4000 years later
HELL
Lucifer stood at the edge of the volcanic mountain, the scorched earth beneath his feet radiating a heat that would have incinerated any lesser being.
The hot breeze whipped around him, carrying the acrid scent of sulfur and ash, but he remained unmoving, his crimson cloak snapping behind him like a banner of war.
The wind howled through the jagged peaks, a chaotic symphony that mirrored the land's turbulent energy.
Yet, Lucifer felt none of it. His focus was anchored to the pulse beneath his feet, the steady thrum of the molten earth below.
It was as if the mountain itself lived and breathed, its fiery heart beating in sync with his own.
This was his sanctuary. The wild, untamed landscape stretched endlessly before him, raw and unforgiving, yet deeply familiar.
It reminded him of his mother—fierce, unrelenting, and protective in ways that defied logic.
