Awakening A New Generation of Hunters

Christian's P.O.V.

Over the years, I've crossed paths with souls like mine—fractured yet unyielding, molded by chaos but never consumed. Decision-making has never been my strong suit, especially when desire clouds my reason. Desire for something, answers… or someone, his gorgeous Vita. 

My eyes settled on the worn journal sprawled across the desk, its cracked leather cover marked with faint scars of time. It had once belonged to her—my mother. The delicate handwriting inside was unmistakable, each letter imbued with her steady grace and quiet strength. 

As I turned a page, her words unfolded before me, not as mere entries, but as whispers from the past. They spoke of her dreams, her fears, and a truth she had hidden in plain sight. The weight of her secrets pressed against my chest, the echo of her love and sacrifice binding me tighter to the path I was already on. 

"In light or shadow, we always meant to walk the in-between."

Fitting right? Regardless of his nature he will never completely be accepted in either world—he is bound to this plane.

.

Technically, my Pannak and I are not of the same blood. My brother sent some of them to keep me company—or rather, to ensure I was protected as if I were some damned child. Loki splits his time between the two neighboring mansions, while I live in one and he resides in the other. But really, it doesn't matter who stays where anymore. The gates between our estates are a warning, standing tall against a world falling to ruin at the hands of barbarians. No one dares challenge the devils above the flaming plane.

Demons have always been seen as vile, repulsive creatures—despicable scum. But contrary to belief, not all demons are the monsters they're painted to be. I am a Prince of Hell, or at least I was meant to be. I walked away from that title, refusing to torture the damned souls of Hell. Ironic, isn't it? The so-called "good" crave my blood, while the "evil" demand justice for the sins of humanity. Zeus himself claims it's all in the name of balance. I see it for what it is—hypocrisy.

I am neither good nor evil. I exist somewhere in between, untouched by either side's grasp. I chose freedom over power, a choice that got me loyalty and comfort.

Yet, like my father, I learned to offer desires at a price. I grant wishes for those willing to pay. Souls are my currency, and though they don't call me the devil, the resemblance is undeniable.

Loki on the other hand is the storm that followed silence—the kind of man you couldn't fully understand until it was too late. He was chaos wrapped in control, strength forged in fire, and rage honed to a razor's edge. Raised in the heart of Hell's darkness, Loki didn't just survive—he thrived. Where others broke, he built walls; where others faltered, he found his footing. He was a fighter, a tactician, and, above all, a survivor.

To the world, Loki was a villain. But to me, he was the kind of villain who stood between those he cared against the monsters that dared to cross them. His actions were harsh, his methods unrelenting, but there was a strange kind of honor in the way he carried himself. Don't get me wrong— Loki is no saint—he just didn't pretend to be. Yet, beneath the rough exterior and the sharp tongue, I saw a brother who bore more than his share of burdens. 

Loki handled death like it was second nature, a grim reaper cloaked in defiance. He stepped into roles I could never stomach, taking the weight of decisions that would crush others. While the world saw a devil, I saw the only man who dared to challenge the cards he'd been dealt and win. 

Despite his hardened demeanor, Loki had a heart—fractured, perhaps, but still beating. He fought for what he believed in, even when the odds were stacked against him. He could make you believe he didn't care, but I'd seen the cracks in his armor, the moments when the weight of his choices caught up to him. He may have been forged in Hell, but he was no demon. Loki wasn't just my brother; he was a force of nature, one that refused to be defined by anyone else's rules.

Our father, Lucifer Morningstar, wasn't the monster everyone made him out to be. He wasn't evil. He simply sought to prove a point—that even the greatest creation, humanity, was flawed. He didn't force their hands; he merely offered a choice. A beautiful woman, a forbidden fruit, a taste of desire—and humanity damned itself.

For that, he was cursed. The angels spat on his name, mortals vilified him, and even his children were shunned. My father spent millennia among humanity, studying their selfishness, greed, and gullibility. He wasn't wrong. Yet, he wasn't heartless either. Beneath his infamous rebellion was love—love for the potential he saw in mankind and a disdain for their hypocrisy.

Loki's mother, an angel, that despised him from the moment he drew breath. To her, he was an abomination—a living reminder of a mistake she could never erase. She called him the spawn of the devil, and in some ways, she wasn't wrong. From the very beginning, Loki's life was marked by cruelty. Raised in a world that loathed him, he endured hatred and hostility that would have broken most. But Loki wasn't most.

Somewhere along the way, an angel—one more compassionate or perhaps more foolish—freed him. She taught him to open rifts between dimensions before vanishing as quickly as she'd appeared. That gift, that power, set him apart. It made him one of the few beings capable of traversing the barriers between realms at will—a feat even I could not achieve.

When I was just six, our father was taken from me. By the time Loki was thirteen, he left Hell to find me. To say our first meeting was a warm family reunion would be a lie. We were strangers bound by blood and burden. Yet, over time, he became my protector, my brother in more than name. He was fierce and unyielding, a storm that shielded me from the darkness of our world. And in protecting me, he found something he'd long been missing: purpose. Through me, he discovered that even in his torment, there was still something worth fighting for.

My mother on the other hand, the angel Alexandria—goddess of truth and the fire of light. She was a vision of divine purpose, standing tall beside her father on Judgment Day, guiding his creation toward the salvation of special grace. To her, the order was absolute, unquestionable. She embodied loyalty, purity, and unwavering belief.

They call her the pure beauty who fell in love with a fallen. It's almost poetic, isn't it? A being of celestial perfection drawn to the very embodiment of rebellion. But their love wasn't a fairy tale. It was chaos wrapped in whispers of destiny. Though angelic blood flows through my veins, I am my father's child too—an abomination by nature, a contradiction to her immaculate existence.