The Flaming Hall – Infernal Realm
The massive obsidian doors groaned open, their deep, eerie sound echoing throughout the vast infernal chamber like the cry of a dying beast. Azreal stepped forward, his long black cloak trailing behind him, each step deliberate and heavy with presence. Orvath followed silently, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes unreadable.
As they entered, the temperature in the hall seemed to shift. Every soul in the room stood, the tension thickening instantly. The Five Pillars, Damantia, Laisa—even the prideful demons who served as Hell guards bowed in unison. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Azreal's crimson eyes swept across them, sharp and detached. "Let's begin... the second Infernal Meeting."
He moved with calm authority, sitting on the Flaming Throne, its dark flames curling around him like loyal serpents. With a small nod, he gestured to Orvath.
The silence in the hall deepened.
Orvath moved to the center, placing a sealed containment tube on the obsidian table. Inside, a grotesque, eye-like creature floated, pulsating and twitching unnaturally. Its veins bulged against the glass, glowing faintly with a sinister light.
A chill swept through the room.
Malphas narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is that thing?"
Xaltheon leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "Why bring such a thing here?"
Orvath raised a hand, his voice calm and composed. "I know you all have questions. I'll answer them."
He cleared his throat before continuing. "I've discovered the reason behind the Infernals' evolution... into Demon Infernals."
A ripple of shock passed through the hall.
Dracos crossed his arms, flames flickering across his pauldrons. "As expected from the Hell's Archivist."
Selmora gave a lazy grin, resting her chin on one hand. "Way to go, old man. You're not my type, but the Fourth Gate welcomes you anytime." She winked.
Orvath exhaled slowly. "Appreciated... Now, listen closely."
He pointed at the creature, his voice dropping an octave. "I found something strange while examining the ash left behind by a Demon Infernal. Something ancient. Something sealed."
The room grew still, every eye on him.
"The cause... is Y'tharion's Mark."
The silence was immediate and absolute.
Xaltheon stood, his eyes blazing. "That's impossible. The Gods sealed Y'tharion deep within the Infernal Realm! I even strengthened the seal myself with my magic. How can his mark appear now?"
Orvath shook his head, his eyes shadowed. "That's still a mystery."
Veymar frowned deeply. "But... they're supposed to die. Why did that thing form?"
Orvath's voice turned colder. "They aren't dying. They're evolving."
Shock hit like a thunderclap.
Laisa turned toward Azreal. "My Lord, how do we deal with this?"
Azreal leaned forward, elbows resting on the throne's burning arms. His eyes glowed ominously. "I wasn't the Guardian back then. I don't know much about Y'tharion or his mark... But we should have more information in the Dark Library. For now, we'll depend on Xaltheon's magic."
A heavy stillness followed his words.
"I know you feel left out," he added. "But Orvath will continue the investigation. Xaltheon, you'll lead the suppression."
Xaltheon nodded solemnly. "As you wish, my Lord."
Orvath added gravely, "We haven't figured out how the mark appeared. But I'll keep digging."
Dracos suddenly spoke up, "Wait. Doesn't the Lord have a mark like that too?"
Orvath paused, nodding slowly. "Yes. But that's... different."
His eyes lingered on the grotesque creature in the tube. "By the void... Y'tharion is using the dead to build something new. We don't know what he's planning, but whatever it is—it's dangerous."
He turned back to his seat.
Azreal scanned the room. "Xaltheon, handle the Infernal threat. Orvath, keep investigating. As for Y'tharion... I'll go meet the Gods myself."
Selmora smirked. "Send my regards."
Malphas scoffed. "Do you really think they'll tell you anything useful?"
Azreal leaned back, his voice calm but firm. "I have to try. This is getting out of hand."
A voice suddenly rang out—Damantia's. "Speaking of the Gods... What about Aria?"
Laisa blinked. "Who's that?"
Malphas answered, "She's the girl who caused trouble in the Soul Gate three years ago."
Selmora raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Ohhh, that girl. What about her?"
Damantia crossed her arms. "When she arrived, she said she wasn't supposed to be here. That there was a mistake. And her Sin Value was... extremely low."
All eyes turned toward her.
"She even tried to seduce a hell guard during the chaos," Damantia added flatly. "But since she wasn't dangerous, I placed her in the First Gate."
Malphas nodded. "We began her punishment—but something was off. She's resistant to flames."
Gasps passed through the hall.
Veymar stood, alarm in his voice. "What?! That's impossible!"
Dracos slammed his fist into his palm. "Only those with the Gods' Mark can survive hellfire. How does a soul sent to Hell have that?"
.
Selmora tilted her head. "Did you check for the mark?"
Malphas looked away, voice low. "No... we didn't expect it."
Damantia narrowed her eyes. "If she does have the Gods' Mark, then why was she sent here? Was it the Gods themselves... or someone tampering with the Gate System?"
Xaltheon asked, "Any suspects?"
Damantia shook her head. "None yet."
Azreal leaned back in his throne, his eyes glowing with an ominous light. "I'll handle the Aria case myself. If she really has the Gods' Mark, then my visit to the Gods will cover that too."
He stood, the flames around him flickering higher. "There's one more thing..."
The room fell silent once again.
"In the Final Gate today... Azroth was caught trying to free some souls."
The Five Pillars froze.
Malphas growled. "What?!"
Xaltheon leaned forward. "You said he was freeing souls. For what reason?"
Azreal glanced at Orvath. "It lines up with the mark. We know Infernals come from souls. If the mark causes evolution, then someone is using those souls to create Demon Infernals."
Orvath nodded slowly. "But how are they marking them...?"
Selmora chuckled darkly. "You should've sent him to me. Torture's my thing."
Azreal gave a bitter smile. "I was angry. Betrayal deserves my judgment."
Veymar spoke, his voice low. "If someone has the power to erase memories... then something big is happening in Hell."
The room went quiet.
The flames flickered, and the shadows deepened. In the heart of Hell... a storm was brewing.
To be Continued.