Ten Commandments of Hell
Azreal stood over Azroth, his crimson spear embedded deep into the body of his prisoner. He loomed above him, his eyes burning with a cold, relentless fury.
"Let's begin..." Azreal's voice was low and menacing, each word cutting through the silence like a blade. "The Lesson of Hell."
Azroth, bloodied and battered, could barely lift his head. He was caught, trapped in Azreal's unyielding grasp. His body ached, every breath shallow, as the pain from Azreal's attacks continued to sear through his form. Official source ıs 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹•𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒•𝙣𝙚𝙩
Azreal raised a hand, and chains erupted from the abyss, wrapping tightly around Azroth's limbs. They constricted, pulling him up, suspending him midair. "In Hell, punishment... is a privilege."
The chains burned with hellfire, and Azroth winced as they tightened, their grasp unrelenting. He was helpless—no mercy, no escape.
Azreal's hand glowed with an unholy fire, and a brand appeared, pure hellfire licking the air around it. "Mercy isn't owned... it's earned."
Azroth's body froze in terror as the searing mark neared him. Azreal pressed it into his back, and the pain was like nothing Azroth had ever felt before. The brand sizzled, burning deep into his flesh.
Azreal's eyes darkened, his expression cold as he whispered, "You don't betray me."
Without hesitation, he slammed the brand deeper into Azroth's back. The searing pain echoed through Azroth's every nerve as his screams reverberated throughout the darkness.
Azreal's grip tightened. "Fear is a leash... and I hold it."
The chains snapped tighter, forcing Azroth to meet his captor's burning gaze. Azreal's eyes were like flames, flickering with an intensity that threatened to consume him whole.
Azreal leaned in, his voice cold and commanding. "Loyalty is not love. It is obedience."
A jagged sigil, glowing with molten energy, etched itself into Azroth's chest. His body spasmed as the mark seared into him, leaving a permanent scar.
Azreal's laugh was low and unsettling. "Every scar you earn in my domain... is permanent."
The chains erupted in flames, consuming Azroth's form. Pain coursed through him as the flames etched the memory of this torment into his very soul.
Azreal's voice echoed through the chamber, his words like a curse. "Regret is for the living. You are far beyond that luxury."
The whispers of the damned filled Azroth's ears, their voices haunting, mocking. Azreal's presence was suffocating, his power overwhelming.
Azreal's shadow loomed over Azroth, his voice chilling as he continued. "My wrath is patient... but never forgetful."
A crimson blade, forged from pure retribution, hovered dangerously close to Azroth's throat. The promise of pain hung in the air, and Azroth felt the weight of Azreal's gaze on him.
Azreal stepped forward, his boot grinding into Azroth's shoulder. "You kneel, not to survive... but because you are mine."
The weight of Azreal's power pressed down on him, every breath a struggle as the chains held him in place.
Azreal leaned in close, his voice a whisper that shattered any trace of defiance. "There is no freedom in Hell. Only purpose... and I am yours."
Azroth's body trembled, his spirit broken. Azreal's words were absolute—an unyielding truth. There was no escape from this place, no way to resist.
Azroth's body hung limply as the chains released him, his battered, broken form crumpling to the ground. His body was scarred, burned, and battered. But his spirit... that was still intact. For now.
Azreal turned away, his thoughts drifting. "Is this what they've reduced you to?" he muttered to himself. "A puppet with no memory, no identity."
Azroth weakly lifted his head, his voice trembling. "I... I don't know... I don't remember... please..."
Azreal stopped, looking down at him with cold, calculating eyes. "Your memories are gone, aren't they?" He clenched his fist, the realization settling in. "A technique... capable of erasing memories. What kind of enemy are we dealing with?"
Azroth's voice trembled as he pled, "I don't know... my Lord... I swear."
Azreal's eyes turned dark yellow, glowing like molten lava. He walked up to Azroth and touched his head, his finger cold as ice against the infernal demon's forehead.
"If you ever try something absurd again," Azreal whispered, his voice deadly calm, "I won't hesitate. I'll put you out of your misery before you can blink."
Azroth's throat constricted, fear rising in his chest. He swallowed hard and bowed his head, desperate to please his tormentor. "I would never, my Lord."
Azreal nodded, his face hard. "You better."
Azreal turned to the guards in the corner of the room. "Let him go. He's free."
Azroth stumbled to his feet, his body unsteady as he bowed once again, his voice filled with both fear and gratitude. "Yes, my Lord."
With a final look, Azreal left the chamber. His mind raced with the growing weight of the situation. What was he dealing with? Who could erase memories and warp the very essence of infernals?
Azreal sat in his throne, his eyes narrowed as he thought. The sounds of the hellish landscape echoed faintly in the distance, but his mind was elsewhere. He wasn't sure who or what was behind this, but he would find out. He had to.
Hulk stepped forward, a deep bow marking his entrance. "My Lord, we've enforced more troops at each gate, as you requested."
Azreal nodded, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Good. But now... we wait."
Hulk's posture straightened as he spoke. "Orvath is still examining the ashes. He should have answers soon."
Azreal sighed, his hands steepled in front of him. "I hope he does. Time is running out."
In the heart of the battlefield, Orvath Vexmar, the Hell Archivist, knelt amidst the scorched earth. His ancient fingers brushed against the ash left by the fallen infernal demons. The air was thick with the stench of decay, but something was off. He could feel it in the residue—the strange hum that lingered.
"This... isn't death," he muttered, staring intently at the dust as it sifted between his fingers. "It's conversion."
The ash was unlike anything he had ever studied before. It glowed faintly, pulsing with an eerie energy. Orvath's eyes widened as he leaned closer, his heart racing.
He carefully gathered a sample, sealing it in a glass vial before hurrying back to the Black Library. There, surrounded by ancient tomes and forbidden scrolls, he worked feverishly, comparing the residue against texts long thought lost.
It wasn't long before he froze. His eyes narrowed at the sigil that appeared on the residue when magnified. It was unmistakable.
Orvath's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't just any demon's mark—it was a parasitic brand, capable of rewriting demonic essence at the point of death.
"They aren't dying," he whispered. "They're evolving."
His hands trembled as the ash in the vial began to shift. It coiled, forming into an eye—a single, burning eye that seemed to blink at him.
Orvath stumbled backward, his voice trembling. "By the Void... he's using our dead to build something new."
He knew he had to inform Azreal. This was no ordinary threat. It was a force capable of turning demons into something... worse.
Orvath didn't hesitate. He vanished, the vial in hand, knowing that time was slipping away.
Moments later, Orvath stood before Azreal, bowing low. "My Lord... I have something important to show you."
Azreal's gaze remained fixed on him. "I assume it concerns the infernal evolution?"
Orvath stepped forward, handing him the vial. "It's not just evolution, my Lord. It's something far more sinister."
Azreal's face darkened as he peered inside the vial. "What is this?"
Orvath's voice was grim. "It's the remains of the infernal demons... they aren't dead. They're changing. They're being rewritten."
Azreal's fists clenched as he processed the information. "What kind of enemy could do this?"
Orvath's eyes were filled with worry. "One with the power to control life and death itself."
Azreal turned to Hulk. "Summon the five pillars and Laisa. We need to address this immediately."
Hulk nodded, vanishing into the shadows.
Azreal looked at Orvath. "Follow me. We're heading to the Flaming Hall."