Alchemy Demon Island Prison to seek guidance. They are, for all intents and purposes, the disciples of Hades!"

The girl’s jaw dropped. The world she thought she knew was crumbling.

The old man began to list names, ticking them off on his fingers, each name hitting her like a physical blow.

"Slade Yates, the General of the Dragon Cavalry... The Sixth Elder of the Imperial Central Command... Silas Zane, the number one warrior on the The Top Ranking... Hugh Gore, the famous The Ghost Medic... Jasper Zeng, the Grand Master of Dragon Seizing..."

He shook his head in disbelief. "When these titans of the world come to see him, they lower their heads. They bow their waists. They speak with the humbleness of servants addressing a master!"

"And those ten Supreme War God guards I mentioned?" The old man scoffed. "Do you think they are suppressing him? Restraining him? No. They can't even dream of holding him down. Their daily mission is to wash his clothes, cook his meals, and play cards with him when he gets bored!"

What?!

The color drained completely from the girl’s face. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

"How... how is that possible?" she gasped. "Isn't he... isn't he less than thirty years old? How can a man so young achieve such terrifying heights?"

Names like Slade Yates were myths in the corridors of power within The Republic. They were the apex of authority. For Jack Brooks—this young man—to stand above them, to suppress the evils of the world and reign invincible... it sounded like a fairy tale. It was beyond the realm of human possibility.

The old man gazed at the prison walls with renewed fervor. "That is exactly why he is known as a taboo existence in this world. He breaks all logic."

He lowered his voice, sharing a secret that was likely classified at the highest levels. "I only learned this recently. Yesterday, the Sixth Elder from the Imperial Central Command came here personally. He wanted to confer the title of Grand General of Strategy upon Hades and crown him as the King of Westwind."

The girl held her breath. These were titles that meant absolute authority over millions of lives.

"And you know what?" the old man said, a strange mix of exasperation and awe in his voice. "He refused. Directly. Without hesitation."

The girl was paralyzed with shock. She slowly turned her head to look at the prison gates again. This time, there was no disdain in her eyes. There was only the pious, trembling reverence one would show when facing a living deity. She scrambled to her feet and stood straight as a ramrod, terrified of showing even a hint of disrespect to the air the man breathed.

Just as the atmosphere reached a fever pitch of tension, the sound of high-performance engines cut through the wind.

A convoy approached, kicking up dust. Leading the pack was a sleek, blood-red Ferrari, followed closely by three armored Hummers. They skidded to a halt near the prison entrance, the juxtaposition of extreme luxury against the gritty backdrop jarring to the senses.

The door of the Ferrari opened, and a woman stepped out.

She was stunning. Her features were exquisite, like a piece of finely carved jade, and her jet-black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She wore a tailored suit that accentuated her explosive curves—a perfect hourglass figure that managed to look professional yet undeniably seductive.

However, her beauty was guarded by an icy barrier. Her temperament was cold and arrogant, reminiscent of a snow lotus blooming alone atop a frozen peak in the Snowland. She exuded an aura that said, "Strangers, keep away."

This was Winter Lacy, the eldest daughter of the powerful The Lacy Family in Metro City. More importantly, she was the closed-door disciple of Hugh Gore, the The Ghost Medic. She was a medical prodigy in her own right, known throughout the land as The Grand Healer of the South.

Winter Lacy removed her sunglasses, her cold eyes sweeping over the rusty, imposing gates of Alchemy Demon Island Prison.

Clank. Clank. Creak...

The sound of heavy gears grinding against metal echoed. The massive iron gates slowly began to part.

From the dark maw of the prison, a young man strolled out. He walked with a loose, lazy gait, swaying slightly as if he didn't have a care in the world. He wore simple, worn-out clothes that looked like they had been bought from a bargain bin years ago.

Winter Lacy frowned, a flicker of distaste crossing her face. She pulled a photograph from her pocket, glanced at it, and then scanned the sloppy-looking man in front of her. She couldn't help but curl her lip in disdain.

"You are Jack Brooks," she stated flatly. "Releasing today, correct?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin to look down her nose at him. It was a posture of absolute superiority, a queen looking at a beggar.

Jack Brooks paused. He felt a wave of annoyance at her tone. He furrowed his brows slightly. "You're looking for me?"

Winter Lacy didn't bother answering directly. She tossed the photograph to one of her bodyguards as if it were trash. Then, she reached into her bag and pulled out a document—a marriage contract.

She held it up, her expression calm and detached.

"I am Winter Lacy," she said. "Years ago, before your mother was kicked out of The Brooks Family, she came to my home and arranged a marriage between us."

She paused for effect, letting the silence hang in the hot air.

"I came here today for one reason only: to tell you that this engagement is over. I am canceling it."

"I hope that after you leave this place, you will have the self-awareness not to harass The Lacy Family."

Hearing the name, Jack Brooks was visibly startled. A deep frown etched itself onto his forehead as memories—painful and sharp—flooded his mind.

He was originally the Young Master of The Brooks Family in Metro City. He had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, destined for greatness.

But when he was five years old, everything changed. His father had an affair with June Wainright, a daughter of the The Wainright Family. The Wainrights were powerful, and they demanded that Jack's father destroy his current wife to make room for June.

Desperate to climb the social ladder and cling to power, the The Brooks Family agreed. They ruthlessly expelled Jack and his mother, stripping them of their status and dignity.

But June Wainright was not satisfied with mere exile. To consolidate her position and ensure no future threats, she sent assassins to hunt them down.

Fortunately, a mysterious benefactor intervened, saving their lives. Jack and his mother fled to Northriver, where they lived in hiding, scraping by on the edges of society.

When Jack was eighteen, his mother finally succumbed to the hardships and illness. She passed away, leaving him alone in the world.

Filled with grief and a thirst for justice, Jack returned to The Brooks Family to demand an explanation, to demand an apology for his mother's suffering. Instead, June Wainright framed him for a crime he didn't commit. The corrupt system swallowed him whole, and he was thrown into Alchemy Demon Island Prison.

It was supposed to be the end of his life. But fate had other plans. Inside the hell of the prison, Jack met a crazy old man—a master of forgotten arts. He took Jack as his disciple.

For ten years, Jack endured grueling training, shedding blood and sweat until he mastered the Nine Dragons Physique Technique and countless other lethal skills. He transformed from a victim into Hades, the ruler of the underworld.

Jack remembered his mother’s dying words vividly. She had told him that The Lacy Family of Metro City owed her a massive debt of gratitude. She said they had promised to marry their daughter to Jack as repayment. She had told him, "If The Brooks Family ever tries to hurt you again, go to the Lacys. They will help you."

However, when June Wainright framed him and sent him to this living hell, the head of The Lacy Family had turned a blind eye. They had watched him fall and done nothing.

And now?

Now, the daughter of that family had come all this way just to spit in his face and break the engagement?

Jack’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing.

Winter Lacy noticed his silence, but she misinterpreted it as shame. Her indifferent gaze traveled from the Patek Philippe watch on her wrist—worth over six hundred thousand dollars—down to Jack's canvas sneakers, which were white with age and fraying at the seams.

A glint of pity appeared in her eyes, mixed with heavy condescension.

"I know you must be upset," she said, her voice taking on a patronizing tone, like a teacher lecturing a slow student. "But surely, even you can see the gap between us."

"You are not worthy of me, Jack. It is a simple fact. Even if I were to marry you out of pity, you would live your entire life in my shadow. You would suffocate."

She brushed a stray hair from her face. "After all, my fame is too great. I am a celebrated doctor, a woman of status. If we were together, my brilliance would only make you feel more inferior. It would destroy your fragile ego."

Her eyes, clear as moonlight, seemed to hold a vast, frozen tundra within them. She looked at him as if she were standing high in the clouds, looking down at a speck of dirt. In her world, he didn't even register as a human being worthy of respect.

Jack's brow twitched. The coldness in his eyes deepened.

Winter Lacy didn't stop there. She reached into her expensive purse and pulled out a business card. She held it out to him between two manicured fingers.

"You have a criminal record now," she said indifferently. "Once you leave this island, finding a decent job will be impossible for someone like you."

"If you find yourself starving in the future—and you likely will—you can call the number on this card. I might be able to arrange some menial work for you."

She paused, then added the final insult. "And honestly, I would advise you to go back to The Brooks Family. Apologize to June Wainright. Beg for her forgiveness. Who knows? If you grovel low enough, they might let you back in as a servant."

She waited for him to take the card.

Jack didn't move. He stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at her.

Seeing that he wasn't reaching for it, the corners of Winter Lacy's mouth curled into a sneer. She simply opened her fingers.

The business card fluttered down, landing in the dirt near his worn-out shoes.

Riiip!

In the next motion, she took the marriage contract in her hands and tore it down the middle. Then she tore it again, and again, shredding the paper into confetti. She tossed the pieces into the air, not even bothering to watch where they landed.

"What a joke," she muttered, turning to leave.

"A joke?"

Jack Brooks's eyes suddenly narrowed into slits.

In an instant, the temperature around the prison gates seemed to plummet. The humid, hot air vanished, replaced by a biting, supernatural chill. It was as if the gates of the underworld had swung open.

His pitch-black eyes shot out beams of cold light, sharp enough to cut glass. The frost in his voice caused the very moisture in the air to crystallize.

"You think being from The Lacy Family of Metro City makes you royalty?" he asked, his voice low but carrying a terrifying weight. "Let me tell you something. Even the patriarchs of the super-clans in the Imperial Capital—men you would consider gods—are nothing more than chickens and dogs in my eyes!"

He took a step forward, crushing the business card into the mud without looking at it.

"June Wainright is a homewrecker," Jack growled, the anger finally bleeding into his tone. "She is a mistress who destroyed a family, a woman with a heart as venomous as a scorpion."

"And you... you want me to apologize to that woman?"

A dark, chaotic aura began to rise from his body, terrifying the distant old man from The Hanks Family who was watching from afar.

"There will be no apologies," Jack declared, his voice echoing like a judgment from the heavens.

"Waiting for The Brooks Family... there is only a debt of blood that must be paid in blood. There is only endless darkness!"