The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting a pale glow over the rows of gravestones that stretched out before Satou Nakamura. His breath came out in wisps of fog, and the crunch of dirt under his boots was the only sound in the stillness of the graveyard. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his work jacket, the chill biting through the fabric.

For most, a graveyard was a place of mourning—a place where the dead rested peacefully. But for Satou, it was nothing more than a job. The pay was meager, barely enough to scrape by, but it kept him afloat. It was a place where he could go about his work, unnoticed and uninterrupted, much like the dead themselves.

He sighed as he approached a worn headstone, kneeling down to wipe away the grime and moss that had accumulated over time. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to his mundane life, the countless nights spent in this quiet, somber place, far from the noise of the city.

It wasn't as if Satou had big dreams. In fact, he wasn't sure he had any dreams at all anymore. His days of ambition, of striving for something more, had died along with the only person who had ever made him feel alive. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his mind wandered to her—his lover, the one who had left him in a world far colder than this graveyard.

He hadn't saved her. He hadn't even known how. In the end, she had been consumed by her demons, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his life, alone.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to push the memories back down. There was no use thinking about it now. What was done was done.

The sound of rustling leaves broke the silence, pulling him from his thoughts. Satou's head snapped up, eyes scanning the darkness that surrounded him. A gust of wind swept through the graveyard, carrying with it the eerie creak of branches and the soft whisper of the night.

He shook his head, returning to his task. "Just the wind," he muttered to himself, though the unease remained.

As he stood to move on to the next grave, a faint light caught his eye—a flicker of something in the distance, barely perceptible. It hovered near one of the older, more decrepit sections of the cemetery, where no one visited anymore. His curiosity piqued, Satou narrowed his eyes, debating whether to check it out.

Grabbing his flashlight, he made his way toward the light, each step slower than the last as his stomach tightened with unease. The light flickered again, just at the edge of his vision, as if beckoning him. His grip on the flashlight tightened.

As he reached the old section of the cemetery, the wind picked up, howling through the trees. Gravestones stood crooked and forgotten, their inscriptions worn away by time. The air here felt different—heavier, colder. His breath came in shorter bursts as he scanned the area for the light.

And then, he saw it.

A figure, faint and ethereal, stood in front of a gravestone, its back to him. The figure glowed with a soft, otherworldly light, its form shifting and wavering like smoke. Satou's heart pounded in his chest as he took a step back, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

"What the hell...?" he breathed, instinctively reaching for his phone. But as his fingers brushed against his pocket, the figure turned.

For a brief moment, Satou's blood ran cold. The face that looked back at him was both familiar and terrifying. It was her—his lover, the one he had lost all those years ago. Her eyes, once filled with warmth, now held a haunting emptiness.

Satou stumbled back, his flashlight slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't bear.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, he saw something—pain, regret, sorrow. Then, she was gone, vanishing into the darkness as quickly as she had appeared.

"Wait!" Satou called out, his voice barely above a whisper. But it was too late.

The silence returned, enveloping him in its suffocating grip. He stood there, staring at the spot where she had been, his mind racing. Had it been real? Or was it just his tired mind playing tricks on him?

His breathing came in ragged gasps as he crouched down to retrieve his flashlight, his hands shaking. As he rose to his feet, he felt it—something cold, something wrong.

The ground beneath him trembled.

A low rumble echoed through the graveyard, the sound growing louder with each passing second. Satou's eyes widened as he took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. The earth beneath the old graves began to shift, cracks forming in the dirt as if the ground itself was tearing apart.

"No, no, no!" Satou shouted, turning to run, but the ground split open beneath him. A force, unseen and powerful, pulled at him, dragging him toward the yawning chasm that had opened up in the graveyard.

He fought against it, clawing at the dirt and grass, but it was no use. The pull was too strong, too overwhelming. His body was dragged into the darkness, swallowed whole by the earth as it collapsed around him.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the pale glow of the moon, hanging in the sky like a distant memory.

Satou's Descent

When Satou came to, the first thing he noticed was the heat—an oppressive, suffocating heat that made it hard to breathe. His body ached, his limbs heavy as he forced himself to sit up. The air was thick, cloying, filled with the scent of sulfur and ash.

He wasn't in the graveyard anymore.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and as they did, a sense of dread settled over him. The world around him was nothing like the world he had known. Jagged rocks jutted out from the ground, the landscape twisted and barren. Rivers of molten lava snaked through the terrain, casting an eerie red glow that illuminated the sky.

"What... the hell?" Satou muttered, his voice hoarse. He looked around, trying to make sense of where he was, but the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

Hell. He was in Hell.

Before he could process what was happening, a shadow fell over him. He looked up, his breath catching in his throat.

A towering figure stood before him, draped in tattered robes of black and crimson. Its face was obscured, but the presence it exuded was undeniable—this was no ordinary demon. This was something far worse.

"You," the figure rasped, its voice like the grinding of stone. "You have been chosen."

Satou's body froze under the weight of the figure's gaze. His mind raced, but his limbs refused to obey him. The towering figure loomed over him, its form shrouded in darkness. The only visible feature was a pair of glowing, ember-like eyes that seemed to burn with a silent fury.

"Chosen?" Satou's voice came out weaker than he intended, barely audible against the oppressive heat that clung to the air. His throat was dry, each breath a struggle as he tried to find the strength to stand. But the figure said nothing, its eyes fixed on him with a strange intensity that made his skin crawl.

Without warning, the ground beneath him shifted, and the jagged stones rose from the earth, forming a jagged pathway leading away from the barren wasteland. The figure turned, its long, tattered robes trailing behind it as it began to walk along the newly formed path.

"Wait!" Satou called after it, his voice cracking as panic surged through him. "Where the hell am I? What do you mean 'chosen'?"

The figure didn't stop. It moved forward with a deliberate slowness, as if fully aware that Satou would have no choice but to follow.

Gripping the sharp rocks beneath him for support, Satou forced himself to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, the unfamiliar heat sapping his energy. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but where would he go? This wasn't the world he knew—this wasn't the graveyard where he'd spent so many nights in quiet solitude. This was a place of nightmares, a place where the air felt thick with death and despair.

Reluctantly, he began to follow.

Each step felt like a struggle, the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on him. The rocks beneath his feet were uneven, some sharp enough to pierce the soles of his boots. He winced with each step but kept moving, driven by a growing sense of dread. The figure ahead remained silent, leading him deeper into the desolate landscape.

As they walked, Satou's mind raced. Why me? Why was I chosen? The question echoed in his thoughts, but no answer came. He didn't feel special. In fact, his life had been the definition of ordinary—barely scraping by, no grand ambitions, no remarkable talents. Why would anyone—or anything—choose him for anything?

He glanced around at his surroundings, hoping to find some sign of life, something familiar to ground him. But all he saw was an endless expanse of twisted rock and molten rivers. The red glow of the lava illuminated the dark sky, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out endlessly. It was a world devoid of hope, a landscape that felt more like a prison than anything else.

"I shouldn't be here," he muttered under his breath. "This has to be a dream."

But the sharp pain in his legs, the suffocating heat, the oppressive silence—all of it felt too real to be a dream.

Time felt like it stretched on forever as they walked. Satou lost track of how long they had been moving, the only sound the crunch of rocks beneath their feet. His mind wandered to the figure leading him, questions bubbling to the surface that he was too afraid to voice. Who—or what—was this creature? Was it a demon? Something worse? And why had it dragged him here?

Just as the weight of those questions began to suffocate him, the figure came to an abrupt stop.

Satou nearly collided with its back, catching himself just in time. The figure's ember-like eyes flared brighter as it turned its head slightly, enough for Satou to feel the weight of its gaze on him again.

"Kneel," the figure rasped, its voice sending a chill down Satou's spine.

"What...?" Satou blinked, confused.

"Kneel before your King."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and for the first time, Satou became acutely aware of where he was being led.

He hadn't been following this figure into some random part of Hell—he had been walking toward something far more terrifying.

The King of Hell.