To His Hell and Back
Chapter 52: Tolling Bells

Chapter 52: Tolling Bells

Cassius was no fool. If there was one thing he had mastered, it was the art of detecting lies and deceit.

At the tender age of sixteen, his father had presented him with a war. Yes, a war, a brutal initiation into the treacherous dance of power and betrayal that defined their world.

People often say that a crown prince’s life should be filled with lessons, and for him, the son of a Vampire King, that couldn’t have been more accurate. The lessons came not just from the court but from the bloodshed and manipulation that surrounded him. Each battle and betrayal was a dark education in the cruel realities of his lineage, shaping him into the ruler he was destined to become.

Whenever Cassius awoke from the brink of death, having narrowly escaped yet another bout of poison, his father would gaze down at him with a frown. It was a look that conveyed disappointment as if the mere fact that his son had lost consciousness was an affront to his authority.

To the Vampire King, each moment of weakness was a failure, and Cassius should never lack perfection as his son and the heir to the crown. The weight of expectation hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder that survival was not merely an option; it was a requirement for a future ruler. Each awakening felt like a reminder that he must rise stronger, more cunning, and ever more prepared to navigate the treacherous waters of their world.

Since that was what had been expected from him, Cassius had learned to adapt to his father’s wishes, though until now he wondered if he had told this to Arabella, what kind of expression would she wear?

Shock? Taken aback? Disgust? Or perhaps... that look of pity as well as a sense of hatred for the injustice?

When Cassius opened his blood-red eyes again, he found himself staring at Mayor Pascal, who was bound to a wooden chair, blood seeping from his mouth where another tooth had been violently yanked out by Renard.

Worry etched itself across Renard’s face as he glanced at his master, his lips pressed tightly together and his loyal eyes filled with concern. "Should I fetch you blood immediately, Your Highness?"

"Unnecessary," Cassius replied, his tone languid as he shifted his gaze back to the pitiful figure of Mayor Pascal. "What exactly are you protecting, Pascal? This town? The people? Or perhaps just your own wretched life?"

Pascal trembled uncontrollably, his body shaking as tears mingled with the blood trickling down from his jaw onto the wooden floor. He shook his head fervently, desperation clawing at his voice. "Y-Your Highness... I swear, everything I’ve said is the truth! There’s nothing hidden in my town. We know nothing about the potion you mentioned—"

His words faded into a pitiful whimper, the weight of his fear palpable in the air.

Renard raised his elbow high, ready to strike Pascal again when Cassius halted him with a swift motion of his finger. "Perhaps it’s not the potion you’re aware of, but the sorceress? We both know you’re hiding something from me, Pascal, and you also know that I’m not easily deceived."

Cassius’s voice dripped with a cold certainty, his grin spreading. He leaned closer, his gaze piercing into Pascal’s trembling form. The tension in the room thickened, and the mayor’s fear was palpable, a desperate plea woven into his every quiver.

"Now, let’s not waste any more time with this charade. Speak, or I assure you, the next visit from Renard will not be so forgiving."

Pascal shut his eyes, his fear caused for his heart to beat as if it was going to explode. He weighed his choices and was about to speak only to shut his lips when he recalled the face of his little boy.

Seeing the hesitation, Cassius sighed, "Your family would die horribly if I take action. You can already tell from a sight that I’m not so merciful as you wish." The weight of those words hung in the air, a dark promise laced with cruel inevitability. Cassius leaned in closer, his presence suffocating. "Make your choice wisely. I suggest you think of your son."

Pascal let out a cold sweat, enough to drop down on the wooden floor as if it were raindrops. He finally couldn’t endure the pressure and pain anymore and was finally pushed into speaking. With fright, his words stumbled, "I-If I tell you, will you promise to save everyone in the town, Your Highness?"

Cassius furrowed his eyebrows, letting out a dry chuckle, "Making negotiation now, aren’t you?"

Fearing the consequence of his words, Pascal shut his eyes were shut tight, he could feel the next thing that would hit him was the knight’s knees onto his face. Unexpectedly, he heard Cassius who had hummed, "Alright. I don’t know how much of your people I can save, but I can make sure a few survive."

Though it wasn’t a promise that Pascal would have loved to hear, he immediately jumped into joy as his eyes sparkled while he looked at Cassius. He quickly bowed his head to the floor even though he had just been beaten by the same man, "Th-Thank you, Your Highness! Your kindness—"

Cassius clicked his tongue, his expression unmoved. "Don’t mistake necessity for kindness, Pascal," he murmured, his gaze sharp. "Now, speak. Before I decide, my patience was wasted on you."

Pascal worriedly eyed the door, and upon seeing nothing that he feared was coming closer to the house, he bravely opened out his mouth, "There was an odd woman who had come to the town a few weeks prior, she was... odd, to say the least. She muttered prayers in tongues unknown, speaking in riddles and whispers. And then, she made a most extraordinary claim... She vowed that she could end the drought that had brought famine upon my people, that she alone possessed the power to restore what had been lost to the merciless sun."

Cassius’s eyebrows were raised. No one would help someone else for nothing. He knew this too well. So he could also tell that the townspeople must have been fooled into thinking that the kindness coming from this odd woman could be their saving grace.

His voice wavered, his hands trembling where they rested upon his lap. "I knew not whether she was a savior or a blight upon us, but desperation makes fools of even the wisest men. And so... I allowed her to stay."

Cassius exhaled sharply, his patience thinning like a fraying thread. His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against his crossed elbow, a silent warning in the tense stillness of the room. His gaze, cold and unyielding, pinned Pascal in place.

"Then?" His voice cut through the air, low and edged with impatience.

Pascal swallowed hard, his lips pressing together before he finally spoke. "Then she went to the only source of water in this town- the well. She raised her hand to the heavens and began to pray, her voice strange, almost inhuman. And then... as if answering her call, the earth trembled, and water rose from the ground, flooding the fields and filling our cups. We thought it a miracle." He let out a shaky breath. "With her blessing, we survived the drought."

Cassius arched a brow, unimpressed, "And yet, you tremble like a guilty man confessing his sins. What came after?"

Pascal’s fingers clenched into fists on his lap. His throat bobbed, his voice faltering. "Since then... many have changed."

Cassius tilted his head, a flicker of intrigue dancing in his crimson eyes. "Changed how?"

Pascal’s mouth opened, then closed, his breath shallow as if the words themselves would condemn him. His voice barely rose above a whisper. "Thirsty." His gaze darted around the room as though fearing unseen ears. "They became very... thirsty."

Cassius stilled. The air between them seemed to darken, the weight of unspoken horrors pressing in. His lips curled slightly, though whether in amusement or something far crueler was impossible to tell.

"As thirsty as a vampire who had been starved?" Cassius inquired, and Pascal’s eyes widened.

He stammered, "How do you know, Your Highness?" Seeing Cassius who didn’t answer him, the mayor continued, "Indeed... they became so thirsty that they had even begun to drink their own blood. It was a fearsome sight, so we always had to follow every word that the woman had requested us to do however, we can’t do it anymore. Her requests became more grim every time, the things she wants- are now vampires."

Cassius leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening like a dagger poised for the kill. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of undeniable certainty.

"Vampires? She wants you to lure vampires into this town and offer them as sacrifices?"

His words landed like a hammer on Pascal’s already crumbling resolve. The mayor’s eyes widened, not in shock, but in something closer to admiration. The prince had unraveled the truth with unsettling ease. Just as Pascal parted his lips to confirm it, an abrupt shift in the air made Cassius to freeze.

A chill slithered through the room.

Cassius’s chin lifted instinctively, his entire body going rigid as a scent curled into his senses; it was the scent of a sweet blood.

Her blood.

It wrapped around him like a whisper, delicate yet unmistakable, a scent he had come to know too well. The same blood that lingered in the air whenever she was near, always teasing, always within reach.

But this time, it was different.

This time, it carried the sharp, metallic edge of danger.

Renard, ever perceptive, turned his head sharply toward the window, his muscles tensing like a coiled spring. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. His eyes flickered to Cassius. "Your Highness...?"

But Cassius wasn’t listening.

His crimson gaze darkened, a slow-burning fire reflecting the candle’s flickering light. His nostrils flared, and his lips parted ever so slightly as if inhaling something invisible. Then, his voice came low and dangerous.

"This is my bird’s scent of blood."

The candle beside him wavered, its flame dancing wildly against the sudden, eerie stillness.

Renard barely had time to react before the half-moon birthmark on Cassius’s neck pulsed, once, twice, before something unnatural took hold.

Cassius’s entire form rippled.

A deep, ink-like darkness spread from his fingertips, devouring him whole. His body seemed to liquefy, melting like wax, his silhouette warping into a formless black mass. And then—

He was gone.

The black puddle at his feet vanished as if it had never been there, leaving behind only the faint scent of blood and the lingering weight of something wrong.

Renard gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he whipped around to face Pascal, blade drawn in a flash of silver.

"Speak." His voice was sharp, a blade against the mayor’s throat. "Where is that woman now?"

Pascal was visibly shaking, his breath ragged. "S-She... she lodges at the inn—" He hesitated, his terror swallowing the rest of his words. Then, finally, the truth tumbled out like a death sentence. "The same inn where His Highness and the human girl are staying."

Renard’s stomach lurched. Realization hit like a blow to the chest.

His fingers clenched around his sword, a vicious curse slipping past his lips.

"Shit."