Once, before time stitched its frantic path across the universe, there was naught but the boundless celestial canvas. The firstborn of the angels, Abaddon, sculpted from the breath of creation itself, stood as the crown jewel of the celestial expanse—but not for eternity. His brilliance outshone his obedience, his vision stretching beyond the confines of servitude into the realms of sovereignty. Abaddon's fall from grace was a cataclysm that fractured the cosmos, his titanic form hurtling into the newly birthed chasm, the beginnings of what would be known as Helgathar, the infernal crucible.

Abaddon's descent wove the dark fabric of Hell from his essence and corpus, his body parts transforming into significant strongholds of power within this realm of Hell. Each segment held dominion over different spheres of infernal influence: the Two Spiral Eyes foresaw deceit and truth, the Blood Heart pulsed with the power to create or corrupt life, the Seven Cursed Arms wielded the might of destruction and manipulation, the Two Legs of War marched upon the soils of conquest and rebellion, and the Locks of Fate tangled the threads of destiny and despair.

In the aftermath of Abaddon's apocalyptic fall, his remnants were not left to idle in the dark. Demon kings, archdukes of the damned conceived from the celestial rupture, laid claim to these relics of power that Abaddon's body had become. Each piece not merely lusted after for its strength, but also as a symbol of legitimacy over one's dominion in Hell.

The Spiral Eyes found their home in the region in He called Visioth, the ethereal vaults overseen by Sovereign Xarzith. Xarzith, with a mind as sharp as the shattered stars, manipulates visions and truths to blind his adversaries and foresee their destruction. His claim over one of the Eyes allows him indirect insights into the movements and intentions of his rivals, though the full scope remains frustratingly beyond grasp without its twin.

Helgrind, the realm of the Blood Heart in Hell, is ruled by the fierce Matron Sanguinara. Her chambers, veined with the arteries of Abaddon, pump with the power to give life to the blood-cursed progenies or unleash plagues that can corrupt any being into a servant under her thrall. Battlefields often find her favor, where the spilled blood of the fallen becomes her weapon.

The Seven Cursed Arms lay scattered across different territories, each guarded ferociously by its respective demon lord. These limbs, capable of summoning weapons of old, bringing forth armies of the cursed or shattering barriers between realms, are prized above many other relics. Wars to claim even a single arm can span centuries, their outcomes reshaping the borders within Helgathar.

The Two Legs of War trunk deep below into the infernal soils of Battlegrasp, under the iron-clad rule of Warlord Grommash. With each step, his realm extends, his legions marching forth in relentless waves, driven by the endless desire to expand his hellish territories. The legs themselves are conduits of formidable power, granting unmatched prowess in combat and strategy—a boon in the relentless internal conflicts of Helgathar.

Lastly, the Locks of Fate weave through the realm of Destin's Hold, overseen by the enigmatic Oracle Lysire. She, wrapped in the tendrils of fate like a puppeteer entwined in her own strings, pulls at the destinies of all beings, altering outcomes and sowing seeds of chaos as it pleases her. The locks hold the power to alter prophecies, making them instruments of unrivaled manipulation.

These formidable lords and matrons do not stand unopposed in their quests for power. Lesser demons, fallen heroes of old, and even ambitious mortals enter Helgathar through forbidden rituals or dire pacts, each drawn into the fray, becoming part of the ever-evolving tapestry of war and deceit.

Demon king Gabriel, died to them.

'Screw them all. Where am I even?'

Perched atop a grim throne of conquered corpses, Gabriel, the demon king, surveyed the dark void that stretched infinitely around him. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the biting chill of unending night. His long, dark brown hair was sodden with blood, sticking in clumps to his skin, giving him a macabre, war-torn appearance. His dark red eyes, glowing ominously, bled tears of blood that streaked down his battle-hardened face. Crow feather pants adorned his lower body, moving slightly with the gentle, ghostly breeze that whispered through the void. A snake tattoo spiraled up his right arm, its head resting on his shoulder, while a delicate vine tattoo traced just under his eye, enhancing his fierce visage. At the side of his temple, a small, black horn protruded, symbolizing his demonic royalty. 

In his grip, he clenched the Dark Radann, a menacing scythe forged from shadows and blood. Its jagged blade, inscribed with ancient runes of shadow, seemed to thirst for the life it had so often taken. As Gabriel sat in brooding silence, the ground before him suddenly lit up with glowing white letters:

97/100 killed.

The message seared into his vision, a stark reminder of the Orphans of Karn he had dispatched to their grim fates. Despite the victories, a sense of unease twisted in his gut—not knowing where he was, or why.

'I lost and ended up coming here..'

Then, a new presence made itself known. From the shadows of the void, a figure began to coalesce, its formation slow and deliberate. It was monstrous yet regal—a grotesque blend of humanoid and beast. Its body, a dark pink meshed into the black, bore the robust form of a lion centaur, with four powerful arms that each clutched a colossal scepter. The creature's face was eerily human, yet hollow, as if passion and soul had been gouged out, leaving behind only a chilling emptiness. Horns, akin to twisted crowns, jutted out from its body, creating a formidable silhouette that even darkness seemed to fear.

With each step it took towards Gabriel, the air grew denser, the silence deepening. The creature's approach was marked by an eery gravitas, its movements both fluid and frightening, a living nightmare stepping out from the shadows.

'I'm not even bothered by them anymore. Every hour, I have to kill an Orphan of Karn? Who is that? I don't even know. But I've killed 97 of them.'

Unfazed, Gabriel slid down from his grotesque throne, his movements graceful and predatory. As he touched the void's floor, red and black flames burst forth from his body, dancing along his skin and casting sinister shadows around him. His eyes, ignited with a hellish red glow, fixed on the newly arrived adversary.

'If I kill 100, will I actually leave this place?'

"Damn it all," he murmured, a wicked grin slicing across his face as he gripped his scythe tighter, preparing for the imminent battle.

The tension between the two was palpable, the quiet before the storm vibrating through the void as they faced each other, ready to unleash hell.

In the murky void, Gabriel, the shirtless demon king, stood poised for battle against the monstrous humanoid called Kargoth, his dreadful form a tapestry of dark pink and black hues, beastly and brutal. Kargoth, gripping his dark magic-infused scepter, faced off against Gabriel, each ready to decimate the other in a ballet of blood and shadows.

Kargoth swung his heavy scepter downwards, ensorcelling dark energy coalescing into a thunderous blow. Gabriel, agile as a shadow, sidestepped, the ground cracking where he stood moments ago, and retaliated with a sweeping slash of his Dark Radann. The impact sent a quiver through Kargoth's form but did not breach his monstrous hide.

'This one's tough.'

Enraged, Kargoth raised his scepter high, summoning an orb of swirling dark mana. Gabriel, anticipating the strike, twirled his scythe with immaculate precision, slicing through the air and severing the orb. The released energy exploded, sending splinters of dark magic recoiling into the void.

Gabriel executed a brutal slash that turned Kargoth's dripping blood into chains. With a ferocious yank, he pulled the monster closer, drilling his fists into the creature's hollow face, each punch a spray of black ichor, and slashed his scythe into Kargoth's neck, causing a brutal wound, causing more blood to spray and his own blood from into chains, and Gabriel locked his hands onto those chains, and yanked him back and forth, slashing him with his scythe over and over in brutal areas, then yanked him back one more time, and punched him in the face, a loud THOOM sounding off and sending him flying.

Recoiling, Kargoth roared with fury, gripping his scepter with all four arms. He spun it swiftly, creating a maelstrom of dark energy that caught Gabriel in its pull. Gabriel's scythe, reacting to his master's peril, grew heavier, its gravitational pull aiding him to ground himself amidst the chaos.

'I'm the youngest and seventh strongest demon king in hell. Why did I have to lose?'

Bursting forward, Gabriel performed an overhead slash, ripping open the fabric of the void. From this tear spilled forth a barrage of shadow spikes, homing in on Kargoth who stumbled back, his hide punctured and bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. As Kargoth staggered, Gabriel invoked his blood moon ability. The air tingled as a blood-red crescent appeared above him, dripping spectral blood. Gabriel leaped into the blood moon, vanishing in an instant. And then seconds later, Breaking out like a berserker from its shell, Gabriel's eyes flared red, his form blurred with enhanced speed and ferocity. His strength and speed and toughness were increased heavily, and he was smiling heavily, laughing over and over.

'I'm not really laughing. Nor is anything really funny about this. I was defeated by all the ones who had the remnants of Abaddon, and I ended up here. What is this place? Those who die In hell, I've heard of a place that houses those like that, but it's not how it was described.'

Having become a blur, Gabriel darted around Kargoth, his scythe slashing in arcing, deadly dances. He implanted deep, crippling wounds along Kargoth's arms and torso, moving fluidly like a specter of vengeance. Kargoth, in desperation, swung his scepter with wild abandon. Gabriel, foreseeing the desperate attack, enveloped himself within his shadow dome. The blow struck the dome, rebounding upon Kargoth with intensified ferocity, causing his own bones to crack and skin to tear. Screaming in rage, Kargoth lifted his scepter into the void's sky, beckoning all dark mana. Gabriel, seizing the opportunity, leaped into the forming dark orb above Kargoth. With an explosive exit, he shattered the orb from within, scattering a rain of dark energy that burned like acid across Kargoth's form.

'My wife…how is she doing? She wasn't even with me when I fought all those who had remnants of Abaddon. I didn't want her to go with me. I was betrayed by those I knew very close. The temptations of securing and controlling all the remnants of Abaddon will basically give you control over the life and death of those in hell itself.'

Recovering quickly, Kargoth lunged, horns first, aiming to gore Gabriel. The demon king parried with the flat of his heavy scythe, twisted under the charge, and delivered a brutal kick to Kargoth's hindquarters, sending him stumbling forward. Gabriel plunged his scythe into the earth, dragging up a trail of shadow spikes that raced towards Kargoth. As the beast turned, a spike pierced through his shoulder, pinning him momentarily against the dark, endless void's wall.

Battle-worn but undeterred, Gabriel slashed horizontally. The impact was so forceful it split the ground, a line of red flames marking it like demonic scripture. Kargoth, caught across the chest by the blaze, howled in torment. Seizing his size-changing scythe, Gabriel increased its weight exponentially and swung vertically. The sheer force decimated the ground beneath Kargoth, creating a crater where he momentarily fell, disoriented and vulnerable.

'All kingdoms and all demon kings in hell battle one another to do whatever they can to gather these remnants from the possession of the demon entities who have them. Demon entities..once you have even one remnant, you're basically almost unstoppable. It's annoying. It's an all out war, it's rare to trust anyone. Why do I want all the remnants of Abaddon..? Because I'm a fucking failure.'

Gabriel descended into the pit, his scythe leading a fatal arc aimed directly at Kargoth's exposed neck. The blade met resistance for a moment before slicing cleanly through, silencing the monstrous roar that had begun to form in Kargoryth's throat. Standing over the now-still form of Kargoth, Gabriel lifted his scythe, dripping with dark ichor. He surveyed the carnage around him, his demonic form untouched, the void itself seeming to hold its breath in the presence of such power.

"Damn it all," Gabriel whispered once again, his eyes dimming from their berserk glow as he turned to disappear into the shadowy depths of the void, leaving behind the slain monster and the echoes of a battle that would fade into legend. He climbed back to the top of the large pile of defeated corpses, and rested while sitting up, thinking:

'2 more left.'

98/100 Orphans of Karn defeated.