The flames of Hell flickered in the distance as the expeditionary forces of the Swords of Damnation stood firm, their base camp casting a foreboding shadow against the ever-brooding Pandemonium. In the horizon, the jagged silhouette of Lucifer's forsaken domain loomed, a monumental ruin of fire and brimstone—an eternal testament to Searax's wrath. Matthias, ever the leader, was perched near the campfire, his eyes scanning the ominous landscape while his mind weighed heavily with the importance of their mission.

  Alaric and Thalion stood near him, the former leaning on his sword with a mocking smirk, and the latter quietly leafing through his magical tome. Demonic skirmishes had been commonplace since they'd established the camp, with demons mindlessly throwing themselves against their defences, but so far, nothing had suggested the true chaos lurking deeper in Hell. Matthias' voice broke the silence.

  "She'll arrive soon," he murmured, almost to himself. Nemi, the white dove sent as a herald, had been released hours before.

  "I still don't get why we're waiting around," Alaric said, his voice dripping with impatience. "Bael of all people? The masochist monarch? We could've been carving our way to Pandemonium by now, Matthias. What makes you think she'll come, anyway?"

  Matthias gave a measured sigh. "Because Bael... has history here. She knows more about this place than any of us."

  Thalion glanced up from his book, his voice soft yet grounded. "It's wise to hear her out. Knowledge here is survival, Alaric."

  Alaric gave a crude laugh. "Sure, I'm all for hearing stories—just as long as it doesn't take all night."

  As if summoned by the growing tension, Eleanor moved towards her black pegasus, readying herself for her usual scouting patrol. Just as she gripped the reins, her body seized. Her eyes widened and her posture stiffened unnaturally. A soft, malicious chuckle echoed from her lips—not her own voice, but another's. Her body was not her own.

  Matthias stood swiftly, recognising the telltale signs of possession. "Bael," he said, a tone of both wariness and command in his voice. "You answered."

  Eleanor's face, now animated by the unseen entity, relaxed into a smirk. "Of course, Matthias. I don't need much convincing when the story of Lucifer and Pandemonium is involved." Bael's voice oozed with lazy amusement, as if she were recounting an ancient, long-forgotten memory. "I thought you'd never ask."

  "Tell me everything," Matthias replied, his tone eager, tinged with the desire to understand Hell's labyrinthine history.

  Bael's possession of Eleanor remained graceful, but with a slight predatory air as she settled into the body, crossing her arms in a languid gesture. "Lucifer. Satan. The Ashbringer. Hell has never known such chaos since the Shattering of Infernos. And Pandemonium..." She gave a chuckle, "an apt name now, don't you think?"

  Matthias and his companions leaned in, their attention fixed on Bael's words.

  "Satan, the Supreme Adversary, once wandered into Pandemonium. The city, as you've likely heard, is always burning. An inferno without end. Why? Searax. The Ashbringer. Even the fire demon god-kings—once proud generals of Lucifer—are now no more than smouldering husks, regenerating endlessly, trapped in a loop of life and death by the Ashbringer's ashen flames. But Satan... she was beyond the flames. Hellfire could not touch her. She stood before Lucifer's symbolic grave—an empty tomb. A wraith's bane was all she left behind, a blood-red flower that only blooms in Hell. A mocking token, for Satan had always despised Lucifer and her ideals."

  "She hated her?" Matthias asked, surprised.

  "Oh, indeed," Bael continued. "Satan, for all her bluster about wrath and destruction, resented Lucifer's affection for mortals. She could never understand it. In Satan's mind, Lucifer's rebellion was not born from love for humanity but for the thrill of rebellion itself. She considered Lucifer vain, blinded by self-righteousness. Yahweh, Lucifer... all the same in Satan's eyes—self-important rulers who always had to be right."

  Thalion spoke up quietly, his scholarly curiosity piqued. "And Searax? Did she know of Satan's visit?"

  Bael laughed softly. "Oh, she knew. Searax was watching from above, her four wings casting their shadows over Pandemonium. Satan, ever the provocateur, had been disturbing the graveyard with her obnoxious heavy metal guitar playing. She played a song so loud, so irreverent, that Searax couldn't stand it anymore. A single thumbs-down was all Satan got before the sky itself split open with the force of Searax's Anshen Breath."

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  "Searax attacked her?" Matthias asked.

  "Of course," Bael replied. "The entire realm burned in Searax's Emberstorm. Pandemonium was obliterated, if only for a moment. Satan barely crawled out of the rubble, shielded by the powers of Shub-Niggurath the Black Beastbane. The veil protected her from total annihilation. Satan wasn't pleased—she came back, furious, her powers rising. She taunted Searax, sticking her tongue out and flipping her off. As if that would help!"

  Alaric let out a low whistle. "Gutsy. I'll give her that."

  "What followed," Bael went on, ignoring the interruption, "was a battle unlike anything Hell had seen. Searax's flames clashed with Satan's eldritch powers, and the realm, already fractured, was torn asunder. Shub-Niggurath herself had to step in, restoring Pandemonium before it was utterly erased."

  "And the outcome?" Matthias asked, leaning forward.

  "A stalemate," Bael said, her voice turning sly. "Neither could overpower the other, not truly. Searax's anger was unmatched, but Satan's ability—the Supreme Adversary—allowed her power to perpetually match, if not surpass, her opponent's."

  "Sounds exhausting," Alaric muttered, rolling his eyes.

  "Satan didn't think so," Bael said with a smirk. "She was enjoying it. The chaos, the destruction... it was all a game to her."

  Bael's voice suddenly shifted, growing serious. "But the battle that unfolded long ago, when all the monarchs united in name only against Searax... it was a turning point. In their zeal to destroy Searax, the monarchs clashed like wild beasts, their power unleashed without regard for one another. The Shattering of Infernos weakened Hell more than anyone could have predicted. The dukes rebelled, the monarchs were overthrown. It all started with Searax, and it ended with that battle in Pandemonium. Lucifer is gone—dead, mad, or in hiding, it doesn't matter. Hell is leaderless, fractured."

  Matthias took a deep breath, absorbing the weight of the story Bael had shared. "And Searax?" he asked.

  "Still there," Bael said. "The Ashbringer. She hasn't left Pandemonium since. The flames burn, and she burns with them."

  Before Matthias could respond, Bael's possession of Eleanor abruptly ended. The Nephilim gasped, regaining control of her body. A sense of urgency filled the air as she glanced to the horizon. "Something's coming," she said coldly.

  In the distance, a haunting melody filled the air, delicate yet chilling. Beelzebub, the Gourmet Gelatin, emerged from the shadows, seated regally atop a grotesque Omegasaurus, its bloated form pulsating as it trudged forward, leaving a trail of decay. Instead of a traditional tail, a gigantic centipede writhed and undulated behind the creature, its many legs clicking ominously against the ground as it slithered.

  With thin, clawed fingers, Beelzebub played a silver flute, each note sending shivers through the battlefield. Her green hair cascaded down her shoulders in wavy strands, while her pink eyes gleamed with twisted delight, reflecting the cruel beauty of her sadistic appetites. Dressed in an elegant but bizarrely translucent gown, her skin shimmered, revealing the subtle movement of her gelatinous body beneath—both human and otherworldly, as though her very flesh was perpetually shifting between solid and liquid.

  Above her, the sky darkened, unleashing a macabre downpour of human flesh. The grotesque torrent splattered against the ground with sickening slaps, a precursor to the horrors she was about to unleash. Around her, an army of ravenous demons marched in lockstep, their grotesque forms twisted and malformed, their eyes fixed on their mistress with a hunger only she could sate.

  Thalion, his eyes widening in horror and awe, rifled through his Demon Index. "Beelzebub, the Monarch of Gluttony," he whispered, revulsion mingling with fascination. "I can only imagine what it would be like to... defile her remains."

  "Oh, great," Alaric groaned, but a twisted grin crept across his face as he wiped a chunk of flesh from his brow. "It's her." His gaze lifted towards Beelzebub's looming figure. "The Gourmet herself." His voice carried a bizarre mix of reverence and ecstasy. "Should've known the feast was coming. My patron always knows how to make an entrance." He licked his fingers, savouring the blood with a manic gleam in his eyes. "Just a taste of what's to come."

  He glanced at the others, his voice lowering to an eager whisper. "Let's hope she's in a giving mood... or we'll be the ones served."

  Matthias sighed, gripping his Holy Lance with renewed resolve. "Your paths to redemption will be long and arduous, if it ever comes at all." His thoughts briefly drifted to King Thaddeus, once Judas Iscariot, who confided his regret—the betrayal that damned the Redeemer. Renamed Jude Thaddeus, he sought salvation through blood, ordering Matthias to slay Satan in a desperate attempt to cleanse his soul and undo his ancient sin.

  Before the weight of Matthias' words could sink in, Eleanor's voice cut through the tension. "Knights, ready yourselves!" she commanded, a cold fire burning in her eyes. "It's time to unleash the most exquisite pain and suffering!"

  The knights responded with feral howls, bloodlust igniting within them like a wildfire, preparing to carve their way through the approaching darkness.