The catacombs of Arcadia were never meant to be walked by the living. Hewn from volcanic obsidian and veined with veins of ghost-iron, the winding tunnels pulsed faintly beneath Raikuro’s boots. Each step he took reverberated like a heartbeat. The deeper he went, the more the heat grew—not physical, but emotional, like walking through the pages of a life forgotten.

He could feel the Hellsteel in his spine, humming. Not just reacting. Guiding.

A jagged stairwell brought him to a circular antechamber. The air was thick with ash and memory. Etchings lined the walls—spirals of ancient infernal script, pulsing faintly red. The floor, inlaid with a cracked pentagram, trembled as Raikuro stepped inside.

“You returned,” said a voice, low and intimate.

A figure emerged from the far shadows. Seven feet tall, draped in chains of scorched bone and rusted armor. Twin horns spiraled back from a molten scalp. His eyes—searing violet—locked with Raikuro’s.

“Velgrim,” Raikuro muttered, recognition hitting like thunder.

“You remember my name. Good. Then you remember why I should kill you.”

Raikuro’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I don’t remember you. But I can feel the shape of what I lost.”

Velgrim let out a laugh that was equal parts grief and fire. “Then let me remind you.”

The demon surged forward with inhuman speed. Raikuro barely dodged, drawing his blade in one fluid motion. The Hellsteel screamed as it met Velgrim’s axe—a weapon crafted from the vertebrae of a fire wyrm, wrapped in the hide of a fallen god.

Sparks flew. The force of their clash cracked the stone beneath them.

“You were one of us!” Velgrim roared, driving Raikuro back. “You led the Black Host through the Veil! You burned empires for the Pact Eternal!”

Raikuro’s guard faltered for a heartbeat. A flash of memory surged—himself, crimson-cloaked, standing over a battlefield lit by demonfire. Behind him, Velgrim knelt… not in defeat, but in allegiance.

“I was never meant to remember that,” Raikuro gasped.

“And yet the steel sings,” Velgrim spat, striking again.

The fight became a dance of fury and memory. With each strike, Velgrim didn’t just wound Raikuro’s body—he shattered the mental seals that had bound his past.

Flashes.

A pyre of angels, screaming.

Lysia, his wife, weeping over a charred cradle.

A contract burned into his soul—traded time for vengeance.

At last, Velgrim struck Raikuro’s chest, knocking him into the central sigil. Pain lanced through him—not from the blow, but from the Hellsteel. It pulsed violently, reacting to the runes.

“Why show me this?” Raikuro coughed, blood in his mouth.

“Because you ran, Raikuro. You turned your back on the Host. On me. You stole the Hellsteel and fled to the mortal coil.”

Velgrim leaned in, voice raw.

“I waited. I believed you’d remember. That you’d return to lead us again. But you let them clip your wings. You let her change you.”

Raikuro looked up. “I’m not your general anymore.”

“No. Now you’re just a man with a cursed sword and a bleeding soul.”

Velgrim raised his axe to finish it—but froze.

The Hellsteel screamed.

A wave of black fire erupted from Raikuro’s chest, sending Velgrim flying. The runes around the chamber blazed. Raikuro’s body rose, trembling, his eyes void-black.

A voice—his voice—spoke from everywhere and nowhere.

“I am the blade. I am the oath. I am the breaking.”

And then silence.

Raikuro collapsed, smoke rising from his flesh. Velgrim, staggering to his feet, stared with something between awe and terror.

“It’s awake,” he whispered.

Raikuro coughed, voice hoarse. “What is?”

“The Hellsteel,” Velgrim said. “It remembers more than you do. And it… hungers.”

Raikuro stood with effort, the edges of his vision dimming. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Because if the Hellsteel consumes you, we’re all damned,” Velgrim replied. “The Host may be scattered, but not broken. We’ll watch. We’ll wait. Either you master it…”

“…Or I fall,” Raikuro finished.

Velgrim nodded. “And if you do—I’ll be the one to end you.”

Without another word, the demon turned and disappeared into the catacomb’s depths.

Raikuro stood alone in the pulsing dark, the sound of his heart echoing off ancient stone. He felt the weight of what had been locked away—the burning glory, the sins, the promise of power, the agony of betrayal.

And deep within, the Hellsteel whispered.

Welcome back.