Hell stretched out like an arid desert, with black sands reflecting a red and oppressive light. The heat was unbearable, and the air was filled with the laments and screams of tortured souls who were slowly turning into demons, losing their humanity. Grotesque creatures wandered through this decadent territory, where depravity was the norm. Demons celebrated rituals of pleasure and pain, governed by the seven deadly sins, each dominating its own domain, feeding on the weaknesses of the souls.
Amid this desolate scene, a faint body was covered in black sand. Uriel woke up, coughing and confused. "Where the hell am I? I need to breathe and calm down." He crouched down, trying to regain his memory. Gradually, painful memories returned: "Damn! That son of a bitch used me as a shield!" Rage boiled within him.
Uriel's story began in childhood, as an orphan in an orphanage. A mysterious man, Vincet, offered advantages in exchange for children with special abilities. Uriel possessed the rare ability of adaptation, a power that would make him a definitive weapon in the right hands. Vincet exploited him in experiments, seeking revenge against his enemies.
Vincet believed that weapons did not need emotions. In pursuit of this ideal, he made Uriel commit countless atrocities, all in the name of creating the "perfect weapon," as he liked to call it. But one day, one of his most feared enemies found him: Islaifer, the dragon of the skies, one of the sovereigns of that world.
The dragon showed no mercy to Vincet and, with a single breath of devastating flames, intended to eliminate that plague. Terrified of his imminent death, Vincet used Uriel as a shield. The dragon's force was immense, and Uriel died instantly.
Uriel's soul was taken to the gates of judgment, where it would be evaluated for its actions in life by the supreme entity controlling the afterlife, known as the Living Tribunal. Even though much of his life had been controlled by Vincet and the evil actions he committed had been against his will, it did not matter. He was judged guilty by the Tribunal and sent straight to Hell to pay for his sins.
Uriel rose, his muscles still aching as if death had marked every cell of his body. He looked around, trying to contain his anger and understand the chaos into which he had been thrown. The black sands beneath his feet burned like embers, but he did not get burned. Perhaps it was because he was already dead, or perhaps because he already belonged to that place. The smell of sulfur invaded his nostrils, and the screams of tormented souls echoed in the distance, mingling with the biting wind.
He took a step, feeling the weight of memories. Vincet, Islaifer, and even the Tribunal. None of that mattered anymore. What remained now was to survive... if there was any survival in Hell.