In the desolate expanse of what was once Hell, a solitary raven circled high above, its obsidian feathers cutting a stark contrast against the ashen sky. With piercing eyes that seemed to see through the very soul of the infernal landscape below, it searched the cracked and barren earth for any sign of life or movement. Years had passed since the last echoes of despair reverberated through the chasms of this forsaken realm, and in that time, the fiery pits of torment had cooled into an eerie stillness. The once-raging infernos, which had blazed with the fury of a million suns, were now extinguished, leaving behind a void as profound and cold as the hollow eye sockets of a skull stripped bare by the inexorable march of time.

The air was thick with the scent of ash and lingering despair, a silent testimony to the unrelenting rage that had once consumed this place. It was a realm where fire and brimstone had ruled supreme, but now the remnants of that destructive power lay dormant, like the faded memory of a storm that had long since passed. The stones that comprised the grand architecture of Hell, once blackened by the intensity of their infernal flames, now appeared as if scorched by an invisible force. This force had burned away not just the surface but seemed to have reached into the very bones of the world, leaving behind a skeletal remnant of what had been.

The grand palaces and towering structures of Hell stood as silent sentinels to the past, their once-majestic facades now marred by time and neglect. The windows of these buildings gaped open like the empty mouths of the damned, their silence a stark contrast to the ceaseless screams that once filled the air. The streets, once bustling with the fervor of ambition and the chaotic dance of demonic life, were now a labyrinth of shattered dreams and forgotten glories. They were a testament to a grandeur long gone, reduced to mere echoes of what was once a vibrant, albeit malevolent, civilization. The wind, carrying a mournful wail through the desolate alleyways, whispered of lost souls whose cries had faded into nothingness.

At the heart of this ruined city stood the throne of Athanatos, a monolithic seat of bone and iron, twisted into a grotesque masterpiece of dominion. This throne was not merely a seat of power but a symbol of Athanatos's reign—his dominance over both the physical and metaphysical realms. It was perched atop a dais that had once been bathed in the crimson light of the Abyssal Flame, a flame that had symbolized his unparalleled power and authority. Now, however, the dais lay in shadow, its former glory extinguished, a mere ghost of the grandeur it had once exuded. The steps leading up to the throne were strewn with the remnants of Athanatos's court—rusted armor, shattered weapons, and the vestiges of an era marked by absolute control and relentless tyranny.

Athanatos, the God of Immortality among demons, had presided over an age of unrestrained power and fear. His reign was characterized by an iron-fisted control that spanned both the physical and the metaphysical dimensions. Unlike other deities of the infernal hierarchy, Athanatos's dominion extended beyond the mere infliction of pain and suffering. He wielded the power to bestow and withhold life with a mere thought, his capricious nature reveling in the suffering he orchestrated. To the denizens of Hell, his name was synonymous with an unending cycle of torment, an eternal abyss where hope was as absent as light.

Now, as the raven alighted upon the cold, lifeless throne, the desolation was palpable. It was not merely the absence of the inhabitants of Hell but the very essence of the place that had dissipated. The once-vibrant energies that crackled with malevolence had faded into a profound silence. The ground no longer trembled with the agony of the tormented, and the air was devoid of the malevolent crackle that had once defined this realm. The only sound that broke the stillness was the distant echo of the raven's caw, its mournful cry reverberating off the desolate stones like a lament for a bygone era.

This desolate place, once the epicenter of a fiery apocalypse, had been a realm where the cries of the damned were as familiar as the air itself, and the scent of brimstone permeated every corner. The flames had been not only a source of torment but a reflection of the infernal energy that had sustained the realm. Yet, now, the only movement in this forsaken landscape was the gentle shift of ash carried by a faint breeze, a whisper of a past that had long since faded into obscurity. The fate of the legions of demons who had once thronged these streets remained a mystery, as did the ultimate destiny of their merciless ruler, Athanatos.

The profound silence that enveloped Hell was so absolute that it seemed to have swallowed all traces of the past, leaving behind only the stark, unfeeling remnants of a time now lost to the ravages of entropy. The grandeur of Hell had been reduced to ruins, and its once-mighty ruler, the embodiment of immortality and dominion, had vanished into the void. In the wake of his disappearance, the realm he had once commanded lay as a ghostly echo of its former self—a stark reminder of the impermanence of even the most formidable powers.

"A desolate hell, how did I end up in this place, God knows what happened here." Tobin said, as he observed the curious raven, its sharp eyes reflecting the last remnants of a fiery reign. He took a step closer to the throne, his boots crunching the brittle bones that littered the ground. The throne of Athanatos stood tall, a silent sentinel in the emptiness, whispering of a lost era of power and despair.

Tobin, an explorer by nature, had stumbled into this abyss while investigating a nearby waterfall. He had heard the legends of ancient civilizations and powerful artifacts hidden behind the veil of the water's crashing embrace. Little did he know that his curiosity would lead him to the very bowels of the underworld itself. His heart had pounded in his chest as he felt the fabric of reality tear apart, and suddenly, he found himself in this desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape.