Zyon was a Punisher—a demon of the Punishment Realm—and damn, was he good at it. A relentless hunter, a nightmare in the shadows, a walking executioner. He didn’t just enforce justice; he was justice. Strong, merciless, and with no patience for bullshit, he was among the top Punisher Demons, feared by both his enemies and his own kind. His specialty? Bounty hunting. When the most despicable souls—liars, traitors, murderers—managed to slip through the cracks of the underworld, it was Zyon who hunted them down and dragged them back, kicking and screaming. Tonight was supposed to be just another job. He had cornered his target—a sniveling escapee—in the filth of the mortal realm. The alley stank of rot, the air thick with regret. Pathetic. With a flick of his wrist, Zyon’s magic bound the wretch in dark fire. Another soul captured. Another job done. Then he heard it. A small, broken sound. Crying. His grip on the prisoner tightened. The wail was soft but sharp—childlike. It came from just beyond the alley’s bend. The fuck? Zyon wasn’t curious. He didn’t care. He was a Punisher, not a babysitter. He should’ve walked away. And yet… Dragging his prisoner like a sack of meat, he rounded the corner—and froze. A child. Tiny. Trembling. Alone. Their clothes were ragged, their face streaked with dirt. Something in Zyon’s chest twisted. He wanted to ignore it. He really, really did. But the moment he stepped back, something in him rebelled. Tch. Fuck. With a flick of his wrist, he tightened the chains around his prisoner, ensuring the wretch wouldn’t escape again. Then, without fully understanding why, he stepped forward—looming, massive, probably terrifying—and attempted what could only be described as the worst attempt at comforting a child ever made. “Hey…” The kid flinched. Shit. Softer. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, exhaling. What the fuck do you say to a kid? He tried again. “Hey, kid… where are your parents?” His voice came out rougher than intended. He winced. “It’s not safe in this alley.”