The Arachnid Caves faded behind the Great Tyrants like a nightmare woven of shadows and webs, their echoes of clattering fading in the oppressive dampness. Gills, Soehpt, Kira, Tyrnat, Yulius, Nera, Bhaadon, Solom, Orak, and Razhïel had traversed other infernal lands—ashen marshes where toxic vapors whispered curses, molten iron cliffs where lava specters howled in the darkness. Ten years in the Black Eden had forged their bodies and souls into sharpened blades, but Satan's call pulsed in their Rings of Tyranny, a low growl guiding them toward his infernal throne. The mirage of Gota in the Forests of Sands, her heavy absence since their departure, and the enigmatic murmurs of the Arachnid Queen weighed on their minds, an invisible tension simmering among them.
Their path led to a road paved with cracked black basalt, fissured in places, allowing an orange glow to seep from the subsurface, as if the inferno itself breathed primal heat. The roadway, lined with broken statues of twisted faces, stretched toward a glowing red horizon where silent lightning streaked a crimson sky. Hot winds swept stinging ashes across the ground, and a distant hum—cries, laughter, growls—heralded a massive crowd ahead.
The Tyrants joined a long, chaotic yet organized queue of horned demons, hollow-eyed damned souls, and grotesque creatures—six-legged beasts, chained specters, succubi with shrill laughter. Ahead, immense black gates loomed on the horizon, their surfaces etched with infernal symbols: screaming skulls, entwined flames, pulsing runes evoking the Monarchs and Satan himself. Colossal guards, Obsidian Sentinels clad in spiked armor, checked each individual with brutal precision, their halberds glinting with a scarlet glow.
Gills halted, his scarlet flames crackling faintly around his gauntlets. "A ceremony," he murmured, his gaze sweeping the crowd. "They're preparing something big." His hoarse voice carried a wariness honed by their journey, but also a resolve to understand their role in this infernal theater.
Soehpt, at his side, studied the gates, his blue flames streaked with black dancing like curious specters. "Those runes… They speak of power and submission," he observed, his analytical tone cutting through the ambient chaos. "Satan does nothing without calculation."
Kira clashed her Astrugg Cestuses together, an orange glow awakening in the metal. "Calculated or not," she growled, a savage smile on her lips, "I'm ready to crush whatever moves." Her impatience, tempered by a decade of training, drew a smile from Gills, who placed a fleeting hand on her arm, a discreet gesture heavy with intimacy.
Tyrnat, his cloak of shadows billowing like a broken wing, sneered. "Look at this circus," he said, his tone dripping with contempt. "Whole hells crawling for a show. Pathetic." His black eyes slid toward Bhaadon, seeking to provoke, but the latter, hovering slightly above the ground, stared into the crowd, fists clenched, a stone levitating beside him as an echo of his restrained rage.
"Gota…" Bhaadon murmured, his voice low and trembling, his eyes scanning every silhouette for a sign of her or Natass. Solom, at his side, summoned a golden spark that danced in his palm, his protective gaze following his companion. "We'll find her," he whispered, soothing the brewing storm.
Yulius drove Massacre into the basalt, a trickle of congealed blood dripping from the blade. "Queue or not, I'm getting through," he growled, his savagery dancing in his eyes. Nera wove her shadow threads, a sly smile on her lips. "Patience," she murmured, her cursed dolls twitching in the shadow of her cloak. "This chaos could serve us."
Orak, isolated, drove his spear into the ground, a frosty mist rising around him. "I'm not standing around waiting," he muttered, his gray eyes glinting with defiance. Razhïel, silent, adjusted his cracked mask, Tenebris Lux faintly glowing, his shadow-forged prosthesis rippling like a living extension.
A commotion erupted in the crowd, meters ahead. A massive demon, a scarlet-skinned colossus with twisted horns, tried to cut the line, his heavy steps shaking the basalt. His muscular arms shoved creatures aside like straw, an arrogant smirk on his face. "Out of my way!" he roared, his booming voice echoing through the ash-laden air.
But a frail silhouette stepped in his path—a small blue demon, almost insignificant against the titan, its sapphire-polished skin glinting, its yellow eyes glowing with unexpected malice. "Not so fast, big guy," it said, its high-pitched but firm voice cutting through, a sly smirk on its lips. The crowd held its breath, some laughing, others stepping back, anticipating a crushing retaliation.
The colossus roared, raising a massive fist to pulverize the impudent, but the blue demon moved with blinding agility. It dodged, its claws glinting with crackling energy, and drove a runic dagger into the giant's leg, eliciting a howl of pain. A surge of blue lightning enveloped the colossus, and in an instant, he collapsed, convulsing on the basalt, his horns smoking. The small demon leaped onto his chest, laughing. "Back to the end of the line, bone-bag!" it shouted, before vanishing into the crowd amid cheers and grumbles.
The Obsidian Sentinels advanced, dragging the colossus out of the line without ceremony, his groans fading in the chaos. Kira burst out laughing, clashing her cestuses. "Nice one, Blue!" she called, amused. Tyrnat sneered, but a flicker of respect crossed his eyes. "Hell loves surprises," he murmured.
But the Tyrants' attention shifted as a low rumble sounded—a demonic cart, pulled by scaly beasts with glowing eyes, sped past them. Loaded with crates adorned with runes, polished skulls, and shimmering black fabrics, it was driven by a low-caste red imp, its glossy skin contrasting with its chipped horns. Minor demons trotted alongside, carrying overflowing sacks. "Hurry up!" the imp shrieked, its shrill voice piercing the din. "We've got to deliver this before the Great Tyrants arrive, move it!"
One of its companions, a demon with atrophied wings, grumbled in response. "Heard they're less than a day from the throne," he muttered, casting a nervous glance around. "We gotta move fast!"
The Tyrants froze, their Rings of Tyranny glinting faintly, as if echoing their mention. Gills narrowed his eyes, his hand tightening on his gauntlet. "A ceremony… for us," he murmured, his voice heavy with implications. Bhaadon, still hovering, clenched his fists, a stone trembling beside him. "Gota must be there," he growled, his burning gaze fixed on the gates.
Soehpt approached the gates, his blue flames illuminating a massive rune—a symbol of entwined flames, evoking Satan and the Crown of Black Flames. "They're preparing more than a ceremony," he observed, his analytical tone masking a hint of unease. "These gates… They seal a pact."
Nera wove a shadow thread, a sly smile on her lips. "A pact we could twist," she murmured, her eyes glinting with cunning. Yulius grunted, Massacre shimmering. "Pact or not, I want answers," he muttered.
The crowd stirred suddenly, and an Obsidian Sentinel approached the Tyrants, its halberd glinting with a scarlet glow. Its eyes, hidden beneath a spiked helm, fixed on their Rings of Tyranny. "You…" it rumbled, its voice resonating like a knell. "The Great Tyrants. Pass." It stepped aside, gesturing to the gates, which opened with a low rumble, revealing a dark tunnel pulsing with a glowing red energy.
Gills nodded, his gaze sweeping the group. "Stay sharp," he ordered, his flames crackling. "Whatever they're planning, we won't be chained." Bhaadon, fists clenched, stepped forward first, his rage fueled by the hope of seeing Gota. The others followed, their shadows stretching across the basalt like omens of an uncertain fate.
As they crossed the threshold, a murmur rose from the sentinel, barely audible: "The ceremony will seal your fate… or your ruin." The gates slammed shut behind them, a clang resonating like a verdict, as the inferno stirred in anticipation of their arrival.