The Black Flames Of Destruction (On Indefinite Hiatus)

Ch. 9: The Birth of A Hero, Pt. 2

(A/N): Heh, I accidentally clicked the publish button before this.

Enjoy!

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3rd Person POV

[???, ???, Hell]

Gazing deeply seemingly into nothing, only the sight of pillars of flames and crimson wasteland would be seen if someone was in his place, Azeryth yawned and stretched his arms, joints popping sending a feeling of satisfaction into his being. A satisfied smile formed on his face as he sighed.

"Whew~ That felt so good.." He muttered dreamily as he continued to stretch his arms.

"Wearing this flimsy armor every day's a pain. It doesn't even protect me. Sitting on this prickly throne's not helping either...Welp, at least I can take it off when I sleep..." He continued as he began stretching his back. As soon as his back bent backward, a pop was heard, sending a wave of pleasure that made him shiver and moan in satisfaction.

As he was still bending his back backward, still not satisfied enough as he couldn't bend it too much because he was still sitting on the uncomfortable, oversized, weird, prickly chair that was his throne, an idea popped up inside his mind. A childish smirk appeared on his face as he began to chuckle menacingly. He then looked around the room cautiously, like a child looking for a midnight snack in the kitchen while the parents are asleep.

"Okay! There's no one here. I just need to carefully take this off..." Azeryth whispered to himself as quietly as he could, cautiously taking off the plate of gold wrapped around his shoulder.

As soon as his finger touched the gold plating, a fierce aura suddenly appeared right in front of him, making him flinch as shivers slither down his spine. Sweat ran down his forehead profusely as he felt a glare piercing through his soul.

"What are you doing?" A voice bellowed.

Azeryth let out a shriek, snapping his head towards the one who questioned him.

It was a man that was almost on par with All Might in terms of physique, standing over two meters tall with iron-like muscles under his skin. He had short, spiky silver hair that was styled into an undercut, with a single long lock of hair that reached past his ears. He had peridot-colored pupils, and at the very edge of those pupils slithered out four black lines that made his eyes look even more terrifying. An ominous tattoo of a blade serrated into five points was also seen decorating below his right eye.

He was wearing a silver pauldron on his right arm. Ominous-looking carvings decorated it and three big spikes sprouted out of the shoulder part of the pauldron, its outlines glowing light green that pulses brighter every few seconds.

"Why are you taking it off?" He asked. Just the mere tone of his voice made Azeryth's knees felt weak.

"H-hey... brother..." Azeryth squeaked.

"Just answer my question." Azeryth's brother's expression hardened, making him flinch, immediately hiding his hand behind his back.

'Since when did he...'

"C-c'mon... T-that's not how to g-greet your brother whom you haven't met for 450 years now, is it..?" Azeryth tried to calm his brother down. The silver-haired man looked at his brother who was giving him a nervously done grin. It was a pathetic sight of The Tyrant of Hell himself, but it was somewhat comedic. The one that rules all of the underworlds is a nervous wreck when his brother's in front of him. The silver-haired man's intense expression softened as he then gave his brother a closed-eye sigh before looking back with a face that says 'It can't be helped, isn't it?'.