After Damantia Leaves
Azreal stood in silence, the echo of Damantia's Scales fading. He let out a quiet sigh.
"...You can come out now, Aria. I know you've been eavesdropping."
From behind a stone pillar, Aria stepped out sheepishly, brushing her fingers together.
"I was just curious... You told me to leave."
Azreal didn't even turn to look at her. "It was official business. That's why I asked you to go."
"But I heard what you said..." she muttered, stepping closer. "Does that mean... you believe me now? That I was meant to be in Heaven?"
Azreal groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're still on about that?"
Aria giggled softly, moving to sit beside him. She rested her head gently on his shoulder.
"When I was alive... I used to hear stories about paradise. Rivers of milk and honey... endless skies..."
Azreal chuckled. "Hell has its own kind of paradise, you know. Not everything that shines is gold." He smirked. "You probably imagined me as some heartless monster too, didn't you?"
Aria puffed her cheeks. "I might've."
"Then maybe you're wrong about Hell too."
She looked up, a small smile playing on her lips. "In Heaven, they say we're surrounded by fields of flowers. But here it's just flames and lava..."
Azreal stood up without a word.
"Wait—did I say too much?" Aria blinked.
"Close your eyes," he said calmly.
She hesitated. "...Okay."
Above them, dancing in the air, were flowers made of fire — glowing petals of flame swirling gently in the dark sky, illuminating the realm around them.
She gasped in awe. "They're... beautiful..."
Azreal crossed his arms. "Who told you Hell doesn't have flowers?"
Aria reached up to touch one — but he stopped her hand.
"They may be flowers, but they're still fire. You'll get burned."
She smiled at him, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him.
"Has your perception of Hell changed?" he asked with a half-smirk.
She pulled back, playful. "I'll think about it."
He laughed softly. "Sure."
The flowers vanished, fading like sparks in the wind. They sat back down.
Aria tilted her head. "Hey, Azreal... what are Infernals, anyway? Where did they come from?"
Azreal's tone dropped, calm and cold.
"Infernals were once souls—like you. But they let hatred, obsession, or despair consume them. Over time, their humanity burned away... and all that remained was rage."
"So... corrupted spirits?"
"Something like that. Some escape judgment. Others refuse it. They twist, and become Infernals—creatures of flame and madness."
Aria blinked. "Yikes... that could've been me."
Azreal looked at her, amused. "No. You're clumsy, not evil."
She grinned. "Aww, was that a compliment?"
"...Don't get used to it."
"Okay, my lord," she teased with a salute.
Suddenly, a sharp burst of flame erupted beside them.
Hulk appeared, kneeling.
"My Lord—there's a problem."
Azreal stood. "Speak."
"The demon Azroth... He was caught trying to free souls from the Gate."
Azreal's eyes narrowed. "Azroth, huh..."
"I knew it was a mistake turning some demons into Hell Soldiers," Hulk muttered.
"It's fine. Gather all Hell Guards."
"If I may ask... why, my Lord?"
Azreal's cold glare shot toward him. "Are you questioning me?"
Hulk dropped lower. "Forgive me, my Lord!"
Hulk vanished in a burst of smoke.
Azreal turned to Aria. "You need to return to the Gate."
He snapped his fingers. A man appeared, cloaked in ash and soot. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭·𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮·𝙣𝙚𝙩
"Escort her to the First Gate."
Aria pouted. "But we haven't spent enough time together."
Azreal sighed. "Next time. Go."
She groaned dramatically before following the ash-covered man.
Soon after, Hulk returned — behind him, dozens of Hell Guards, marching in formation.
Azreal stood at the center, his presence towering.
"All Hell Commanders—step forward."
Five figures emerged from the crowd: Hulk, Vaelgor, Zareth, Morgath, and Baalrik.
They kneeled in unison. "Yes, my Lord."
"You're all aware of the Infernal uprisings and the ongoing investigation."
Azreal's gaze sharpened. "Then why are you adding to the problem?"
"I'll deal with Azroth myself. For now—each of you will take your troops and reinforce the defense of every Gate. Assign some of your numbers to the Soul Gate."
"Where is Azroth now?"
"In the Hell Prison," Vaelgor replied.
In a flicker of fire, Azreal vanished.
Massive chains hung from walls blackened with soot. Flames danced in steel cages. Screams echoed in the distance.
Guards stood in line as Azreal arrived — the very heat of his presence left scorched footprints on the ground. The flames bent toward him in reverence.
Azroth was bound, mid-flogging. The moment Azreal entered, the guards halted and bowed.
"Leave us," he ordered.
The guards obeyed without a word.
Azroth lifted his head weakly, his body scarred.
"My Lord... I... I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me—"
"Are you saying you were controlled?"
Azreal raised his hand. Flames gathered, forming a blazing spear.
"Then let's pull that 'someone' out."
He thrust the spear into Azroth's shoulder. Azroth screamed — black steam hissed from the wound.
Azreal pulled the spear free. "Now. Who gave you the order?"
Azreal narrowed his eyes. "Then you acted on your own."
The spear struck again — this time deeper.
Azroth wailed in agony. "I don't know what happened! I swear!"
"You won't talk, huh?" Azreal said coldly.
He twisted the spear inside Azroth's flesh.
"Seems you've forgotten Hell's rules."
Azreal leaned in, voice low and burning.
"Then let me burn them into you."
The room was filled with fire and screams.
"Let's begin... the lesson of Hell."