The new influx of souls cascading into hell's depths was met with a fervor that hadn't been seen since the realm's creation. Their screams echoed through every circle, a symphony of suffering that brought cruel delight to the demon hordes. These sounds penetrated even the deepest recesses of the infernal realm. The tortured chorus grew so intense that it caused the very foundations of hell to vibrate in resonance with their agony. But amid this cacophony of torment, something unprecedented manifested. They appeared first as anomalies, perfect spheres of pure, unblemished light hovering in Mammon's circle of greed. These orbs seemed to defy the very nature of hell itself, their radiance cutting through the perpetual gloom like divine daggers. The caustic air that could dissolve flesh and corrupt souls seemed to recoil from their presence. Where they passed, the endless sea of suffering souls parted, creating paths of temporary silence in the otherwise chaos-filled realm.
These lights moving with deliberate purpose, navigated through Mammons domain. Navigating the grotesque landscapes of greed and suffering, rivers of molten gold, fields of writhing bodies, until they reached his grand palace. The structure was a twisted monument to avarice, built from compressed pulsating bodies of those who dared oppose his riseand crystallized suffering. The structure itself seemed to pulse with an unholy energy, its walls decorated with scenes of eternal torment carved from living flesh that eternally screamed in agony.
Yet, even this bastion of corruption couldn't dim the radiance of these unexpected visitors. Their light was unyielding, a stark and unsettling contrast to the depravity that surrounded them. Mammon, Prince of Greed, approached the first orb with a caution that belied his arrogant nature. His form, a constantly shifting mass of precious metals and jewels that reflected the infinite varieties of mortal desire, moved with uncharacteristic hesitation. There was no doubt about what he was witnessing, a pure soul, untainted by sin or corruption, had somehow found its way into his domain. The indiscriminate nature of the mass banishments had resulted in this impossible occurrence, the pure being cast down alongside the damned.
Mammon stretched out his hand and made contact with the orb, perhaps it was out of curiosity, perhaps it was to initiate torment upon the poor unfortunate soul, nevertheless, the effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. Divine energy surged through his infernal form like liquid lightening, a power so intense it threatened to tear him apart. His consciousness expanded exponentially, new awareness flooding into him with the force of a cosmic tide. He felt himself growing stronger, faster, more complete, as if pieces of himself he never knew were missing had suddenly been restored.
The sensation was both excruciating and exhilarating, a paradox that defied his understanding. The purity of the soul's essence tore through the layers of his corruption, not to destroy him, but to illuminate him. He felt more than his desire to rule, more than his desire to inflict unimaginable pain.
This soul, he realized with shocking clarity, belonged to the woman who had made the ultimate sacrifice, the one whose desperate act had first drawn his attention to the mortal realm. Through their connection, Mammon experienced everything she had lived through: the primal terror she felt when heard tales of the beasts emergence from the depths, shattering reality itself; the tentative hope as she and her family built a new life from civilization's ashes; the devastating grief when the phantoms claimed her loved ones one by one; and finally, the absolute despair mixed with desperate determination in her final moments.
These emotions, foreign and overwhelming to a being created for the singular purpose of inflicting suffering, cascaded through him like a cleansing flame. Though they faded quickly, they left behind something unprecedented, a change in his fundamental nature. The power remained, but it was different from the strength he had known before. This was not merely the ability to inflict greater torment; this was something approaching the power of creation itself. It was as if the pure soul's essence had rewoven the very fabric of his being.
As the emotions faded, he felt something else, gratitude. The soul, now fully merged with his, thanked him. Her voice was soft, almost imperceptible, but it carried a weight that resonated deep within him. She thanked him for saving her people, for not letting her death be in vain. Her gratitude was a paradox, a kindness offered to a being who had never known such a thing. It lingered in his mind, a quiet echo that refused to fade.
Mammon stood in silence, his form flickering with the unstable light, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and then, revelation. He had become something more, he was stronger, more complete, he viewed his world with a new understanding. He wanted more, with more pure souls he would gain enough power to rival his creator, the beast. Perhaps even challenge the absent divine judge who had maintained the cosmic balance for so long. The possibility was intoxicating.
His original plan was to simply drag his marked servants into hell's depths, claim their souls as his own. Now he saw a grander purpose, a path to supreme power that none of his fellow princes could imagine. They would be the eyes he would use to watch over the land in-between.
But something else was happening, something even more unexpected than the surge of power. Whispers began filtering into his consciousness, at first so faint he thought they were emanations from the tortured souls in his domain. But these were different, voices raised not in agony, but in reverence. Prayers. Humans, the very beings he had once tormented, were not just banishing souls into his domain; they were actively worshipping him. Mammon, a being created to inflict unfathomable pain upon those driven by greed and desire, found himself transformed into something else entirely, a figure of hope and salvation.
This development triggered profound changes in his very essence. The constant hunger to inflict pain that had defined his existence began to take on new dimensions. It wasn't just the pain and suffering he craved to inflict, nor the power to become the supreme ruler of hell. Now, he found himself yearning for something else entirely: the devotion of his followers, their faith, their trust. He began to experience something alien to his nature, a desire to protect and nurture, albeit twisted through the lens of his infernal origins. The prayers of the faithful resonated within him, their hope and desperation fueling a strange, burgeoning sense of purpose.
If he absorbed enough pure souls, perhaps he could build a better world, not just for himself, but for all. A vision of order and power that transcended the chaos of hell. Yet, it was also fraught with contradiction. Could a being born of greed and torment truly become a force for salvation? Or would his newfound purpose merely become another layer of corruption, a darker kind of tyranny? Mammon himself did not yet know the answer.
The other demons within the circle of avarice sensed the changes in their prince, and it sent ripples of unease through them. But they also sensed something else, something that drew attention away from even this unprecedented transformation.
A new circle had manifested in hell's infinite depths, one that defied comprehension even by infernal standards. This new layer was darkness given form, a void so absolute it made the blackest reaches of hell seem bright by comparison. No light, not even the glow of hell's eternal fires, could penetrate its boundaries. It was as if the fabric of hell had torn open to reveal a deeper, more primordial abyss, a place that existed beyond the understanding of even the princes.