I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 114: Hell

The Ninth Realm of Hell was a stark departure from the rest of the infernal domains, cloaked entirely in impenetrable darkness. The atmosphere was chilling, oppressive, and still, devoid of the chaos that plagued the other realms.

The solitary source of light in Hell was a haunting red moon, suspended in the inky black sky, eternally fixed without even the faintest trace of motion.

Its light was eerie, casting distorted shadows across the other realms, yet it could not pierce the borders of the Ninth Realm, where darkness ruled supreme.

Within this isolated void, the scene unfolded in unsettling grandeur. Morrathis, the sovereign of this forgotten dominion, sat perched upon a fractured throne.

Though the corrupted veil—a manifestation of her divine power—was known to swirl endlessly around her like an ominous shroud, tonight it rested dormant, revealing her breathtaking form.

Morrathis radiated a haunting allure, her beauty a paradoxical blend of grace and danger, a vision capable of stunning all who dared gaze upon her.

Yet, in this realm of perpetual night, there was no audience to witness her magnificence. The desolation was absolute, leaving only silence to accompany Morrathis and her throne.

No lesser beings dared trespass within these borders, and even the most fearsome creatures of Hell shrank from the Ninth Realm's oppressive abyss. This isolation was her sanctuary and her prison—a paradox where her unrivaled beauty reigned unwitnessed.

Morrathis, perched on her broken throne, remained motionless, her black, depthless eyes fixated on her slender hand. Her gaze was distant, heavy with contemplation, as if seeking answers to questions that eluded her.

Ever since the Soul Bond with Ashok had been formed, her demeanor had been like this—detached, reflective, and enigmatic.

The eternal darkness of the Ninth Realm began to shift, the darkness coiling and twisting as if alive. Slowly, the swirling shadows coalesced, taking form within the void.

Emerging from the writhing darkness was a figure clad in an immaculate butler's uniform, its appearance stark and incongruous against the desolate backdrop of the realm.

It was an Old Demon, his countenance aged yet commanding. Two twisted horns curved upward from his forehead, and from his legs sprouted large bat-like wings, leathery and ominous, their form more grotesque than traditional.

The Old Demon surveyed the silent realm, his sharp eyes narrowing as he regarded Morrathis on her shattered throne. After a pause, he spoke, his tone calm but laced with curiosity. "It's been nearly ten days, and no matter how I look at it, it is still astonishing,"

Morrathis remained still, her posture unyielding. Her gaze did not lift from her hand, and her voice, when it came, was quiet yet laden with authority. "What do you want, Hell?"

"I am just having a hard time believing what I am witnessing with my own eyes," he began, his tone carrying the gravity of his incredulity.

"You have been with me for nearly as long as I have existed—since the time I first shaped by the primal forces of this realm. Through millennia of your presence in this unending darkness, you have always been a constant—hollow, devoid of anything but an infinite void within you.

And yet, for the first time, I see something... unfamiliar. Something astonishing."

His crimson eyes bore into her, searching, studying. "And the greatest of these changes," he continued, his voice lowering to a thoughtful murmur, "are the emotions I now see swirling inside your being. Emotions where before there was nothing but bottomless darkness.

Morrathis, still perched on her broken throne, did not lift her gaze. Her expression remained as unreadable as the void itself, her hand resting lightly in her lap.

Her response came quietly, but with an edge of dismissive indifference. "Really? I don't feel anything different," she said, her tone calm and unbothered.

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She showed no anger toward Hell's observations, despite knowing that he had used his powers to peer into the essence of her very existence.

For Morrathis, it did not matter. To her, Hell was not an intruder—he was the living manifestation of the realm itself, its will given form. As such, their relationship was not one of equals but of necessity.

Rather than being companions or allies, their coexistence was bound by an agreement forged long ago, one that placed Morrathis not as a guest in this realm but as someone who existed within Hell itself.

As he approached Morrathis, a throne of red stone materialized behind him, glowing faintly as it manifested with sharp, jagged edges. Hell, the living embodiment of the Ninth Realm, sat gracefully on the throne.

"Just what was that foreigner? I was truly surprised when he used a demon summoning ritual to summon you. Not to mention, he even knew your true name," he said, his words measured and careful, his gaze never leaving her.

He sat as though prepared to bolt, leaning slightly forward on the edge of his throne, he was ready to escape at any moment of time. Morrathis, after all, was no ordinary being.

As the Father of the Seven Sins, Hell had spent countless millennia coexisting with her, yet even he could not claim to fully understand her power.

What he did know filled him with quiet dread. The ritual that had taken place between the foreigner and Morrathis was unlike anything he had ever witnessed, and he had deliberately waited ten days, hoping her anger would subside before daring to broach the subject.

Even so, his apprehension lingered—Morrathis's capabilities were unmatched. Should she will it, she could annihilate the entire realm of Hell in the blink of an eye.

Despite his unease, Hell had his reasons for keeping her within the Ninth Realm. Morrathis was more than a potential ally; she was a force of incomprehensible power, one he intended to wield as a trump card against the Heavenly and Outer Gods.

Yet, as he regarded her now, there was no way to tell if she felt bound by their arrangement—or if she was even listening at all.

Morrathis did not respond. She continued to stare at her hand, her black eyes betraying nothing of her thoughts. The silence lingered, but Hell's curiosity was insatiable.

Though he had witnessed the entire ritual, there were questions burning in his mind—questions he could not ignore any longer. He leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he voiced the inquiry that had been gnawing at him since he entered the realm.

"Are you truly… a Soul Partner of that foreigner?" he asked, his words slow, deliberate, and filled with the weight of his fascination.

Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, glistening faintly in the crimson glow. His palms gripped the armrests tightly. Though his presence radiated authority, his every movement betrayed the tension within him.

His crimson eyes, which could see emotions swirling within the body of others, remained locked on Morrathis. The lack of anger emanating from her gave him just enough courage to remain seated.

Yet the calm within her was not comforting—it was a silence filled with an unknowable weight, one that had lingered for ten days since the formation of her Soul Bond with the foreigner, Ashok.

"Isn't the Soul Bond a ritual that belongs to the Goddess of Love?" he asked, carefully observing Morrathis for any reaction. "How did he manage to use a ritual tied to an entirely different Divinity when his body contained the Divinity of the God of Fate?"

The silence stretched, thick and stifling, until Morrathis finally spoke. "I once also believed that the Soul Bond was the creation of the Goddess of Love," she said, her tone unwavering.

"But now I can say with certainty that the Soul Bond has no relation whatsoever to the Goddess of Love. If it did, it would never have worked on me."

The revelation hung in the air like a blade poised to descend. Hell's lips curled into a devilish smile, his sharp, aged features lighting up with intrigue. For a being like him—an ancient entity sustained by knowledge, manipulation, and schemes—this was a revelation of monumental importance.

"It seems the Goddess of Love is hiding some big secrets," he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement as his smile grew wider. This was news that could ripple through the divine realms, a piece of information that held untold potential for chaos and intrigue.

But Morrathis, unfazed and disinterested, remained silent for a moment before finally responding with a single, curt statement. "I don't care," she said, her tone flat and dismissive.

Hell's smile vanished in an instant, his excitement evaporating under her stark indifference.

"Why did you not take the soul of the foreigner the moment you extracted the Divinity of Fate from his body? Weren't you the one who said that the Divinity of any Outer God was weaker than the Divinity of Fate within him? Why didn't you claim it as well?"

It was his indirect way if saying 'If you have taken his soul than he wouldn't have formed the Soul Bond'

"It's because of the nature of the Divinity that belonged to the Outer God." Replied Morrathis well knowing the meaning behind Hell's words.

"Nature?" Hell echoed, his brows furrowing as he leaned slightly forward. His confusion was evident, though his unease persisted.

Morrathis's gaze remained fixed on the void before her as she elaborated. "That Divinity was not protecting the soul. It functioned more like a seal—or some kind of suppression," she explained, her voice steady and indifferent.

Hell's intrigue deepened, his crimson eyes gleaming as he pressed further. "What do you mean?" he asked, his tone laced with fascination.

Her response came with the same calm clarity. "That Divinity bore the mark of a Creator. It was not weak by any chance—it became weak only because something inside the mortal soul was continuously absorbing the Divinity that had been sealing it."