A seraphic novel - Book 2
After the devastating loss of their friend Christoph, life for Cecelia, Evie, and the rest of the Elite Wing has been anything but normal. Struggling to find balance between the mundane and the supernatural, they navigate a...
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The air in Hell was thick with the stench of sulfur and the oppressive weight of despair. The infernal landscape stretched endlessly in every direction, a twisted, nightmarish expanse of jagged obsidian peaks and rivers of molten lava. In the heart of this hellscape stood the dark palace, a towering fortress of blackened stone and twisted iron, its spires reaching toward the blood-red sky like the claws of a beast. Within its walls, a throne sat on a dais of black marble, its surface veined with the writhing forms of tortured souls, eternally damned and bound within the stone.
Azazel, the Arch Duke, lounged upon Lucifer's throne, his cruel eyes glinting with malice as he surveyed the scene before him. The Arch Dukes—Abaddon, Dagon, Belial, and Asmodeus—and the fallen prince, Samael, had all appeared before him in defeated slumps, each one clutching at the memory of their deaths, their once-proud forms now frail and weakened. In Hell, when a demon died, they returned to this cursed place diminished, their strength drained and their power stripped away. It would take time for their dark might to return, and in that time, they were vulnerable.
Azazel's lips curled into a twisted smile as he watched them, his amusement evident in the sinister gleam of his eyes. Their suffering was like a sweet melody to his ears, and he drank it in with relish. The once-mighty Arch Dukes were now nothing more than shadows of their former selves, and the sight of their humiliation filled him with a dark satisfaction.
Rising from the throne with a slow, deliberate grace, Azazel descended the dais, his every step echoing through the vast chamber like the tolling of a death knell. The Arch Dukes flinched at the sound, their eyes following his movements with a mixture of fear and loathing. As he approached, his gaze locked onto Samael, the proudest of them all, now brought low by his own hubris.
"Lucifer's proud little prince, defeated," Azazel sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. He gasped theatrically, his expression one of exaggerated disbelief. "I can't believe it."
Without warning, he drove his boot into Samael's face, the force of the blow sending the fallen prince sprawling across the cold, unforgiving stone. Samael groaned in pain, his body trembling as he struggled to rise, but Azazel was far from finished. He drew a wickedly curved demon blade from his belt, its edge glinting with a malevolent red light. With a sadistic grin, he knelt beside Samael and began to carve a demonic rune into his flesh, the blade slicing through skin and muscle with sickening ease.
Samael screamed, a sound of pure agony that echoed through the chamber, but Azazel only laughed, the sound cold and hollow. The rune glowed with a dark energy as it was completed, its power binding Samael's strength and sealing his fate.
With a show of great strength, Azazel lifted Samael's broken form and tossed him ten feet away, his body crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. As Samael lay there, writhing in pain, a pentagram etched into the stone floor around him flared to life, its lines burning with an eerie, blood-red light. Dark chains of magic shot forth from the points of the pentagram, wrapping around Samael's limbs and torso, binding him in place with unbreakable force.
Azazel's laughter filled the chamber, a sound of pure, unrestrained malice. He spread his arms wide, reveling in his victory, his voice rising in a triumphant roar. "Hell is mine now, and you're all my prisoners!"
The Arch Dukes could do nothing but watch in horror as Azazel's dark power surged around them, the chains of his will binding them all to his service. The once-great lords of Hell were now nothing more than pawns in his game, their fates sealed by the very darkness they had once wielded. And as the fires of Hell roared around them, Azazel's laughter echoed in their ears, a haunting reminder of the price of their failure.
Hell had a new king, and his reign would be one of terror and torment unlike any that had come before
