The obsidian throne of Lucifer remained shrouded in the dim, flickering light of Hell's eternal torches. He sat in silence, the weight of his thoughts heavy against the stillness of his grand hall. The name Nezha reverberated through his mind like the lingering echo of a bell. A tale of rebellion, sacrifice, and rebirth, so strikingly reminiscent of his own, yet so profoundly different. The Morningstar leaned forward, fingers steepled before his face, his crimson gaze distant as he allowed his mind to wander across the veil of reality.
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