I didn't know the Devil could beg.
I really didn't know he could bow.
One moment, he stood there—Zefar, King of Slayers, the Reaper of Death, the man who burned Oma and stood unfazed before Obsidian's coils.
The next…
He dropped.
Not like a warrior taking a knee.
Not like a monster pretending to be human.
He collapsed. Hard.
Right at my feet.
He took off his mask, his face covered in his own dried blood. His breath shook. His hands—those awful hands—trembled like he couldn't hold up the weight of his own bones.
I froze.
Monsters weren't supposed to look… weak.
He lifted his face toward me. I saw the broken parts—the blood drying at the corners of his eyes, the black around his veins from Golden Red's venom.
"Son Of Liberty …" he whispered, voice gravel and fire.
"I need you to take me… to her."
His fingers clawed at the ground, like the earth itself was trying to keep him from rising.
"Who?" I asked. I don't know why I asked. I should've run.
But the question fell out of me like it belonged to someone else.
He swallowed hard. His breath hitched.
"Rose."
Before I could think straight, I answered, "Her grave lies on the ground, behind the treehouse.
He grabbed the edge of the platform—
And jumped.
I didn't mean to gasp. But I did.
He fell far. Too fast.
He tried to stand.
His leg buckled with a loud, awful crack. I heard bone snap.
Zefar hissed in pain, but he didn't stop moving.
His leg bent the wrong way.
He didn't scream.
He dragged himself upright like pain was a thing other people felt, not him.
Only then did I realize something strange:
The Ravens,snakes and wolves began surrounding the injured Zefar.
I didn't remember giving them any order.
Had father tasked them to stop Zefar from reaching the place he buried Mama.
I back flipped, grabbing vines as I sky dived and landed on my feet.
I had to stop these animals especially George the Raven and Trevor the wolf.
The desperation Zefar was walking with assured their inescapable deaths if they crossed him.
As I whistled for the predators to stand back,
Zefar stumbled forward.
He dragged his broken leg, leaving drops of blood on the dirt. No one could walk with a leg like that.
Well, was that harder to believe than the deadly venom in his veins.
But Zefar kept moving.
So I followed.
Not because I trusted him.
Not because he asked.
But because I had never seen a monster look like he was about to break.
The ground dipped, the air quieted, the leaves fell softer here.
This was Mama's resting place.
Papa never carved her name on a stone.
He grew roses where her body was buried.
Mama always said flowers didn't lie. They grew where hearts broke.
Zefar stopped when he saw the roses.
He didn't look at me.
He took off his mask.
I had never seen his face this emotional before.
I expected a heartless demon.
Or scars.
Or teeth sharper than mine.
But he just looked… tired.
And sad.
So, so sad.
The kind of sad that made the world quieter around him.
He knelt.
His chest shook.
His breath cracked into pieces.
And then—
He cried.
Real tears.
Not angry ones.
Not fake ones.
Tears that fell like they'd been waiting years to escape.
His hand hovered over the roses. He touched one gently… like he thought it might disappear.
"She hated these," he whispered.
I blinked.
Hated them?
Wouldn't she have told Papa?
Or, was this Mama's secret?
He picked one.
Held it like it meant everything.
Then, slowly—too slowly—he wrapped his fist around the stem.
The thorns dug in deep.
Blood ran between his fingers.
He gritted his teeth but didn't stop.
He crushed every thorn until the rose stem was smooth.
"She said," he murmured, voice shaking,
"their thorns mocked their beauty."
He bowed his head deeper—so deep his forehead touched the earth.
He said something then.
A vow.
A promise.
A curse.
I couldn't hear all of it.
But I heard enough to know it wasn't meant for me.
When he finally looked up, his eyes were red—not from violence… but from remembering.
He faced me.
"Little Prince," he breathed,
"I'm ready."
"Ready for?" I asked.
"To die."
He stood, even with his broken leg.
He wiped his bloody hand on his cloak.
He didn't flinch.
"But before I fall…" he said,
"I want your father's Raven and your father's Wolf… to have my corpse."
I knew those names.
George.
Trevor.
Apex's most loyal monsters.
Zefar wanted them to eat him.
Why?
Was this to give his body back to the master he betrayed?
He looked at me—straight at me—with the calm of someone who had already decided everything.
"I will not fight," he said.
"I will not run.
I will die here.
I will return to the living.
Let me for a moment... feel the peaceful sleep.
Let me rest beside her… in whatever form possible."
I stood there shaking, not because I feared him…
But because for the first time—
I didn't know if he was the villain Papa told me about.
Or something much, much worse.
A monster who could feel.
A killer who could love.
A devil who could kneel.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I stared at him, trembling. "What else… what else did Mama hate?" I whispered, afraid to break the silence.
Zefar's hand lingered over the crushed rose. His eyes softened—haunted, almost tender.
He said quietly, "She loved lilies. She said their petals were honesty made visible. And violets… humility.
She told me once, walking through the Babel garden, that each flower had a lesson. Every bloom had a secret. Every color, a warning. She wanted to teach me to see the world clearly..."
I blinked, stunned. The Devil—the man who had burned Oma—was talking about flowers, about teaching. My heart thudded painfully in disbelief.