woke up to the sound of my own ragged breathing. Opening my eyes, I realized I was in a dark, cold room. A single torch flickered on the wall, casting long, eerie shadows that danced like specters. The stone slab beneath me was hard and unyielding, and every part of my body ached. My head pounded with a dull, relentless rhythm. Glancing down at my left arm—or where it used to be—I sighed heavily.

  "Great. Just great," I muttered, running my remaining hand through my hair.

  The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway beyond. Each one reverberated through the stone walls, deliberate and weighty, as if the one approaching carried the burden of worlds. My heart thudded in my chest, and I tensed, bracing myself for whatever—or whoever—was coming.

  The figure that emerged from the darkness was impossibly massive. It was Lucifer—the Demon God.

  Standing well over nine feet tall, Lucifer was a towering embodiment of power and dread. Horns curved menacingly from the sides of her goat skull, and her fiery red skin seemed to smolder under the faint light. Her muscular upper body was covered in fur as black as the midnight sky, and battle-scarred armor clung to her frame. The hood partially concealed her face, but her glowing ember-like eyes burned through the shadow.

  "Well, well, well," she said, her deep, rumbling voice carrying both amusement and menace. "What do we have here?"

  I glared at her, mustering whatever courage I could. "None of your business," I spat.

  Lucifer let out a booming laugh that seemed to shake the very air. "Oh, but it is my business. You're in my castle, after all. And I always take care of my guests."

  "Some care," I snapped, gesturing to the barren, cold room. "Leaving me to rot in this hole."

  She shrugged, her massive shoulders rising and falling with nonchalance. "I was waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t want to disturb you."

  "Sure you weren’t," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  Her laughter echoed again. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "But now that you’re awake, things can finally proceed. The alignment is in sync, and all the players are here. This will be a joyous day indeed."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Where’s the rest of my gang?"

  "You’ll see them soon," she said, her voice carrying an almost playful undertone. "And more than just them. You’re in for one hell of a surprise, child."

  We walked through the castle’s labyrinthine corridors, Lucifer leading the way with a commanding presence. The flickering torches cast long shadows as she spoke, her voice rich with authority.

  "You see, I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time. Many answer my call, but few make it as far as you have. The Netherworld tests everyone, separating the strong from the weak. Most succumb to despair, their souls consumed by the agony of this place. Others abandon the path, tempted away by the false comforts of depravity. And the unlucky ones? They’re devoured by the monsters of this realm, their souls lost forever in the cycle of rebirth."

  Her words carried a grim finality. I stayed silent, absorbing the weight of what she was saying.

  We entered the throne room, and the scale of it left me breathless. The vaulted ceiling stretched into darkness, and the black stone walls gleamed like obsidian mirrors. A thick, crimson carpet led to a massive dais, where Lucifer’s throne loomed like a monument of dominance.

  Lucifer took her seat, her presence even more imposing from atop the throne. To her left and right stood two enormous demons, their coal-black scales gleaming and their glowing eyes filled with predatory hunger. Each wielded a sword that could cleave a mountain in two.

  In front of the throne stood Belros. She looked terrified, her hands raised in surrender as two smaller demons flanked her, their tridents poised. Beside her was Grim, the scythe, silent but undoubtedly seething.

  "Nice of you to join us, Soda," Grim quipped. "We’ve been trying our best not to get skewered, impaled, or roasted alive."

  "What the hell is going on, Lucifer?" I demanded, stepping forward. "Release my friends!"

  Lucifer’s fiery gaze turned to me, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Why, of course," she said with mock politeness. "They’re my guests too, after all. But I have rules. No monster intrudes upon my domain unannounced. They’re fortunate to have you, or they’d already be dead."

  With a wave of her hand, the guards backed away, their weapons lowering as they retreated to their stations.

  After the exchange, Belros got on one knee and spoke humbly. “Thank you for your hospitality oh great and merciful Lucifer, Goddess of the Netherworld. To be in your presence today is nothing short of a dream upon nightmares in my life to see someone as all consuming and all seeing as you, your majesty.” Belros said

  "Kiss-ass," I muttered under my breath. “Wait, Goddess! You’re-”

  Lucifer laughed, the sound reverberating throughout the room. "Oh, don’t be so surprised. Yes, I’m a woman. Were my charms not convincing enough? Or was it the muscles and raspy voice? No matter—I’m not offended. Few have the privilege of seeing me in my true form.

  I folded my arms, unimpressed. "Your trial was a nightmare," I said bluntly.

  "Yes, it was," she admitted with a grin. "But it was amusing. You and your companions have entertained me greatly. Speaking of which..."

  She raised her arms, dark energy swirling around her hands as a series of portals opened.

  "You weren’t the only one given a trial," she said. "Your old crew—all of you were tested. Each of you has faced your own version of hell."

  The portals displayed scenes of my Legion members: Krieg, Sam, Hana—all struggling in their trials.

  "But now," Lucifer continued, "the farce is over. With my power, I’ll summon them here. It’s time for a reunion."

  With a flourish, the portals flared, and one by one, my old companions were drawn into the throne room.

  Meanwhile…

  Sam stood at the edge of the dance floor, her breath catching as she took in the grandiosity of the gala. The room was a swirling tapestry of elegance and the macabre, a realm where beauty and terror intertwined seamlessly. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and shift under the flickering light of floating candelabras. The air was thick with the mingling scents of burning incense and exotic flowers, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that bordered on overwhelming.

  The guests were otherworldly, a parade of fantastical beings that Sam could barely fathom. Ethereal specters glided across the room, their translucent forms shimmering like moonlight on water. Demons with horns and wings mingled with humanoid creatures clad in attire that ranged from regal to the grotesque. It was as though the gala was a celebration of all things strange and beautiful, a spectacle meant to dazzle and disorient.

  Sam felt like an intruder, an uninvited guest in a world she couldn’t possibly belong to. Her dress—an elegant yet understated garment of deep emerald—felt woefully inadequate compared to the opulence on display. Despite its flowing fabric and intricate embroidery, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was just playing dress-up, a mortal pretending to fit into a realm of gods and monsters.

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  At her side stood Garland, an Incubus whose devilishly handsome features and sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement. His dark hair was slicked back, and his tailored suit fit him with an effortless elegance that made Sam feel even more out of place. Garland had been her self-proclaimed escort for the evening, and though his charm was undeniable, she couldn’t quite trust the sly glint in his eye.

  “You’re overthinking again,” Garland said, his voice smooth as honey. He gestured to the dance floor, where couples twirled and spun in a mesmerizing waltz, their movements so synchronized it seemed almost supernatural. “Look at them. Doesn’t it inspire you?”

  Sam’s gaze followed his gesture. The dancers were otherworldly, their grace impossible to replicate. One specter in particular caught her eye—a tall, translucent figure draped in a gown of shadows that seemed to ripple and flow with every movement. Her laughter rang out, light and melodic, as if carried on the breeze. Sam couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy.

  “I don’t belong here,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the hauntingly beautiful music. “Look at them—perfect and elegant. And here I am, standing in the corner like an awkward statue.”

  Garland chuckled softly, his smile playful yet understanding. “Nonsense. You’re the guest of honor, my dear. They’re all intrigued by you—your humanity, your... uniqueness. You’re like a rare gem in a sea of coal.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. “A gem? Really? I feel more like a rock someone dragged in by mistake.”

  “Perhaps,” Garland teased. “But even rocks can sparkle under the right light.”

  Garland watched Sam with a mix of amusement and curiosity, his sharp blue eyes studying her hesitation. She stood frozen at the edge of the dance floor, her fingers nervously clutching the edge of her gown. The swirling sea of dancers before them moved with an ethereal grace that only served to deepen her insecurity.

  "You know," Garland began, his voice light and teasing, "confidence isn’t something you’re born with. It’s something you grow into."

  Sam shot him a skeptical glance. "That’s easy for you to say. You look like you walked out of a fashion magazine for demons."

  He chuckled, the sound rich and smooth. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear, but I’m serious. Nobody starts out knowing exactly how to own a room or glide across a dance floor. They learn it—step by awkward step."

  Sam frowned. "And what happens if you mess up along the way? Fall flat on your face, literally or figuratively?"

  "Ah, but that’s the beauty of it," Garland replied, leaning in slightly as if to share a secret. "You fake it until it feels real. Pretend you’re someone who belongs, someone who’s confident and graceful. The more you act the part, the closer you get to becoming it."

  Sam arched an eyebrow. "So, lie to myself, ugh?"

  "Think of it more as... convincing yourself," Garland said, gesturing broadly. "There’s a wise saying: ‘Pretend to be somebody until that somebody turns into you.’ It’s not about deception; it’s about growth. If you act like the person you aspire to be, you start to embody those traits. Eventually, they stop being an act and become who you are."

  Sam hesitated, her gaze flicking back to the dancers. The idea sounded plausible, but it also felt terrifying. "That sounds like it could backfire spectacularly."

  Garland smirked, his voice softening. "Maybe it will, but what’s the alternative? Standing here all night, wishing you were brave enough to try? Sometimes, the only way forward is to take a leap and hope you land on your feet."

  He extended his hand toward her, a playful grin spreading across his face. "So, what do you say? Will you fake it with me, just for tonight?"

  Sam looked at his outstretched hand, then back at his face, searching for any hint of insincerity. All she found was genuine encouragement, a spark of belief that she could borrow until she found her own. With a deep breath, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her onto the dance floor.

  Sam sighed, crossing her arms as she watched the dancers. Deep down, she wanted to join them, to lose herself in the music and movement. But the fear of drawing attention, of making a fool of herself, rooted her in place. She had always been the wallflower, the one who observed from the sidelines while others lived boldly.

  “Why don’t you give it a try?” Garland asked, his tone encouraging. “Just a little shimmy to start. You might surprise yourself.”

  Sam hesitated, biting her lip. The thought of stepping onto the dance floor filled her with equal parts dread and longing. “What if I fall? Or worse, what if everyone stares?”

  Garland extended his hand, his smile softening. “Then I’ll catch you. And as for the staring—let them. You’re worth looking at.”

  Sam felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, though she wasn’t sure if it was the compliment or the sincerity in his tone. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his, the heat of his touch both reassuring and electrifying.

  As Garland led her onto the dance floor, the music seemed to swell, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. He guided her into a simple waltz, his movements confident and steady. Sam stumbled at first, her nerves getting the better of her, but Garland’s grip was firm and unyielding, keeping her upright.

  “Relax,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm. “Feel the rhythm. Let the music guide you.”

  Slowly, Sam began to loosen up, her steps becoming more fluid as she followed his lead. The world around her seemed to blur, the swirling colors and lights merging into a dreamlike haze. For the first time that evening, she felt a spark of confidence, a fleeting sense of belonging.

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” Garland said, his eyes locking with hers. “See? All it took was a little courage.”

  Sam smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her face. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that she could fit into this strange, enchanting world.

  Garland’s speech is both a pep talk and a philosophical reflection on growth. He frames "faking it" not as a deceitful act but as a tool for self-transformation. His charm and confidence make the idea sound enticing, giving Sam the push she needs to step out of her shell.

  But just as she began to lose herself in the dance, the air in the room shifted. A sudden chill crept over her, and the lights dimmed. The music faltered, replaced by an eerie silence. Garland stopped mid-step, his expression turning serious as a dark portal began to materialize in the center of the room.

  As the portal opened, its edges shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly light, a blend of deep purples and blacks that seemed to absorb the torchlight around it. The air grew heavy with the scent of ozone, and a low hum reverberated through the room, vibrating deep in Sam’s chest. The portal’s pull was immediate and overwhelming, like the tug of an undertow in a violent sea. Garland remained steady beside her, his expression calm and unreadable, though his grip on her hand tightened slightly.

  “What is this?” Sam gasped, struggling to stay rooted as the force grew stronger.

  “An opportunity,” Garland said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “The kind you don’t question—just embrace.”

  The portal’s gravitational pull intensified, and Sam felt herself lifted off the ground, weightless yet powerless. The sensation was disorienting, as though she were being unraveled thread by thread. Garland’s presence beside her was a small anchor, his calm demeanor offering a sliver of stability in the storm.

  As they crossed the threshold, the world around them dissolved into a swirling maelstrom of darkness and light. Sam’s senses were overwhelmed—sounds of distant whispers and roars filled her ears, and flashes of memories, both hers and not, flickered in the periphery of her vision. The portal was not just a passage but an entity, probing her mind, her fears, and her desires.

  Within the vortex, Sam felt her personality shift. The timid girl who had clung to the edges of the gala began to fragment, her insecurities stripped away like old paint. In their place, new emotions emerged—boldness, curiosity, and a hunger for understanding. It wasn’t an immediate transformation but rather a gradual unveiling of traits that had always been there, buried beneath layers of self-doubt.

  Garland watched her, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s working,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  “What’s working?” Sam asked, her voice stronger than before, though it still held a trace of uncertainty.

  “The portal,” Garland replied. “It doesn’t just take you somewhere. It tests you, challenges you. It pulls out the parts of you you’ve been hiding, the ones you’re too afraid to let the world see.”

  Sam frowned, trying to process his words as the portal’s energy continued to swirl around her. She could feel it now—a strange warmth spreading through her chest, replacing the cold fear that had gripped her moments ago. The whispers grew louder, but instead of sounding menacing, they began to feel like encouragement, urging her forward.

  By the time they emerged on the other side, Sam’s stance had shifted. Her shoulders were squared, her chin held a fraction higher. She still felt the echoes of her old insecurities, but they were quieter now, overshadowed by a new sense of possibility. She glanced at Garland, who gave her a knowing look.

  “See?” he said, gesturing toward her. “Fake it till you make it.”

  Sam smirked, a hint of her old self shining through. “Or let a creepy portal rewrite your entire personality.”

  “Either way,” Garland said with a shrug, “you’re not the same person who walked into that ballroom.”

  The portal's pull on Sam and Garland is both physical and metaphysical, acting as a force that not only displaces them in space but also influences their inner beings. Its swirling darkness is alive with chaotic energy, a mix of fear, curiosity, and the unknown. For Sam, this pull becomes a catalyst for profound change, reshaping her perspective and personality as she tumbles through its void.

  The portal serves as both a literal and symbolic mechanism of transformation for Sam. Its pull forces her to confront and shed the parts of herself that held her back, unlocking a side of her personality that is more confident, daring, and ready to face the challenges ahead. For Garland, the portal is a tool he understands and respects, knowing it has the power to reveal the best—or the worst—within someone, depending on their willingness to embrace change.

  Meanwhile…