He was the cursed child of the Gehonom Valley—and as an S-Class Dimensional Cultivator, he was the sole being connected to this alien world. If Xara’s dimension was paradise, then his was its mirror image—undeniably hell.
A presence stirred in his mind.
“Your Majesty,” the voice echoed, smooth and resonant. “Welcome to Gehonom Valley.”
The speaker appeared before him: the archdemon of the realm. Contrary to the monstrous title, he resembled the most refined butler imaginable—elegant, poised, and terrifyingly composed.
Like Xara, only an S-Class Dimensional Cultivator could receive such a reception. Most domain cultivators were seen as visitors—or parasites—by the entities that resided within the dimensions they drew power from.
With flawless etiquette, the archdemon gave Taryn a personal tour.
“Gehonom Valley has nine planes, Your Majesty. At your current level of cultivation, you have access only to the first: Purgatory and Tempering.”
As they moved, Taryn observed the realm’s grotesque grandeur. Lakes of fire. Rivers of lava. A constant stench of sulfur and death—but oddly, it was... comforting. What should have been unbearable heat felt to him like a mild summer breeze.
He watched hyena- and jackal-like beasts gnawing on humanoid corpses—faces disturbingly familiar.
“Wait...”
“Ah. You recognize them, Majesty?” the archdemon asked, still smiling. “They are the soldiers you killed. One of your many abilities is soul capture. Any enemy you slay will have their soul sealed within Gehonom Valley—to be tortured eternally.”
A shiver ran down Taryn’s spine—but what followed was a cruel smile.
He floated toward one of the damned. It was the soldier who had struck Xara. His arm was severed. His jaw dangled by a shred of muscle. Yet he could speak—clear as day—and his wounds slowly regenerated.
“Please... end it... please...”
Taryn stared at him coldly.
“You touched the wrong person. Your crimes are unforgivable.”
He felt nothing. No pity. No mercy. Only the faint awareness that his heart was changing—frozen, maybe. Or burned to ash.
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He kicked the soldier into a nearby lava lake.
The man’s scream echoed for miles. But to Taryn, it sounded almost... musical.
“Punish him extra,” he ordered, before continuing his tour.
In the distance loomed a jagged mountain range that pierced the blood-red clouds.
“This is the eastern face of Gehonom Mountain,” the demon explained. “The mountain forms four walls—encircling Gehonom Valley like a square.”
“It has thirteen great peaks. You’ve only summoned a fragment the size of an anthill from the Zaqqum Peak into your world.”
Taryn’s eyes widened. He stared at the crimson range—he couldn’t even see the other three faces. Yet mentally, he could feel their presence.
Next, the demon led him to his palace—and majestic was an understatement.
Massive black gates towered before them, engraved with abyssal runes. At the base of the gate, a monstrous creature rested, the size of a small building.
“His name is Fenrir,” the archdemon said. “You summoned him into your world. Though he is massive here, what you called forth was merely a lesser clone.”
“At your current level, you cannot summon true entities like myself. Not even the jackals or worms of this realm. The amount of cosmic energy required would collapse the very space of your world—and trigger an apocalypse.”
Taryn gulped.
“So... I summoned Fenrir because he can divide himself?”
“Exactly,” the demon said. “He splits into fragments weak enough to pass into your plane. But even those fragments are deadly. Loyal—and ever watchful.”
Taryn nodded slowly, absorbing it all.
“But how did I summon the mountain? I didn’t call for it. It just… happened.”
The demon raised a finger.
“That was a fortunate coincidence, Your Majesty. One of the moons in your world is actually a broken fragment of Gehonom Mountain. Because of that connection, it acted as a beacon—amplifying your power and allowing you to summon a piece of Zaqqum Peak.”
Taryn’s eyes narrowed.
“The Merlin Moon came from this world? But... I thought I was the only one connected to it.”
“You are—to the Valley,” the demon clarified. “Gehonom Valley is your domain. The mountains surrounding it stretch for trillions of light years. This valley is both a prison and a throne—for souls, and for demons like me.”
“Many dimensional cultivators are connected to isolated fragments within the mountain range. But of the thirteen peaks, Zaqqum borders the valley. It is a mountain of death—and it belongs exclusively to you.”
Then, after a pause, the demon added with a shadowed tone:
“Though none could say who first drew that fragment into your sky… the timing was too precise to be chance.”
Taryn’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing.
“By common convention,” the demon continued, “you are already classified as S-Class because of your exclusive link to a cosmic source. But even that rating doesn’t capture your reality.”
“To wield both Gehonom Valley and Zaqqum Peak as your domain makes you a cultivator of... unspecified classification. A being beyond the known scale.”
Taryn stood still. The weight of it washed over him.
“Still,” the demon added, “I suggest you forget humanity’s small systems of measurement. Their scales mean nothing here. Your path now leads to heights beyond imagination. For now, focus only on one thing—cultivation.”
He gestured toward the grand doors of the palace.
“Come. Let me show you what awaits inside.”