To His Hell and Back-Chapter 289: Give It Up-II

The first witch...

Arabella’s thoughts turned inward, her gaze distant. She couldn’t quite picture the woman, was she terrifying, commanding power with the ease of a queen? Or was she fragile beneath it all, a girl thrust into darkness who wore strength like borrowed armor?

Whatever the truth, the echoes of her legacy lingered. The suffering she must have borne... Arabella could feel it like a ghost brushing her skin. She didn’t fear her— rather she pitied her. Deeply.

And the demon, Dantallion— Arabella had heard his name too many times now. There was something slippery about him, something ancient and unreadable. He wasn’t a servant. He wasn’t a protector. He was a force, and she had no intention of being swept into his current.

Her lips tightened. Never. Even if her body broke, even if death wrapped its fingers around her throat— She would never call for him. She would not add another shadow to her life already drowning in gray.

"Teach me." Her voice trembled, not with fear— but with certainty. Power was what she needed now. She needed to command the power inside her to obedience, control it before it controls her.

Arabella reached for Lastor’s hands, clutching them with urgency, her green eyes lit with determination.

"You were there," she said, her grip tightening, "You saw it all. From the beginning to the end. You watched her rise, and you watched her fall. So if anyone can teach me how to survive this, how to control what’s inside me... it’s you."

Lastor’s lips parted, stunned by the fire in her voice. For a brief moment, he didn’t see the girl who had once trembled in the shadows. He saw the echo of another woman— A familiar woman. A woman who once summoned a demon with bloodied hands and dared to smile in the face of ruin.

"You really are her descendant," he whispered. Then slowly, solemnly, he nodded."Alright, Arabella. I’ll teach you. But power like this doesn’t just take strength, it takes pain. And sometimes, the parts of yourself you lose along the way don’t come back."

Arabella held his gaze, unflinching.

"Then I’ll learn to live without them."

Lastor had heard the same word and he squeezed his eyes. What kind of fate was this? It was as if the whole world was pointing fingers at him, ordering him to rectify his old mistake.

"Where do we start from?" Arabella asked, her voice steady, but her fingers betrayed her, curling slightly over her skirt.

Lastor gave a small, knowing smile. He rose from the chair with a fumbling awkwardness and made his way to the corner, pouring a glass of water before returning to the table and setting it gently before her.

"Drink first," he said softly, though his eyes watched her more than the glass and there, he could see it. The subtle way her gaze kept flicking toward the door behind her. The way her breathing tightened whenever the wind outside stirred. The way her body sat upright— like she might bolt the second someone screamed his name in pain.

Lastor didn’t comment on it. He didn’t need to because he knew exactly where her thoughts had wandered— To him. To the one who’d left the room, the one she swore to protect and feared she might lose.

No matter how hard she tried to be strong, no matter the fire in her words or the sharpness of her resolve, the fear remained. The quiet, coiling dread that the person who anchored her heart might be suffering beyond that door.

Lastor understood, more than she knew.

He lowered himself back into the chair across from her, his voice low and almost tender."You’re not wrong to be afraid." He didn’t offer platitudes or say Cassius would be fine.He didn’t lie.

"But if we do this right, if you learn to control this power, not just hold it, but bend it to your will, you’ll never have to watch someone bleed because you were too scared to act."

Arabella’s breath caught. That was what this was about. Not revenge. Not pride.

Protection. Safety.

She took the glass. It trembled faintly in her hand, but she drank from it anyway.

When she set it back down, her eyes were sharper.

"Then show me," she whispered. "Start from the beginning."

"It won’t take a long time," Lastor promised, hoping this little words could somehow help and perhaps ease Arabella’s anxiety. "I promise that in a few days this power would only follow your order."

"Thank you," she said to him, "Mister Lastor."

And Lastor broke to a shy smile, rubbing to his head.

Meanwhile, deep within the stone bowels of the castle, Cassius hung from the dungeon wall, his arms chained cruelly above his head, his body left to dangle, bruised and bloodied with wounds from torture.

Blood painted his bare chest, streaking down from lash marks that crisscrossed his skin like cursed vines. The metal whips had torn flesh from muscle, and though the bleeding had slowed, it hadn’t stopped. Every shallow breath he drew was a quiet proof to his stubborn endurance.

Dust clung to his face, streaked with sweat and grime, his once flawless features marred by the violence he had endured. And yet, even now, the brutal marks couldn’t diminish the power of his presence, nor strip away the eerie beauty that clung to him like a second skin. His jaw, tight with defiance. His eyes, red and smoldering beneath the dirt, still carried a spark of something unbroken.

They had tried to humiliate him.

They had tried to crush him.

But Cassius, even bound and bloodied, looked less like a prisoner and more like a fallen demon biding his time.

The chains groaned with every small shift of his weight, and the silence in the dungeon was thick, only broken by the occasional drip of water and the soft hiss of the wind that had slipped into the cold dungeon walls.

"Hm hm hm," Cassius sung between his tightly pursed lips. He recalled how his mother used to sing this song and how his sister would beg him to sing this. Now that sister is dead.

And it’s his turn to end the rest of his family members, the one who shares blood with him and the one who only share the surname "Crown".