The blackened halls of the underworld trembled with mirth. Not with laughter as mortals knew it, but with a resonance deeper, fouler, laced with malice and the taste of finality.
In the heart of the infernal abyss, where the rivers of sulfur burned black and the sky wept embers, a great hall had been prepared for a feast of victory. The obsidian pillars of the chamber stretched infinitely high, carved with the agonized faces of the damned. A throne of jagged bone sat at the head of the grand table, where Malphas, Prince of Hell, lounged with a smug grin curling his lips.
Before him, the banquet of carnage was laid—a feast not of meat and wine but of suffering and sorrow. Goblets brimmed with the grief of the heavens, distilled into thick, crimson nectar. Platters bore the broken dreams of angels, their shattered halos glinting like gold dust in the firelight. But none of these delicacies compared to the prize he had won tonight.
The Devil's lover was dead.
The thought alone made Malphas chuckle, a deep, reverberating sound that sent tremors through the ground. He lifted a blackened chalice, the liquid within thick as congealed blood, and turned to hisHere's a dark and intense chapter where one of the Princes of Hell revels in his triumph after successfully killing the Devil's lover.
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Chapter: The Feast of Ruin
In the heart of the infernal abyss, where the rivers of sulfur burned black and the sky wept embers, a great hall had been prepared for a feast of victory. The obsidian pillars of the chamber stretched infinitely high, carved with the agonized faces of the damned. A throne of jagged bone sat at the head of the grand table, where Malphas, Prince of Hell, lounged with a smug grin curling his lips.
Before him, the banquet of carnage was laid—a feast not of meat and wine but of suffering and sorrow. Goblets brimmed with the grief of the heavens, distilled into thick, crimson nectar. Platters bore the broken dreams of angels, their shattered halos glinting like gold dust in the firelight. But none of these delicacies compared to the prize he had won tonight.
The Devil's lover was dead.
The thought alone made Malphas chuckle, a deep, reverberating sound that sent tremors through the ground. He lifted a blackened chalice, the liquid within thick as congealed blood, and turned to his gathered brethren—other demons, lesser princes, and creatures that slithered in the void.
"Drink with me, my kin," he declared, his voice laced with dark amusement. "For tonight, I have done what no other has dared. The Devil, the mighty one, the unshaken king of our kind, has been broken!"
A roar of approval echoed through the chamber, a chorus of howls, screeches, and guttural laughter. Flames leaped higher from the torches lining the walls, casting writhing shadows that danced in sadistic glee.
Malphas ran a clawed hand along the table, where a single silver chain lay—the last remnant of her, the one the Devil had loved. A relic of what was now ash. He had seen her final breath, the way her eyes had widened in realization, the way her lips had parted to whisper His name. The moment had been exquisite.
He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Tell me, brothers, do you think He weeps? Do you think He rages? Or has He fallen into that dreadful silence—the kind that comes before a storm?"
A monstrous demon with wings of torn flesh grinned, exposing rows of serrated teeth. "If He rises, He rises in madness."
"Then let Him," Malphas purred, gripping the silver chain and snapping it between his fingers. "Let Him drown in His own despair."
A great bell tolled in the distance—a sound that had not rung in eons. It came from the farthest reaches of the abyss, a warning, a harbinger of something yet unseen. The room fell silent. Malphas froze for a mere second before he laughed once more, raising his goblet.
"Let Him come." His voice dripped with arrogance, with the unshaken certainty of his triumph. "By the time He does, He will have nothing left to save."
And so, the feast continued, the fires of Hell burning brighter than ever, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—that something far worse than wrath was stirring in the dark