All Chapters of The Devil's Broken Doll: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

(Caelum Ashborne)Apollo had decided to keep him close.Put him at the edge of the flame he was starting to suspect could undo more than just their enemies.Guard her. Watch her. Don’t touch.Punishment disguised as duty. Or duty disguised as punishment. Or a test so layered even Caelum’s pattern-trained mind couldn’t see all the way through.You will not touch her. Not as I do. Not with curiosity.Caelum’s lips twitched into something that might have been a humourless smile if there were any humour left in him.To touch her as he does. Even gods grew jealous.His gut twisted. He’d seen more of how Apollo touched her than any demon had a right to. His mind tried not to replay it. It did anyway.Her voice cracked around her gasps. The way her legs had trembled, straining to hold herself up. The sound she’d made when she’d finally let go—a sound he doubted she’d ever made for anyone else. A sound made for altars, not kings.And Apollo—horns risen, wings shuddering, hands clamped around h

(Adelaide)The dream found her before she found herself.Not sight at first—weight. Heat pressed along her spine, steady and enveloping, the kind that seeped into bone and made muscles unclench without permission. Her breath slowed inside it, lungs filling easily, as though the air itself had decided to be kind.Then came the warmth. A soft, enveloping warmth. A broad chest behind her. An arm wrapped around her waist. A slow, steady breath brushing at the back of her neck like it worshipped the tiny hairs there. Heat soaked into her spine, a steady, comforting weight that made every muscle in her body sigh. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something darker, familiar as a heartbeat now—him.Apollo.The dream carried sound too—his breathing low and even, the faint hum of power under skin, like a cathedral filled with embers instead of candles. No chains. No screams. Only the quiet pressure of being held.He held her the way a man might hold something precious. Not claimed. Not taken

(Caeulm Ashborne)Adelaide turned away to put on the makeshift dress.The chamber seemed to inhale with her movement, shadows drawing long across the stone, slithering behind her like obedient snakes. Hell’s false moonlight slid over her back in pale ribbons, catching in her hair like frost that never melted.He told himself not to watch, then repeated it, a silent command over and over. Still, his body betrayed him.His gaze caught the curve of her spine, the slow rise and fall of her breath—fragile, human, out of place in Hell yet stubbornly present. The silk slid up her legs, whispering against her skin, clinging, revealing flashes that burned into his vision before he could look away. Her calf flexed in the moonlight; the fabric rode up, then fell in a slow, agonising tease.The Queen’s Flame had awakened something in him—sharpened instincts, thinned restraint. Every shift of her body pulled his self-control tighter, each sensation a visceral mix of awe and forbidden yearning. He

(Adelaide)By the time they reached her chamber door, Adelaide felt like she could finally breathe again. Her lungs still trembled from the place they’d just passed—the black-mouthed tunnel slanting down into the human-soul dungeon. Even now, several halls away, she could feel the echo of it clinging to her ribs like frost. As if the cold had memorised her bones.She hadn’t just heard those souls. She’d felt them.Like a thousand fingertips pressing from the inside of her chest.Their agony had wrapped around her heart with cold, skeletal fingers, squeezing as if begging her to listen—begging her to free them, or to witness them, or simply to not turn away. The sound hadn’t been sound at all, but a vibration in her bones. A pressure behind her sternum. A collective ache pressed into her until her breath had fractured. It felt like standing inside a cathedral built from screams.Even now, her pulse skittered. A trapped bird beating against her ribs.The oppressive hum of the palace

(Apollo)The soul screamed like metal being torn in half.The sound wasn’t just noise; it was vibration. It punched through the cavern walls, rattled ancient runes carved into stone, and made loose pebbles skitter across the iron walkways like fleeing insects. Even the lava seemed to flinch, its surface breaking into frantic ripples as if the river itself recoiled from the agony.Apollo watched the sound rattle through what was left of the creature’s body, enjoyed the way it shuddered on the hooks. The echo bounced around the cavern—high, jagged, eager—picked up and warped by the stone until it sounded less like a single throat and more like a chorus of agony answering itself. The reverberation crawled along the ceiling and down the pillars like a living thing, a wail that got thinner and sharper the further it travelled, until it came back to him as a thin, hysterical keening.It reminded him of cathedral bells, warped through hellfire. The same kind of summons. A call to witness. A