"Did we not possess a Nursery before?" Azazel furrowed his brow.
"Indeed, there was one, but the angels have no palate for such delicacies. They loathe and are repulsed by chambers teeming with larvae. Thus, they obliterated that room."
"It's an unavoidable truth; the former inhabitants judged things too hastily by their exteriors, seldom delving into the true nature of things. A Nursery, you say? Then we shall build anew. I recall that the construction of a Nursery does not require gold, just the deployment of a few lesser devils."
Robin bowed deeply, her expression hidden from Azazel's view, "I am in awe of your wisdom, and your compassion moves me. I shall oversee the reconstruction of the Nursery immediately. The first batch of larvae produced I shall dedicate entirely to you, my most exalted master."
"Cough, cough." The thought of the larvae, the faces still resembling their mortal visage, and the despair in their eyes made Azazel's stomach churn. "No need, I am, well, fasting. Yes, to maintain my figure, I must fast. For a considerable time, I shall abstain from such pleasures, and it would be best if I didn't lay eyes on them at all."
Robin remained silent, only lifting her gaze to Azazel with a strange look that melded admiration, respect, pity, and emotion.
Though Robin was undeniably beautiful, having such a beauty stare wordlessly was unsettling, even to someone as thick-skinned as Azazel: "What's the matter? Speak your mind, why stare so intently?"
Yet Azazel's heart was screaming, don't stop, keep looking, keep looking at me? But beware, lest I devour you!
Robin couldn't hear the tumult in Azazel's heart; she was simply revealing her genuine emotions for once. Turning her face aside, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took a deep breath, "Nothing, it's nothing. I am merely overcome by your actions. I cannot help but be moved. You are so grand. No more words are needed. I have fasted more than once for the sake of my figure. I know the pain when succulent, chirping, despair-filled worms are laid out before you on a platter, and yet you can't indulge! Such a cruel torture it is. After many attempts at fasting, I simply couldn't bear it any longer. Since you have decided, I will do everything in my power to support and assist you. I only hope that one day your resolve and courage will inspire me as well."
Azazel hadn't expected demons to share the same struggles with dieting, and could only agree, "Indeed, that would be wonderful. Oh, what luck."
Robin inquired, "What luck?"
"I've found the switch to the secret door." With that, Azazel twisted a concealed switch on the blood-soaked throne, and a red portal quietly opened in the wall behind it.
"Robin, you should carry out your task now, the Nursery. I shall return in a few days to inspect," he said, before stepping through the portal without a backward glance.
After Azazel's departure, Robin allowed herself a soft chuckle before leaving.
The Soul Stone Fabrication Room was not within the castle, nor even in the first layer of Hell. Hidden in a secluded spatial crevice by the castle's creators, this design ensured that even if a colossal meteorite were to smash the castle to smithereens, the Fabrication Room would remain unscathed. It was under such protection that the room had survived the angelic occupation intact.
The room's interior was austere, with six eternal lamps positioned at the points of a hexagram on the ceiling, a massive bed, a set of sofas upholstered with the hide of an abyssal flame demon, and a small bar backed by a liquor cabinet. Were it not for the Soul Stone Fabricator set upon the central table, the chamber might have passed for a quaint little parlor.
The Fabricator resembled a twisted, gigantic coffee machine—though its function was never to brew coffee.
Azazel knew what it was for; plainly speaking, the Soul Stone Fabricator was a minting machine.
Azazel's knowledge of currency came from his days in the City of Sigil, where he encountered nearly all the multiverse's money. Just as nations on Earth print their own currencies, so too does the multiverse boast a wide array of coins. Of course, among these currencies, paper money is universally worthless—if anyone hoped to exchange colorful paper for a wand or robe, they'd likely earn a fireball to the face.
Among the plethora of coins, one had captivated Azazel's memory: the rainbow stones of the Upper Planes. Those winged avians always traded with these beautiful gems.
These tetrahedral stones refracted rainbow hues when held against the light and were also essential components for spellcasting. Typically, one rainbow stone equaled five gold coins.
Now, in the Fabrication Room, boxes stacked to the ceiling were filled with such purple crystals, all cut into tetrahedrons, resembling rainbow stones but devoid of their lustrous glow. When held to the light, they failed to scatter the brilliant spectrum of colors.
These were the raw materials. With them and a few other ingredients, one could create another currency of the Lower Planes, akin yet starkly different from the rainbow stones—a sinister coin of the nether realms.
That currency was the "Soul Prism."
To the eye, a Soul Prism was indistinguishable from a rainbow stone, but those who carried them always felt as if they were being watched. Indeed, this feeling was accurate. A closer inspection of a Soul Prism might reveal a tiny face—one crying out or screaming in agony—these were the unfortunate souls trapped within. The value of a Soul Prism depended on the power of the soul ensnared inside; the stronger the soul, the more valuable the Prism. Demons and devils could ascertain the exact worth of a Soul Prism with a mere glance.
In Hell, it wasn't the Soul Prism itself that held value but the imprisoned souls within, which served myriad purposes for the devils, demons, and other malevolent beings of the Lower Planes.