In the 7th layer of hell, the cogs of fate began to turn. A whispering voice began chipping away at the eternal task of Satan, rousing him from his unending hunger. The angels, thinking themselves safe, got complacent, long enough for half their number to be eaten in one fell swoop. If one looked around, they'd see a wasteland, where not even bones and roots were left. Even puddles of what was once blood have been licked dry. If one were to travel to the edges of this land, they would find that the walls surrounding it were shaped like a bowl, a feeding trough. This was, after all, the feeding trough of Satan, where the angels disposed of whatever garbage they pleased.
The angels themselves were uncaring, not minding the vast quantities of hatred being bred within the trough. They named themselves paragons, champions of justice and valor, all worthy of judging others. But the festering anger of those still alive was a fuel, giving the beast more fuel than was proper. Monsters were being bred, with imps and lesser demons rising up the food chain, cannibalizing each other, growing stronger with every meal. Those who were exiled from the higher realms of hell became food for even the weakest denizen of the 7th. Within this pot that was breeding the stew of revolt, of hate, of those that would become powerful enough to forcefully leave.
----------------------------------------------
???? POV
The boy had sat down at the breakfast table, their hooded 'savior' now fully visible. They were a tall man, with skin that looked like like liquid ebony. They were completely bald, and their voice so toneless, that it could never be identified what direction it came from. The boy was slightly enraptured, but quickly snapped out of it, looking at what food was on the table, having gone hungry for so long. He couldn't recognize the food, he didn't even know what the plants in it were. He saw the others around him already eating, talking idly amongst themselves.
Finally deciding to eat, the boy slowly took a bite, and tasted nothing, his tongue having long been rendered useless. He didn't care, though, at least the texture was better than rotting flesh. He felt some strength return to his body the more he ate, his eyes no longer looking as dead as they once were. He seemed to be at peace, for once in who knows how long. Here he was, in the pits of hells 7th layer, enjoying a banquet in what can only be considered an orphanage.
Life, seemed to be all well, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was up. He was a corpse eater, a cannibal for all purposes, what does a powerful demon want with him? He obviously wasn't food or sport, else he wouldn't be sitting here. Demons are many things, cunning, powerful, brutal, but always straight forward. Which made this scenario all the stranger.
As he gazed at the young children all present, eating and enjoying their meal, he could only wonder, what they did to deserve being put in this hell. His fingers trembled, remembering how it felt to consume the flesh of countless corpses, his mind finally capable of comprehending now that it was no longer under the pressure of surviving. He was snapped out of his sudden memory fear when their unnamed savior once again spoke.
"Thou are a lamb, whom I shall dress a wolf. Allow me to use thine hands as a vessel for mine ascent. My energies shalt empower thee, but it is thine prerogative to rise and fight. Tell me, boy, shalt thou join me in my fight against the Angels?" He spreads his arms, grandeur and power oozing from every pore, permeating the air in a near suffocating manner. His voice boomed with every word, pushing itself straight into the boys soul, imprinting on him an unholy mission, to live and die by the blade, by tooth and nail.
Almost against himself, he nodded yes, his voice caught in his throat as he tried to speak for once, but his tongue was beyond useless in that regard.