Deimos was not always the harbinger of death, despair, and destruction that haunted the darkest corners of the earth. He had once been a man—young, full of hope, and driven by a purity of heart that seemed destined for greatness. At the tender age of twenty, he ascended to Heaven, his soul a shining beacon of selflessness. He gave all he had—love, care, time, and energy—believing that kindness and compassion would ultimately be reciprocated. He poured himself into the world, certain that the goodness he sowed would flourish in kind.
But the world is a cruel place, and it was not long before Deimos learned its bitter truth. For every act of kindness, there was a brutal cruelty in return. For every love offered, betrayal swiftly followed. Deimos gave without hesitation, only to be met with callousness and rejection. The pain of unrequited love and the sting of betrayal festered in him, leaving a wound that never healed. His spirit, once pure, was eroded by constant rejection, his hope burned away by the searing flames of loneliness.
At first, Deimos clung to the belief that forgiveness could heal his soul. He extended the hand of mercy to those who wronged him, hoping that love could redeem even the darkest hearts. But as each piece of his spirit withered, his ability to forgive became less of a salve and more of a trap—a prison that bound him to endless cycles of suffering. The gods who had once welcomed him with open arms now observed him from their celestial heights, their gaze distant, impassive, as Deimos struggled to find peace in a world that seemed intent on crushing him.
When Deimos ascended to Heaven, he expected to find eternal peace. He envisioned golden streets, angelic choirs, and a sense of serenity that would wash away his earthly pain. But Heaven, as he would soon learn, was not the paradise he had imagined. The gods, in their divine wisdom, saw only the flickering remnants of darkness that lingered within him—a rage that had never been acknowledged, let alone purged. To them, Deimos was not a shining example of love, but a broken vessel filled with unspeakable grief. His punishment was swift and unforgiving. Cast out from the sacred halls, he was not sent to the serene lands of the Earth but instead fell, not just to Hell, but to the Fourth Circle—the deepest, most unforgiving pit of torment. because his main sins were greed-his stealing and taking of people for money after he broken down and became selfish,lust-his sexual desires now untamed made him a person who cheats constantly since he was heartbroken and unhealed,wrath-he murdered people out of anger and vengenace and the people were mostly innocent people and due this lingering darkness of his past the gods casted him to the 4th cricle of hell because of those 3 sins
Hell, unlike the paradise he had hoped for, was a place of eternal agony. The souls trapped within its fiery walls were burdened by their sins, shackled by the weight of their transgressions. Yet Deimos’s torment was not from the flames, nor the chains that bound him. His torment came from within—a fire that burned brighter and fiercer with each passing day. The anger that had once been a mere ember grew into an inferno that consumed him whole. Forgiveness no longer mattered. Love, now a distant memory, was replaced by an all-consuming thirst for vengeance. Deimos no longer sought redemption. His sole purpose was to unleash the wrath he had harbored for so long.
In time, he broke free from the chains that held him in Hell, rising not as the man who had once sought peace, but as something far more terrifying—a god of wrath, a harbinger of suffering. His vengeance was not swift nor merciful, for he had learned that true justice was born from pain. He became a shadow among men, a god whose very presence caused the world to tremble. He hunted the wicked—the lustful, the greedy, the envious—those whose sins mirrored his own. And with every life he claimed, he wove a tapestry of agony, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.
Deimos’s methods were cruel and unrelenting. He did not offer swift deaths or quick redemption. Instead, he turned his power into an instrument of suffering, making every victim feel the weight of their sins in ways unimaginable. Pain, torment, and cruelty became his tools as he sought to make the world pay for its betrayals, to extract from it the suffering he had been denied.
The world, once full of bustling life and unspoken hope, now trembled beneath his wrath. The legend of Deimos spread like wildfire, not as a tale of salvation, but as a story of terror. They whispered his name in fear—the God of Rape, Torture, and Murder. It was a title that would echo through the ages, remembered by those who dared not cross him and by those who wished they had never heard it at all.
For Deimos was no longer a man. He was a god, a the God of Rape, Torture, and Murder. and his name would be etched into the darkest corners of the earth, forever bound to the legacy of pain he had crafted.
Torture Methods
Deimos did not wield pain as a mere tool for destruction. To him, suffering was an art, a deeply personal ritual of purification, one designed to tear away the remnants of humanity, leaving behind only the raw, unshackled soul. His dungeon wasn’t just a place of agony—it was a sanctuary of torment, a gallery of suffering where each method was calculated to break and reshape the soul. No one ever left without feeling the eternal scar of Deimos’s touch.
The Breaking Wheel
This was the most revered, and most feared, of his methods—reserved only for those who had wronged him beyond the threshold of mercy. The victim was bound to the wheel, their limbs stretched out in grotesque positions as Deimos circled them like a twisted artist inspecting his canvas. He would move slowly, almost lovingly, as he shattered their bones, one after another, each crack a symphony that resonated deep within his own shattered heart.
The victim's screams, once so full of life, were now drowned beneath the pressure of agony, but Deimos did not flinch. He wanted them to know that nothing would ever be whole again. The wheel’s turns were like a final dance—a pitying waltz with death.
"This is your legacy," Deimos would whisper, his voice smooth like velvet. "Broken and scattered, never to be whole again. Do you hear the echoes of your fate?"
The Rack
For those who thought they could outlast their suffering, who believed that their sins could be hidden from the eye of justice, the Rack awaited. Deimos, ever the patient torturer, would stretch their limbs with agonizing precision, listening to the sickening sound of bones cracking and muscles tearing. The victim’s spine would be pulled to its breaking point, and with each turn of the wheel, the body would stretch, dislocating joints and tearing at sinew, all while Deimos stood, savoring each second of suffering.
"You thought you could escape judgment," he’d sneer, eyes dark with pleasure. "But your soul is already being pulled apart, just like your body. You will never outrun your sins."
The Heretic’s Fork
For those whose arrogance had exceeded even the most impossible limits, Deimos reserved the Heretic’s Fork—a tool that ensured silence would become their prison. The fork, cruel and unforgiving, was forced between the victim's throat and chest, pinning them in place, preventing any movement or sound. They would be immobilized, unable to scream, unable to beg for mercy, left in a state of complete helplessness as they awaited their fate.
"You thought yourself untouchable," Deimos would murmur softly, "But now your voice is as silent as your soul."
The terror would consume them, not from physical pain, but from the knowledge that they were utterly at his mercy—an unspoken torment.
Boiling
In Deimos’s twisted view, to purify the wicked, they needed to feel their own corruption burned away, washed away in scalding agony. Victims would be submerged in boiling water, their skin blistering and peeling off in painful waves. The intense heat would not only burn their flesh, but sear into their very consciousness, forcing them to confront the weight of their wrongdoings as the boiling agony took hold.
"Do you feel it?" Deimos would whisper with a twisted grin, delighting in their screams. "This is the weight of your sins. You will burn, and with you, your past will be purged. Can you feel it—this is purification."
Skinning
There was something deeply personal about skinning, something that resonated in Deimos’s very core. Slowly, meticulously, he would peel back the skin from his victim’s body, layer by layer, exposing their raw vulnerability beneath. Every layer of flesh that was removed symbolized the removal of their humanity—their self-perception, their pride, their identity—all would be torn away, leaving only the naked, trembling soul underneath.
"Layer by layer," Deimos would taunt, "until nothing is left but your truth. Will you cry for your flesh, or will you cry for what you’ve become?"
Impaling
The prideful and the arrogant—those who held themselves above the laws of the world—met their end on the impaling stakes. Deimos would slowly drive the wooden stake into their bodies, each inch of the impaling a reminder of their downfall, a final measure of their once inflated worth. The process was deliberate, methodical, a long, drawn-out descent into the abyss. The stake was a symbol of their fall, and Deimos made sure they understood every inch of it.
"You climbed so high," Deimos would say, voice like ice, "But now you fall, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but your shattered pride."
Rape
Perhaps the most dehumanizing and soul-crushing of all his methods, rape in Deimos's eyes was not for pleasure, but for domination. It was a final, irreversible act to strip the victim of any sense of power, to break them utterly, and to assert control over their very existence. For Deimos, it was an eradication of their dignity, a destruction of all they once held as precious.
"You controlled others," he would hiss through clenched teeth, "But now I control you. You will be nothing but a tool for my will, your identity shattered beyond recognition."
The psychological torment would be eternal. For Deimos, this was the ultimate act of vengeance.
Scalping
Vanity was another sin Deimos could never tolerate, and for the vain, the scalping was a cruel, deliberate act of humiliation. With ruthless precision, he would tear away the scalp, leaving them exposed, raw, and disfigured. It was not just the physical pain—it was the shattering of their self-image, the exposure of their weakness to the world.
"Your pride meant everything," he’d mock, "Now you will learn what it means to have nothing. Your beauty, your strength—gone. You are left with only your shame."
Eaten Alive
For those who had lost all traces of humanity, who had succumbed to pure darkness, Deimos allowed them to be consumed alive. Whether it was vultures, dogs, or even insects, the victim would slowly be devoured, piece by piece, their agony an exquisite, agonizing dance in the presence of their captor. The slow, inevitable approach of their end would be nothing less than poetic.
"Do you hear them?" he would ask softly, his voice almost tender. "The gnawing? This is how you will leave this world. Piece by piece, until there is nothing left but the memory of your sins."
In Deimos’s dungeon, suffering wasn’t just physical—it was psychological, an eternal weight that would stay with the victim far beyond their death. Each torture method, each moment of pain, was a cleansing, a path to the purification of their soul—and by the time he was done, there would be no trace of the man or woman who had entered. Only the broken, twisted remnants of their former self would remain.
The Legend of Deimos
As the years passed, Deimos’s reign of terror grew, and the whispers of his name grew louder, creeping into every dark corner of the world. The stories of his atrocities—horrific, unrelenting—became legends, passed down through generations, told in hushed, fearful voices. In the marketplaces, taverns, and the quiet sanctuaries of villages, his name was a curse, an omen that carried with it a weight of doom. Mothers told their children stories to warn them, teaching them that some evils could not be undone and that Deimos was the embodiment of those evils.
To some, Deimos was an avenger—a necessary evil in a world plagued by greed, corruption, and injustice. He was seen as a dark hero, ridding the world of its scum and making sure that the guilty never went unpunished. His actions were viewed as the long-awaited reckoning for those who had slipped through the cracks of justice. To these believers, he was a symbol of retribution—a god sent to right the wrongs of the world.
But to others, he was a monster—a demon cloaked in the guise of justice. He was a creature of suffering, consuming pain and feeding off it, twisting the notion of vengeance into something far darker. His victims—guilty or innocent—became little more than sacrifices to a god who had long since lost sight of the difference between justice and cruelty. To those who opposed him, Deimos was the embodiment of hell on earth, a force of nature that could not be stopped, only feared.
But Deimos cared little for the opinions of mortals. He had transcended human understanding. What once had been a man with hopes and dreams had become something far more terrifying—a being driven by rage, fury, and a relentless hunger for vengeance. He was a god, a force of nature that existed outside the realms of empathy and compassion. His actions, he justified in his mind, were the necessary price to pay for the wrongs of the world. The pain he caused was just the cost of correcting the world's unbalance. The suffering he inflicted was but the necessary sacrifice to purify the earth. Deimos had become a being of wrath, beyond the comprehension of those he left behind in his wake.
But as his terror spread like wildfire, so did the darkness that consumed him. What had begun as a righteous crusade against the wicked slowly morphed into something far more grotesque. The lines between justice and vengeance began to blur, fading into the obscurity of his rage. The sins of the world, once clear in his eyes, now merged into a sea of faces—guilty and innocent alike. His once-clear purpose began to warp, and the very justice he sought to administer became distorted. What began as the search for retribution turned into a hunger that could never be satiated. Deimos punished not only the guilty but also the innocent—those who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. His rage no longer knew boundaries, no longer cared who suffered in its wake.
The Inner Struggle
Even as Deimos continued his endless crusade, there lingered a flicker of doubt in his soul. A quiet whisper that refused to be ignored. Was he truly delivering justice, or had he become the very embodiment of the sin he had once sought to destroy? The very doubts he had ignored for so long began to claw at him, gnawing at his mind, driving him to madness. With every soul he took, every life he crushed, the screams of his victims followed him like a haunting refrain, echoing through the darkness of his mind. He could no longer escape them. The cries of the innocent, the desperate pleas of those he had wronged in his pursuit of vengeance—they haunted his every step, seeping into his very soul.
His dungeon, once a place where the wicked were punished, had become a mirror of his own torment. The cold, stone walls that had once held criminals and traitors now reflected his own descent into madness. What had once been a place of righteous retribution had become a prison of his own making. The chains that bound his victims now bound him, and the torment he had inflicted upon others now turned inward. He realized, with a sickening clarity, that in his quest for vengeance, he had become a monster—a creature consumed by the very darkness he had once sought to destroy. The monster within him had long since taken over, and Deimos could no longer distinguish where the man had ended and the god of suffering had begun.
A Legacy of Horror
Deimos’s name spread far and wide, whispered in fear, and spoken in trembling voices. His actions were no longer confined to mere rumors—they were a global legend, a terrifying myth. Generations passed, but the tale of Deimos endured, spreading across continents like wildfire, igniting fear in the hearts of all who heard it. He had become the symbol of the deepest, most grotesque corners of humanity. Where once there had been compassion and love, now there was only suffering, pain, and an endless cycle of vengeance.
Yet, beneath it all, there remained a faint, nearly imperceptible echo of the man Deimos had once been. A man who had loved too deeply, who had cared too much, and who had suffered a grief that shattered his very soul. A man who had once believed in the goodness of humanity, but had been betrayed by it. That man was still there, buried beneath the god of vengeance he had become. The soul that had once yearned for peace now longed for redemption, but it was a longing that seemed hopeless, a wish that would never be granted. Deimos was no longer the man he once was. He had transcended humanity, but in doing so, he had lost everything that made him human.
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His actions—the terror, the suffering, the endless cycle of vengeance—became his legacy. A legacy of horror that would echo through the ages. The world would remember him not as a man, but as a god of suffering—a being who had once sought redemption and lost everything in the process. And in the end, Deimos would wonder if redemption was even possible for him. Could he ever reclaim the purity he had lost, or had he become too far gone, too consumed by his rage to ever turn back? Was there any hope left, or was he doomed to be a god of pain for all eternity?
Deimos was not born of malice, but of love turned to ash. His tragedy was not that of a monster, but of a man who had given everything, only to be consumed by the very darkness he had tried to escape. The god of vengeance was not just a being of wrath—he was the embodiment of a love lost, a soul shattered, and a man who had given everything only to be consumed by the very flames he had once sought to extinguish.
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Serving God as the Punisher of Humanity
Deimos doesn’t just act on his own whims—he’s a tool of divine retribution. His mission is to be the punisher, the one who cleanses the earth of its filth. But what's twisted about this is that, in his eyes, humanity itself is the plague. His servitude to a higher power becomes his sacrifice for something greater. But it's also personal. He believes that his rage and violence serve a divine cause, even if it's not a cause that anyone else can see. In his mind, the world deserves what’s coming to it, and he’s just the one to deliver it.
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Hate for Humanity
The absolute disdain for humanity runs deep. He doesn’t just dislike people—he feels like they’re inherently broken. Humanity, to him, is a corrupted species, and his hatred comes from the years of being betrayed and abandoned by it. Every individual he meets reminds him of the rottenness he sees in the world. He’s become a mirror of the very cruelty he despises, which makes him even more dangerous.
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Vengeance
Vengeance isn’t just about anger—it’s the fuel that keeps him going. He’s not only out for justice, but for revenge against those who wronged him. This is deeply personal. It’s about getting back at the gods, humanity, and even himself. But every act of vengeance only feeds into the self-destructive cycle that he’s trapped in.
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Anger and Wrath
Deimos’s anger is his most defining characteristic. He’s not a calm, collected avenger. He’s a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. It’s this anger that drives him to the point of losing himself. It’s not just a passive rage; it’s an all-consuming fire that twists everything it touches. The more he kills, the more powerful he feels—because every soul he claims increases his strength. But that power comes at a cost: the more he feeds the anger, the more he risks losing his humanity.
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Power (Souls)
Each soul he consumes feeds his wrath. It’s a vicious cycle: killing grants him power, but that power only magnifies his rage and further distances him from humanity. It’s a high-stakes game—he needs more souls to grow stronger, but at what cost? He’s becoming more demon than man, and that makes him question whether he can ever stop the cycle.
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Innocent Lives Lost (Regret)
Deimos wasn’t always as reckless. In the early stages of his rampage, there were innocents caught in the crossfire. The regret he feels for their deaths eats at him, but he’s numb to it now. He feels that they were just collateral damage in a greater war. But there’s still that flicker of guilt—did he take the wrong path? The self-loathing comes out when he realizes that some of the innocents he killed might have been people who had nothing to do with the wars he was fighting. It’s this internal struggle that makes his rage feel unsettlingly human. He can’t seem to shake the memory of those faces, which only fuels his hatred for humanity even more.
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Empathy for Criminal Victims
Here’s where it gets interesting—Deimos doesn’t just kill without thought. Sometimes, after the bloodlust fades, he sees the humanity in his victims. Especially the criminals who he feels might’ve been pushed into a corner by their circumstances. Did they deserve to die? Or were they simply victims of a corrupt system? This empathetic side of him is a slow, festering wound that constantly clashes with his righteous anger. He struggles between righteous wrath and a flicker of humanity that he cannot fully extinguish.
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Help During Tori no Ichizoku Battles
Even though Deimos is a force of destruction, when it comes to the greater good, he has moments where he helps others. Specifically, his intervention against the Tori no Ichizoku—his help during their battles shows that, at times, he’s not just a destructive god. He’s also a necessary evil, a weapon wielded for a higher cause. But does he do this out of some hidden moral code? Or is it just because he wants to see the Tori no Ichizoku fall just as much as he wants to see the world burn?
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Punisher of Humanity
Deimos is the living embodiment of punishment. He’s not just a killer, he’s a symbol of humanity’s guilt and sins. When people speak of him, they don’t just talk about him as a man—they talk about him as an instrument of divine punishment. He’s a figure of wrath, but he’s also a reminder that humanity is inherently corrupt and must atone for its wrongs. He is the reckoning for a world filled with broken souls.
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The Human Side of Wrath
His wrath is not born from some demonic impulse—it’s born from human pain. He’s not a monster for the sake of being one—he’s a man who has suffered and whose anger transcends humanity. His symbolism as a human figure who has been turned into a vessel of pure rage shows that even the most human emotions can destroy you. He represents the tragic fall of humanity into pure violence. It’s not about an outer force controlling him—it’s the human side of wrath consuming him.
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Hot and Cold of the Demon
The hot and cold represents the duality in Deimos’s existence. He’s fiery and ruthless, a force that brings death and destruction, but he’s also cold—detached from the world, unable to connect with anything other than his anger and his power. His demonhood is represented by his fluctuating temperatures—his internal conflict is like the constant shift from searing heat to freezing cold. He can be a raging fire one moment, and then, in the next, a frozen, emotionless killing machine. It’s a constant battle between the heat of vengeance and the coldness of detachment.
Abilities of Deimos
The Shadow's Wrath
In his current form, Deimos has transcended the limitations of humanity, becoming a shadow demon capable of manipulating the very essence of darkness. The crumbling city around him is nothing but the backdrop to his growing power—a testament to his utter dominion over shadows.
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Shadow Manipulation
Deimos has complete control over the shadows in his environment. This manipulation is no longer limited to simple movement but extends to shaping, controlling, and weaponizing shadows in numerous forms. With just a thought, he can manifest black tendrils that move like serpents, suffocating life from anyone they touch. He wields shadows like a master swordsman, using them to crush his enemies, impale them, or even drag them into the abyss of darkness.
Example: The moment he clenches his fist, the shadows obey his command with a violent force, constricting his victim's body until they are nothing but a crumpled heap of flesh.
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Superhuman Strength, Speed, Durability, Reflexes
Deimos’ physicality has been enhanced beyond mortal comprehension. His body is now a vessel of dark power, granting him superhuman strength, speed, and reflexes that dwarf even the most seasoned warriors. He is faster than the eye can follow and stronger than the most resilient of adversaries. With a single motion, he can break bones, snap necks, and reduce entire battalions to nothing.
Example: His ability to appear behind a warrior in an instant, with his hand clamped around their throat, showcases his terrifying speed. One crack of the neck, and the warrior is nothing more than a discarded toy.
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Black Hole Manipulation
Deimos’ powers extend into the very fabric of space itself. With a simple gesture, he can create miniature black holes—writhing voids that devour everything within their gravitational pull. The black hole isn’t just a destructive force; it siphons life, sucking the very essence from everything it touches—debris, living beings, even light itself. He controls its growth and can expand the void at will, consuming everything in its path until nothing is left but a yawning abyss.
Example: With the formation of a black hole beneath his feet, he siphons the debris, bodies, and air around him, turning the world into an empty void. It’s a terrifying visual of complete annihilation.
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Shadow Blessings
As a manifestation of pure rage, Deimos can draw upon the power of shadows to augment his abilities even further. The “Shadow Blessings” surge through him, boosting his strength, reflexes, and speed to unimaginable levels. His body becomes like a living weapon, his strikes faster, his blows more devastating, and his body more impervious to harm. His enemies are overwhelmed by the sheer force of his movements, making him virtually unstoppable.
Example: As the shadows imbue him with power, Deimos becomes impossibly fast, a blur of motion, striking his enemies with precision and ferocity, leaving no chance for retaliation.
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Curses
Deimos’ abilities are not just physical. He also wields the power of curses, a dark art that drains the vitality and strength from those around him. With a dark whisper, he can strip an enemy of their strength, rendering them weak, their powers useless. The curse takes hold of the soul, leaving the victim vulnerable to Deimos’ wrath.
Example: As he casts his curse, an enemy is left gasping for breath, their abilities fading until they are nothing more than a fragile shell. The curse gnaws at them from the inside, consuming them until Deimos claims the final victory.
- Immortality Deimos’s immortality was not a gift; it was a curse that tethered him to a world of eternal suffering. The ability to come back from the dead, a power that seemed to offer endless opportunities for vengeance and destruction, instead became a prison. With every death, every moment of agony, his soul was forced back into the broken shell of his body, like a haunting refrain that played on a never-ending loop.
The God of Rape,torture and murder: A Dark Ascension
Deimos stands at the precipice of his own destruction, and in his reflection, he no longer sees a man—but a god. His origins, tainted with rage and the agony of betrayal, have shaped him into a figure that embodies suffering itself. To the world, he is not just a name, but an unrelenting force—a dark deity whose very presence chills the soul.
However, there is more to him than just the shadow of pain he casts across the land. As the years of torment and vengeance accumulate, Deimos begins to feel something that, perhaps, he has been too afraid to confront: a flicker of doubt. His power has become boundless, but what of his humanity? He questions the very essence of his existence, searching for something beyond the blood-soaked rituals he has perfected.
"I have destroyed, tormented, and broken countless lives.of criminals some were innocents who were caught in te crossfire I have watched entire cities burn to ash. Yet, I stand here... searching for something more. Can I rise from this? Can I transcend the darkness?" The thoughts burn within him like a poison.
The Darkness Responds: It is then that the darkness, the very force that has shaped him into a living nightmare, speaks. The voices that have whispered in his ears for years now emerge from the void, resonating with an eerie finality.
"Yes, Deimos. Your journey is not over. You are destined for more. You will ascend to a level unmatched by mortal beings. You will transcend the boundaries of your existence and become... something greater. Your power will rise, and the world will tremble before your wrath." The words swirl around him like an unholy wind, offering both salvation and damnation.
As the darkness speaks, Deimos feels the transformation begin. His strength multiplies, his power grows to a level that defies reason. The shadows that have been his constant companion now manifest in tangible forms—creatures of pure darkness that obey his every command. His curse, once a burden that weighed heavily on his soul, now becomes a weapon of unimaginable power.
Yet, even as his abilities escalate, Deimos is torn. He realizes that the line between hero and villain has long since faded. He is no longer a man seeking justice, but a god whose existence is fueled by destruction. His heart, once capable of longing for redemption, now beats with the rhythm of wrath.
The Test of Ascension: With the newfound power coursing through him, Deimos knows that this is his final trial. The title of “God of rape torture and murder” hangs heavily around his neck, a constant reminder of the sins he has committed and the destruction he has wrought. Will this power serve him, or will it consume him entirely?
His power is no longer just an extension of himself—it is an entity, a force that he can barely control. The deeper he delves into the darkness, the more he begins to question if there is any path back. His once-clear sense of self has become muddled, a blend of godhood and the man who once sought to protect the innocent.
The Ultimate Choice: As Deimos surveys the world he could reshape, his mind drifts to the possibility of redemption. His vengeance, though sweet, has left him hollow. The world is trembling beneath his feet, and the question arises: Is this truly the end of his journey, or the beginning of something more?
"I am the God of Rape,torture and murder" Deimos whispers, standing on the edge of his own destiny. "But am I bound to this fate forever? Can I rise from the ashes, or am I doomed to remain in the shadows of my own creation?"
His power is limitless now, but at what cost? As he prepares to make his next move, Deimos understands that this will be his ultimate test. Will he be a destroyer, wiping away the world in his wrath, or will he embrace a new path—one where he can use his strength to save, not destroy?
In the end, the choice is his. The title of “God of rape torture and murder” is not just a mark of power—it is a burden. And as the god he has become stares into the abyss, he knows one truth: There is no escaping the consequences of his past, but there is always a chance for redemption, no matter how small.
"For I, Deimos, the god of rape, torture, and murder, am the punisher of humanity. For you shall die and suffer your sins, either physically or psychologically, under My Punishment. For I am the punisher of humanity and a harbinger of pain." -Deimos
The Suffering God
Deimos’s immortality was a gift—one that had become his greatest torment. The ability to return from the dead, which once seemed like a boundless opportunity for vengeance and power, now chained him to a perpetual cycle of agony, regret, and self-loathing. Each time he died, his body was destroyed, but with the resurrection came an overwhelming wave of pain, as if every wound was inflicted anew. The soul, forever forced back into the fractured vessel of his body, could feel every tear in his flesh, every broken bone, as though they were never truly healed.
Each time, he wondered if there would ever be an end. Would he, ever cursed to rise again, be trapped in this endless torment? Death had once been a release—a chance to escape the world that had betrayed him. But immortality turned that release into a twisted mockery. The gods had once given him everything, and now, they had bound him to eternal suffering, for it was his own sins that had condemned him to this fate.
The Cycle of Suffering:
The suffering he endured with every resurrection was not just physical. It was the weight of his sins—the choices that had led to his downfall. Deimos had once been a being of power, of grandeur, adored by all who had crossed his path. But that power was tainted by his overwhelming greed, lust, and wrath.
He had stolen, not just material wealth, but the very lives of innocent people. His hunger for gold and riches had driven him to betray those who trusted him. He had taken what was never his to take, dragging innocent souls into his schemes for his own gain. For money, for power, he had sacrificed lives—those who never deserved such cruelty.
Then there were his desires—untamed, unhealed, and insatiable. His heart had been broken by a love lost, and in his desperation, he sought solace in others. Lust had consumed him, not as a fleeting act of pleasure, but as an endless cycle of cheating, betraying, and breaking what little pieces of love remained in his soul. He had once been betrayed by someone he loved deeply, and in response, his broken heart spiraled into a never-ending thirst that could never be quenched.
But it was wrath—the consuming rage—that had ultimately sealed his fate. Anger, vengeance, and a burning desire to destroy those who wronged him had driven him to take lives. And those lives, innocent as they were, were not his to take. He had killed without remorse, without hesitation. Murder had become a release, a way to release his fury, but each kill only added to the weight on his soul. For his fury had been directed at those who could never fight back, who had never harmed him, and yet, he obliterated them for his own twisted sense of justice.
The Fall from Grace:
It was those very sins—greed, lust, wrath—that led to his downfall. The gods, once his allies, turned their backs on him when his sins grew too great to overlook. His arrogance had blinded him to the warnings, and the heavens had cast him out. His fall from grace was swift, and in that moment, Deimos understood that his immortality was both a punishment and a consequence. His banishment to the Fourth Circle of Hell, where the damned lived in eternal fire and agony, was the gods' final decree.
And thus, Deimos found himself in Hell, stripped of his former glory. The heat of the flames was nothing compared to the inferno in his soul, the relentless agony that burned him from within. It was not just the physical torture, but the crushing weight of his past—of the lives he had destroyed, of the people he had betrayed, of the love he had lost and shattered beyond repair.
A God of Regret:
Each death now felt like a mirror to his former sins. It wasn’t just the pain of the physical rebirth that haunted him—it was the overwhelming regret of what he had done. How many had he stolen from? How many had he ruined? Innocents who had never had a chance, never had the opportunity to defend themselves, were lost to his recklessness. Deimos, now more than ever, felt the weight of their deaths, the lives he had taken with no thought, no remorse, and he couldn’t escape the guilt.
Every return felt like a reminder of his past, the sins that led him here. His heart burned with the need for redemption, but how could he atone for crimes so heinous? Was there even a path to salvation? The gods had condemned him to eternal suffering, and each death that followed seemed to pull him further away from any chance of peace.
The Weight of Immortality:
Immortality, once seen as the ultimate power, was now a prison. Deimos was not a god of eternal glory—he was a god of eternal torment. Every time he rose, the pain of his past, the weight of his transgressions, suffocated him further. He had committed his worst sins out of rage, out of greed, out of lust—and those sins continued to haunt him with every breath he took.
And yet, in his brokenness, a sliver of hope remained. Could he, even as an eternal prisoner of his own making, find a way to break free? Could he, once an embodiment of wrath, become something more? Was redemption still possible for someone like him, or had he damned himself beyond salvation?
As Deimos stood in the midst of the flames, bloodied and bruised, the ruins of his past scattered around him, he couldn't help but ask: "Is there a way to stop the cycle? Or is this my punishment for all eternity?"
His immortality, now a burden of regret, was a reminder that even gods could fall.