The portal opened in a swirling burst of purple light, expelling the Great Tyrants from the Black Eden after a decade of relentless forging in its shadows. The ten survivors—Gills, Soehpt, Kira, Tyrnat, Yulius, Nera, Bhaadon, Solom, Orak, and Razhïel—emerged in a gust of shimmering black sand, their imposing silhouettes marked by ten years of transformation under Lilith's hand. Their armors, forged in the garden's abyss, gleamed with a dark luster, adorned with subtle runes pulsing with ominous energy. Their Rings of Tyranny glinted on their fingers, a constant reminder of their pact with Satan—and of Lilith's mark etched into their souls.
The Forests of Sands stretched before them, an infinite sea of black dunes rippling like waves under a crimson sky streaked with glowing fissures. The sand, alive and capricious, formed swirling eddies that rose in spirals before collapsing in cascades of glittering dust. The air, saturated with suffocating heat, carried a metallic scent mixed with burnt ashes, and mirages danced on the horizon—blurred silhouettes of lost cities or forgotten creatures, vanishing when stared at too long. The survivors, now colossi in their own right, stood atop a dune, their gazes sweeping the infernal desert with a wariness sharpened by a decade of battles.
Gills, the first to break the silence, adjusted his black iron gauntlets, his scarlet flames crackling faintly around his fists. Ten years had carved his face into hard lines, his eyes burning with the regal authority inherited from Kalgarax. "Satan calls us," he said, his hoarse but steady voice resonating like a drum in the heavy air. "His legions await… but this path won't be a stroll." He raised his Ring of Tyranny, which pulsed with a golden glow, an echo of the Supreme Monarch's command.
Soehpt, at his side, nodded, his blue flames streaked with black dancing around him like specters. His lithe frame now bore an ethereal aura, the result of his stabilized bond with Volgurax. "Ten years to become weapons," he murmured, a bitter smile on his lips. "Let's see if it was worth the price."
Kira clashed her Astrugg Cestuses together, an orange glow awakening in the worn metal. Her already imposing stature had grown into raw power, embodying Astrugg's pride. "Whatever the path," she growled, her eyes glinting with defiance, "we'll burn it if we have to."
But tension simmered within the group. Tyrnat, draped in a cloak of shifting shadows, sneered, his shimmering scythe in hand. Ten years had honed his arrogance into a cold, calculating blade. "Burn?" he scoffed, his gaze sliding to Gills with contempt. "I'd rather cut down what blocks our way. Your flames just make noise." Beside him, Yulius grunted, Massacre—now an extension of his being—dripping with congealed blood that seemed alive. "As long as we move forward," he muttered, his deep voice betraying restrained savagery.
Nera, more subtle, wove her shadow threads between her fingers, a sly smile playing on her lips. Her eyes, sharpened by a decade of manipulation, gleamed with cold malice. "You talk too much," she murmured, her cursed dolls twitching in the shadow of her cloak. "Leave the strings to me, and we'll get there faster."
Bhaadon, fists clenched, levitated slightly above the sand, a stone hovering near him like an echo of his rage. Ten years hadn't dulled his obsession with Gota, and his gaze burned with silent fury. "Where's Natass?" he growled, his voice thick with restrained menace. Solom, at his side, summoned a golden spark that danced in his palm, his face marked by unwavering loyalty to Bhaadon. "And Gota…" he murmured, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Orak drove his spear into the sand, a frosty mist rising around him. His features, hardened by a decade of reinforced solitude, betrayed disdain for the group. "I'm not here for your squabbles," he growled, his gray eyes glinting like shards of ice. Razhïel, silent, adjusted his mask with a steady hand, Tenebris Lux pulsing faintly at his side. His severed arm had been replaced by a shadow-forged prosthesis from Lilith, and an aura of calamity cloaked him, a legacy of his evolution into the Black Archangel of Calamity.
Before the discussion could escalate, the sand beneath their feet trembled violently, a low rumble rising from the depths. Massive forms emerged from the dunes—Sand Scorpions, colossal creatures with glistening black carapaces, their pincers snapping like guillotines and their tails bristling with stingers dripping corrosive venom. Their multiple eyes glowed like embers in the darkness, and a shrill hiss tore through the air as a dozen charged, their legs churning the sand in a deafening roar.
"Time to play," Gills shouted, his scarlet flames rising in a roaring wall. "Chaos Forms, now!" The Rings of Tyranny pulsed in harmony, a wave of ominous energy surging from each survivor as they summoned their transformed forms, a power they hadn't fully unleashed since their final trial in the garden.
Gills became the Demon of the Crimson Blaze, a towering figure wreathed in swirling scarlet flames, his eyes burning like infernal suns. He roared, a torrent of fire erupting from his fists to incinerate a wave of living sand, charring a scorpion in an explosion of ashes. Soehpt morphed into the Spectral Blue Demon, his ethereal form shimmering with cyan flames streaked with black. A massive Soul Blade slashed the air, severing a scorpion's tail in a spectral flash, its venom evaporating under the spiritual heat.
Kira, in her Astrugg Fury, grew into a titanic form, her blazing cestuses smashing a scorpion with a single blow, its carapace shattering into black shards that fell like glittering rain. "Too easy," she growled, her voice booming like a titan's, her body instantly regenerating the gashes left by the stingers.
Tyrnat rose as the Reaper of the Black Vortex, a maelstrom of shadows swirling around him. He summoned Nidhoss, the twin-headed serpent bursting from the sand, its jaws spewing corrosive venom that melted two scorpions in an acidic hiss. "Stay out of my way," he snapped, his icy tone contrasting with Yulius's savagery, who became the Bloody Bone Berserker. An armor of bone and blood encased him, and Massacre cleaved a scorpion in two, a jet of black blood splattering the sand as he roared with glee.
Nera, subtle as the Puppeteer of the Otherworld, wove shadow threads that bound a scorpion, her cursed dolls leaping to tear its carapace with deadly precision. "Why get my hands dirty?" she murmured, a sly smile on her lips. Bhaadon, as the Grand Nephalem, unfurled his demonic horns and silver halo, levitating an entire dune and hurling it at a scorpion, crushing it in a deafening rumble. "For Gota," he growled, his voice trembling with rage.
Solom, transformed into the Demon of Celestial Thunder, summoned a golden storm that electrocuted a scorpion, his lightning dancing like living serpents. Orak, as the Lord of Eternal Frost, drove his spear into the ground, a wave of ice surging to freeze a scorpion mid-charge, which he shattered with a sharp blow. "I need no one," he growled, solitary but relentless.
Razhïel, finally, unfurled his wings as the Black Archangel of Calamity, a storm of dark runes rising around him. Tenebris Lux flared, and a wave of slashing shadows swept three scorpions, their carapaces collapsing in a chaos of debris. His silence spoke louder than any cry, a promise of destruction incarnate.
The Sand Scorpions were swiftly reduced to smoldering husks, the black sand littered with their glittering remains. The survivors deactivated their Chaos Forms, the ominous energy dissipating in a palpable shiver, their bodies trembling slightly from the effort. Gills took a deep breath, his scarlet flames fading. "We can handle a day," he said, a satisfied smile on his lips. "But we need to stay focused."
Tyrnat sneered, his shadows flickering around him. "Focused? With you playing leader?" he growled, shooting a dark glance at Bhaadon. "And him whining for Gota?" Bhaadon stepped forward, a stone levitating beside him, but Solom placed a hand on his shoulder, a golden spark dancing in his palm. "Not now," he murmured, quelling the brewing storm.
But before the quarrel could escalate, a mirage shimmered on the horizon—a feminine silhouette, draped in watery shadows, surrounded by floating medusas with glowing tendrils. Gota. Her eyes, once familiar, gleamed with a cold light, and an enigmatic smile played on her lips before she dissolved in a burst of sand. "Gota…" Bhaadon murmured, his voice trembling with shock and anger.
"An illusion," Orak growled, his spear driven into the sand. "Or Natass's game," Nera added, her shadow threads quivering with excitement. Gills clenched his fists, his flames crackling faintly. "Doesn't matter," he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "We move forward. Satan awaits… and we have a score to settle."
The black dunes stretched before them, endless and menacing, promising more challenges on the path to the infernal throne.