Chapter 3.3: Hell
The Chains of Hell had never been used at full force—until now.
Lucifer became the first to experience its true torment.
The most terrifying aspect of the spell was its measure of sin.
The deeper the sins, the fiercer the flames burned.
And the sins of the man who had single-handedly turned Heaven into a city of the dead… no one—no one but the Lord—could imagine the inferno that awaited.
Lucifer felt it all.
When he awoke, he found himself in the middle of nowhere.
The sky churned with red mist, swirling like blood caught in a storm.
The ground beneath him was cracked and molten lava bled from the fissures, glowing a hellish yellow.
He tried to activate his angelic powers, but nothing responded.
He unfurled his wings, only to find them reduced to burnt skin and bone.
Nothing remained but the fragile skeleton of what had once been.
Lucifer began to walk, each step echoing against the scorched landscape.
Time stretched and warped; the barren terrain seemed endless.
Then, out of the red haze, a small, twisted figure appeared.
A goblin, its eyes gleaming with malice, blocked his path.
The goblin wore a black tuxedo—an oddly refined choice for such a grotesque creature—but Lucifer paid no mind to its attire.
He asked the goblin where he was.
The creature’s grin stretched impossibly wide as it replied, “WELCOME TO HELL.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. The name of the spell—The Chains of Hell—finally clicked in his mind.
The goblin continued, its voice smooth yet sinister.
“Head south, and you will enter the territory of the twin Demon Lords… both females. East leads to another Demon Lord’s dominion. North… north lies the vacant Demon King’s seat. That throne has never been claimed, and the one who sits there becomes the ruler of all demons, the overlord of Hell itself.”
Lucifer absorbed the information, noting the weight behind it.
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“Until then,” the goblin said, “the demons there run wild. No law, no order. Pure chaos.”
Lucifer’s gaze swept the scarlet landscape, the red mist curling around him.
A slow smirk formed. Chaos, wild power… perhaps it was exactly what he needed.
Lucifer asked, “Why is the northern Demon Lord considered the Demon King?”
The goblin’s grin widened. “There’s a legend. The throne in the northern castle chooses who may sit upon it. But… all who have tried before… were devoured by the throne itself. That’s all anyone knows.”
Lucifer chuckled, dark amusement flickering in his eyes at the notion of a throne that eats its rulers.
He shifted topics. “And if I walk west?”
The goblin’s expression darkened. “West leads to the Forest of Slaughter. Not a place for you—or anyone. Creatures there… so vicious, not even Demon Lords dare enter.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “How many?”
The goblin hesitated. “I don’t know… no one does. I’ve never gone in myself. But anyone who tries doesn’t last an hour. Some foolish few have entered, none have ever returned.”
A slow smile curled across Lucifer’s face. “Lead me there.”
The goblin recoiled. “I… cannot. I am Hell’s secretary. I cannot leave my post.”
Lucifer’s gaze swept the red mist and cracked ground around them. The shadows of Hell seemed to shift in anticipation, whispering promises of carnage and power.
For a moment, the goblin’s refusal felt almost laughable—almost inconsequential. But the Forest of Slaughter… now that was a challenge worth walking into.
Lucifer learned that the goblin’s role was simple: he received the souls of the dead, informed them of where they were, and explained what options they had regarding directions. Guiding them further, however, was not part of his job.
Curious, Lucifer asked, “Is it possible for someone who isn’t dead to arrive in Hell?”
The goblin paused, considering. “No. The atmosphere here is designed to strip the soul from any living being. Demons already residing here are the only exception.”
Lucifer smirked. “Yet my soul remains intact, even though I’m alive.”
The goblin blinked, surprised. “In all my centuries, I’ve never seen anything like this… You are truly a special being.” And with that, the goblin vanished into thin air.
Lucifer continued walking. After some time, he finally reached the entrance of the Forest of Slaughter. The air was thick, suffocating, and tinged with the stench of decay and predation.
No sooner had he stepped inside than ten massive king-cobra-like creatures lunged at him. He had not yet fully recovered his magic power, but he decided to face them head-on.
He snapped a branch from a nearby tree and wielded it like a weapon. With his battle-hardened experience, killing ten snakes was no challenge. One by one, they fell.
As their magic dissipated into the air, it surged into him. A moment later, Lucifer felt an overwhelming rush of energy. His magic had returned to full capacity, restored by the deaths of just ten creatures.
Lucifer was surprised—it had taken only ten creatures to restore him to full strength. But then he realized what had happened: he had absorbed their essence, their life force, and in doing so, he had grown far stronger than before. A smile spread across his face. He had finally discovered a way to increase his power.
He laughed, the sound echoing through the Forest of Slaughter. “Perfect,” he said, “I will hunt every creature I can find.”
But first, he would satisfy the hunger gnawing at him. Using magic, he summoned a small fire and roasted the king cobra meat he had just acquired. As he sank his teeth into the warm flesh, he looked up, eyes glinting.
He laughed again, loud and full of anticipation, “I will hunt… every last one of them.”
Another bite, and his left eye glowed a deep, burning red, encircled by a flickering crimson flame. A predatory grin spread across his face, and a surge of exhilaration coursed through him. The Forest of Slaughter would be his proving ground, and nothing in it would survive him.
