A scorched battlefield stretched endlessly beneath a crimson sky. Charred bones crunched underfoot. The air shimmered with raw heat, as though the ground itself were exhaling fire. In the center of it all stood Veymar, tall, cloaked in ash-stained robes, with sharp crimson eyes half-lidded in boredom. He stood unmoving—like a statue carved from the very obsidian that made up the infernal landscape.
Across from him, a fiery figure approached. Human... yet not.
The figure’s feet left burning footprints behind. His body was lean but bursting with power. Fire flickered across his arms and shoulders like wild serpents. His voice was calm—but carried a threat, like a blade behind silk.
"Name’s Vorn," he said, stopping ten feet away.
"Pardon the intrusion."
Veymar blinked once and smiled faintly, his voice lazy yet sharp.
"None taken. I’m Veymar, second pillar to the Gate of Hell."
Vorn’s brow rose. "Second?" he chuckled. "Then that means you’re second strongest among the pillars."
Veymar tilted his head. "Who knows? Maybe you’re so weak a Hell Commander could take you down."
The ground cracked beneath Vorn as his aura flared. "Weak?" he growled, stepping forward, eyes blazing. "You dare call me weak?! I am the Tenth Key! The Flame Judge of Inferna! I’ve burned kings in their sleep—"
"Tenth?" Veymar cut in, smirking. "Am the second pillar. Our number ratios don’t fit the aesthetic. That means you’re weaker."
Something snapped in Vorn. His flames exploded outward, licking the sky. His feet dug into the earth as he launched forward, eyes glowing, fist cocked back like a loaded cannon.
"I’LL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF!!"
The punch roared through the air like a meteor, straight for Veymar’s skull. But just as it was about to land—
Veymar raised a single hand and caught it. Flames burst outward on contact, but Veymar stood still—expression blank, hand unmoved.
Vorn gritted his teeth. Flames surged through his arm, his entire forearm exploding in fire. He twisted mid-air, flipping forward as he dropped a burning axe kick down like divine punishment.
Dust and fire consumed the battlefield. Smoke hissed. A crater formed beneath the impact.
Vorn exhaled, flames fading from his arms. He dusted his hands.
A breeze pushed the smoke aside. Veymar stood in the same spot. Not a scratch. Not a burn. Not even his robe was singed.
"Is that all you’ve got?" he asked, yawning.
Vorn’s eyes widened. "What?! But I— I felt the hit land!" This update ıs available on 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮✶𝓷𝓮𝓽
"Did you now?" Veymar replied. "Then go ahead... touch what you felt."
Vorn, confused, stepped closer. He reached forward—and his hand stopped. Inches away from Veymar’s chest.
His fingers touched something solid. Invisible. Like a wall made of divine glass.
"A shield...?" Vorn muttered, stepping back.
"That’s right. If you can’t break through this, then you’re not even worth fighting," Veymar said.
Growling, Vorn clenched his fists. Flames spiraled into his knuckles as he crouched low. His body pulsed with power.
"Then I won’t hold back!"
He leaped into the sky, fire coiling around his body like a dragon. His arms trembled as a massive fireball condensed into his palm. His eyes blazed bright orange.
He dropped like a comet, a blazing fist aimed directly at the barrier.
The impact shook the realm. A wave of heat blasted outward, tearing apart the ground. Lava spewed from cracks, smoke choked the air, and the earth sizzled beneath molten fire.
The fire cleared. The earth cooled.
Veymar stood untouched.
"Tch. No luck. The last person I fought cracked my shield," he said. "Had to reinforce it."
Vorn backed away, sweat dripping down his face. His fire dimmed slightly. "You monster..."
"Now you’re getting it," Veymar said, eyes beginning to glow blood red.
He raised his hand slowly, palm forward. A burning red sigil spun into existence in front of him. Ancient glyphs shifted around his arm like living scripture.
"Soul Weapon... Noctis Reaver."
A massive scythe materialized in his grip—its blade curved like the crescent moon, but jagged like broken bones. Dark mist coiled from its edge. The ground beneath his feet frosted over from its presence alone.
Vorn tensed, eyes wide.
Veymar raised the scythe with one hand, resting it on his shoulder.
"Sorry to waste your time."
His voice dropped to a whisper as he slashed forward.
A black-red arc exploded from his blade, tearing through space and sky.
Vorn grinned. "You think that’ll—"
The world turned sideways.
Vorn’s eyes widened as he saw... himself. His own body. Standing. Still holding a flame.
Then it collapsed, split clean in half, top to bottom.
The wave of power carved a trench hundreds of meters long into the earth, vaporizing everything in its path.
Infernal soldiers watching from a distance dropped their weapons in silence.
It took just one swing.
From behind, a voice chuckled.
"You ended it early," said Blight, one of the Hell Guards, walking up casually. "Thought you wanted to play."
Veymar let Noctis Reaver vanish into red mist. He turned with a shrug.
"You went easy on Aria though," Blight teased.
"Oh, you noticed?" Veymar grinned faintly. "She had... her own kind of strength."
He stretched his arms and sighed.
"Anyway, I’m tired. Time to rest. Boredom is exhausting."
He walked off, leaving only silence and scorched ruin behind.
Selmora laughed as she held an Infernal by the throat, her green flames dancing up his body like a thousand screaming ghosts. The Infernal shrieked in agony before falling limp in her grip.
She dropped his charred corpse casually.
"That’s more like it," she whispered with a grin. "Scream more next time."
Suddenly, a blast shot down from above.
She dodged with a pirouette mid-air, landing gracefully as smoke cleared to reveal a man standing tall—his body flickering with black and orange fire.
"Missed, huh?" he muttered.
Selmora’s eyes sparkled. "A human infernal?"
He nodded slowly. "The name’s Jarek. I’m not your plaything—I’m your end."
"So serious," she purred. "Let’s play anyway."
Before he could react, she vanished. Reappearing right in front of him.
Jarek leapt back, heart pounding. "She’s fast!"
Selmora’s eyes glowed emerald as she raised a hand.
Flames twisted into a glowing, green whip, which snapped forward with lightning speed. Jarek barely dodged. The whip came again—and again—each strike faster than the last. He slashed at it, splitting it in two.
But that was a mistake.
Two whips became four. Four became eight. They multiplied, swarming toward him in a blur of green flame.
Jarek spun wildly, creating a flaming hurricane that slashed through them. He launched forward, his blade aimed at Selmora’s throat.
A whip slammed into him from above, smashing him into the ground. The earth split. He rolled out, dodging as more whips rained down like snakes.
"Getting tired already?" Selmora cooed.
Jarek’s fire blazed hotter. He deflected the incoming whips with precise slashes, then burst forward with a trail of fire.
In a blink, he was behind her.
A thin red cut appeared on her cheek. Blood dropped.
He smirked. "Finally... a hit."
Selmora licked her blood, eyes gleaming.
She extended her hand. The air twisted. Shadows howled. Green fire spiraled from her palm as she whispered:
"Soul weapon — Náhr’Zul."
A long, nightmarish whip emerged. Made of dark soulsteel. Writhing. Breathing. Covered in four grotesque mouths, each gnashing and dripping foul green acid.
The fourth mouth glowed from within, its jaw locked in a perpetual scream.
Jarek froze. "That... That’s no weapon. That’s a curse..."
His head hit the ground.
Selmora walked forward, sighing. "Oh, I wanted him alive..."
She looked at Náhr’Zul. "Bad boy."
The whip screeched in joy.
"Finish what you started."
The whip coiled around Jarek’s body and devoured it whole.
From the backlines, Nyssara stepped forward.
"My lady... You summoned Náhr’Zul?"
Selmora smiled. "I got carried away."
The remaining infernals dropped their weapons and ran. Screaming.
Selmora tilted her head, whistling.
Náhr’Zul screamed. Then—SLASH!
And Hell Guards cheered in silence.
Selmora walked away, her whip dragging behind, chewing bones.
The sky cracked with thunder. Red lightning streaked across the burning clouds, painting the Fifth Gate of Hell in a crimson glow.
Ash rained down like snow.
Dragos stood tall, his black cape flaring behind him, eyes glowing like molten gold. Around him, his warriors lined up, their armor dark, scratched, and drenched in the dried blood of the countless battles they’d survived. Each of them radiated power, calm—but deadly.
Ahead, the ground rumbled.
Thousands of them—snarling, twisted creatures, fire burning from their eyes, mouths leaking molten drool, skin like molten stone. Some had wings. Others had horns. Some were still human-looking... barely. They charged like beasts, screaming, howling, tearing through the ash and bone-covered field.
Dragos narrowed his eyes. His voice was deep, calm—like thunder right before it strikes.