There was no sultry curve to her lips, no teasing glint in her eyes. The playful predator was gone. What stood before Mortis now was a queen carrying centuries of buried fury.
Her fingers closed around Soul Eater
The blade trembled—hungry, impatient.
, she thought.
A weapon that whispers. A weapon that never stops asking for more.
She raised her gaze.
Mortis lay where the forest had pinned him, stripped of divinity, stripped of authority—nothing more than a trembling mortal beneath her shadow.
SLASH.
The sound was wet. Clean. Final.
Blood burst across the ground as the blade carved through his face.
“AAAGH—!” Mortis screamed, clutching at himself as he rolled. “M-My eye—! My face—! It hurts—IT HURTS!”
Cornea didn’t flinch.
She spoke calmly, coldly—each word a verdict.
“You defiled Lysander’s will with your hands.”
She took a step closer, her shadow swallowing him whole.
“A simple death would be meaningless. Too kind. Too quick.”
Her voice lowered, vibrating with restrained hatred.
“You stole his freedom. You shattered his mind. You turned the strongest god of freedom into a hollow thing.”
She lifted the blade again—not to strike.
“But I am the Demon Queen. And demons signify freedom
Her eyes burned black and red.
“So I will grant you mercy. A final one.”
Mortis froze.
“I will give you the freedom of choice.”
She turned slightly, gesturing toward the endless dark behind her.
“First—be thrown to the orc pits.”
Her lips curled.
“They will tear you apart. Slowly. They will chew your flesh, crack your bones, digest what remains. You will die screaming, forgotten, and unmourned.”
Then her gaze snapped back to him.
“Or…”
She leaned down until her face was inches from his.
“You live.”
Mortis’s breath hitched.
“You will become a servant of the underworld. A labourer. A tool.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Her voice sharpened.
“You will work until your body breaks. Until your hands bleed. Until your existence becomes nothing but exhaustion.”
She straightened.
“You are mortal now.”
A cruel smile finally touched her lips.
“And a mortal life is meant to be exploited.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Isn’t that what you
believed, Mortis?”
His pupils shook violently.
Both paths led to ruin.
Both led to suffering beyond redemption.
But one still allowed him to breathe
His shoulders collapsed.
Tears poured down his ruined face as he bowed his head to the ground.
“I… I will serve,” he choked. “Please… don’t give me the pain of death.”
Silence.
Then—
The demonic army erupted.
A roar that shook the underworld itself.
Cheers thundered through the abyss as thousands of demons raised their weapons, their voices crying out for their queen.
For the ruler who had carried vengeance for centuries.
For the daughter of Lysander.
For the queen who had finally torn revenge from her own chest—and stood free.
Cornea did not smile.
She simply turned away.
Mortis was dragged away by Grom, his broken body disappearing into the depths of the underworld.
The god of death was gone—not slain, but reduced. That alone felt heavier than execution.
Hephaestus stepped forward.
He looked… older than before.
“Cornea. Dryas.” His voice carried shame. “On behalf of the heavens, I apologize. We were blind. Too blind to see Mortis’s schemes.”
He bowed.
One by one, the remaining gods followed suit.
“What Mortis did was unforgivable,” Hephaestus continued. “Heaven must be rebuilt. A better heaven—one without deception, without coercion.” He hesitated, then asked, “Will you return? Will you reclaim your places as goddesses?”
The offer lingered in the air.
Years ago—before Arlen came—Cornea would have accepted without hesitation.
Dryas would have believed it the highest honour imaginable.
Now?
Cornea laughed.
“A god?” Her smile was sharp, amused, almost offended. “Don’t insult me.”
She turned her back on the kneeling gods.
“I will never allow myself to be shackled by godhood. I am the Queen of the Underworld. And I have a debt to repay—to my subordinate, to my partner, to the one who carried my revenge when I could not.”
Her eyes glinted.
“My place is not in heaven.”
Dryas stepped forward quietly.
“The heavens are not my home either,” she said gently. “I don’t mean that as an insult. But I have finally found freedom— freedom.”
She took Tethys’s small hand.
The child goddess smiled up at her, unafraid.
“I am happy helping the forest. Its creatures. And walking forward with Arlen.” Dryas shook her head softly. “I don’t need a throne in heaven to know who I am.”
Cornea turned to return Soul Eater
Arlen’s expression was tight. Uneasy.
“What is it?” Cornea asked, her gaze sharp, protective—like a queen watching her champion.
“Tch.” Arlen clicked his tongue. “Chronos slipped away while everyone was bowing and apologizing. That rat.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Doesn’t matter. Let him hide in his throne of Time chamber. I’ll get him next time.”
He took Soul Eater
“But I’ll say this,” he added, glancing at Cornea. “Turning Mortis into free labour?”
A crooked smile.
“Best punishment imaginable. Even I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
Dryas turned back to the gods.
“If you truly wish to atone,” she said calmly, “then grant one request—Arlen’s.”
Hephaestus frowned. “We do not condone the God Slayer’s methods. But… we will listen.”
Then firmly, “We will not fulfil demonic demands.”
Arlen laughed—a sharp, humourless sound.
“I don’t want favours from parasites like you,” he said coldly. “So don’t flatter yourselves.”
His gaze hardened.
“If you want to do something—don’t do it for me. Do it for humanity.”
A memory tore open inside him.
Screams. Fire. Chains disguised as devotion.
“Free them,” he said, voice cracking despite himself. “Free humans from forced worship. From divine rule. From being turned into angels against their will.”
His fists clenched. Holding back his painful tears as much as he could.
“Free my family from your damn brainwashing.”
Silence followed.
Then the gods spoke—together.
“Very well.”
Their voices echoed across heaven.
“From this moment onward:
- No human shall be forced to worship gods.
- No human shall be turned into an angel against their will.
- No god shall rule over human nations.”
They bowed their heads.
“This is the least we can do.”
Arlen closed his eyes.
Not forgiveness.
Not closure.
But the first crack in a world that had crushed him.