The Wager:
The crater quaked with relentless tremors, its jagged edges smoking like the remnants of a dying volcano. Purple lightning streaked the sky, illuminating swirling ash and the charred debris of the Giga-Coliseum, while screams—angelic, demonic, inhuman—echoed through the sulfur-saturated air.
At the center of this chaos, Fregass Magna IX stood atop a mound of black stone, the broken husk of Ignis Carcerem sprawled at his feet like a vanquished trophy. His predatory grin stretched wide across his petty face, revealing jagged, pointed teeth that glinted a sickly yellow under the flickering glow of residual flames. His long, gremlin-like ears, sharp and twitching, vibrated with arrogant confidence, their tips quivering in rhythm with his rasping breath. His eyes, with vertical slits like a serpent's, gleamed with cold malice, reflecting the sporadic ultraviolet light piercing the torn sky.
"You've lost, Natass!" he declared, his honeyed voice cutting through the din, each word dripping with contempt. "The Master will…" He paused, savoring the moment, his ivory claws tightening around his golden cane, its pommel flaring with a glowing red rune.
A few meters away, Natass Magna XIII stood motionless, his lithe silhouette stark against his brother's hunched form. His face suddenly lit up with an even more diabolical sadism, his lips stretching into a smile that defied the limits of flesh, baring fangs sharper and more imposing than Fregass'. His onyx horns, gleaming and curved like blades, seemed to grow under the chaotic lighting, casting dancing shadows on the ground. "The Master will arrive and seal your doom… Is that what you meant to say?" he replied, his shrill voice rising into a full-throated laugh that burst from his throat like malevolent thunder. "But open your eyes, brother! The one who's lost is you!" He struck his cane against the ground, a golden flash erupting from the impact, illuminating the cracks around him.
Fregass flinched, a grimace of surprise twisting his face. "How…?" he muttered, his round glasses slipping slightly down his hooked nose, his pupils narrowing into thin vertical slits.
Natass cackled, a guttural sound that rattled the ash-laden air. "Well, don't play dumber than you are…" He paused theatrically, adjusting his monocle with deliberate slowness, his left eye glinting red behind the lens. "Though it's been a while since I last toyed with you, I couldn't lose this wager, hahaha!" He pointed a claw at the survivors, lined up behind him like broken statues still standing. "Look at all my Grand Tyrans—exhausted, yes, but all here, ready to serve me. And I even treat myself to an eleventh contender!" His claw singled out Gota, standing beside him, her wavering aqueous jellyfish swirling around her, her pale face etched with fatigue but her eyes blazing with fierce resolve. "The Crown is secure, and Satan won't help you…"
"Impossible!" Fregass cried, bewildered, his hands trembling slightly as he struggled to comprehend. His Abyss Shadows, reformed around him, growled with impatience, their molten metal claws scraping the ground in a high-pitched screech. "How did you…"
Natass cut him off, his laughter doubling in intensity, a sound that seemed to echo to the crater's farthest reaches. "The Supreme Monarch's plans are older than you think, brother… There's a reason I'm an Affranchi!" His voice dropped to a sinister, almost intimate whisper, his horns pulsing with dark energy. "You've grossly underestimated the former forge master and ex-captain of the throne…" He spoke of himself, a cryptic nod to the imps of Satan's throne who had forged the Rings of Tyranny in the primordial flames of the hells—a role he'd once held before breaking free through machinations unknown.
A shiver rippled through the air, a wave of malevolent energy so dense it made the crater's faltering flames flicker. The survivors instinctively stepped back, their gazes darting between the two imps. Gills clenched his fists, his red flames crackling faintly, while Orak drove his lance into the ground, a frosty mist rising around him. Razhïel, his severed arm trailing black blood, adjusted his mask, his tarnished golden eyes fixed on the horizon. A greater shadow loomed in the distance, and the most malevolent aura of the hells flooded the dimension, a portent felt in their very bones.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Satan Is Here:
The gargantuan portal at the crater's far end pulsed like a living heart, its dancing flames rising in titanic columns that licked the torn sky, casting shifting shadows over the Giga-Coliseum's charred wreckage. A low, deep rumble, like the beat of a primordial drum, shook the earth, cracking already-shattered stone and hurling shards into the ash-choked air. Then he appeared—Satan, the Supreme Monarch, stepping through the threshold in an entrance of terrifying majesty. His colossal silhouette seemed to devour light itself, his twisted horns piercing the darkness like lances forged in primal chaos. His glowing red eyes, vast as cursed suns, swept the battlefield, each glance radiating suffocating heat that melted ash beneath his massive feet. His armor, a mass of black metal and liquid fire, shimmered with infernal brilliance, while broken chains dangled from his wrists, clanking in a sinister rhythm that tolled like a death knell.
At his passage, the Monarchs already on the field—Abaddon, Belzebub, Cania, and Brazh'Furia—bowed in reverent silence, their imposing forms bending under their master's crushing aura. Abaddon, his greatsword planted in the ground, lowered his skeletal skull, his chains falling still with a dull clatter. Belzebub, his buzzing wings slowing to a murmur, bent his chitinous frame, his Voracides settling at his feet like an army in wait. Cania, upright and graceful, tilted her head, her frost scythe glinting in a frozen storm, while Brazh'Furia dropped to one knee, her double-headed axe resting on the ground, her flaming hair flickering like dying embers. Their silent submission amplified Satan's power, a mute tribute to the ruler of the hells.
Behind him, his personal captains emerged from the portal in an epic procession, each bearing a distinct identity that added terrifying diversity to the infernal forces. Bhaal, the Lord of Blood, strode at the forefront, a massive figure with knotted muscles clad in cracked scarlet skin, streaked with pulsing veins like rivers of lava. His eyes, twin pits of endless black, glowed with insatiable thirst, and his scythe-like claws dragged behind him, carving bloody furrows in the ground. Beside him marched Hemophages, lanky creatures with mouths bristling with fangs, their warped bodies dripping viscous, living blood that reformed with each step.
Azazel followed, a lithe specter draped in a cloak of shifting shadows, his tattered wings beating slowly, casting tendrils of darkness that swallowed surrounding light. His face, veiled in mist, revealed silver eyes glinting like dying stars, and in his hands floated a black orb, Umbra Aeterna, pulsing with energy that made the air tremble. His Living Shadows, formless entities with twisted limbs, glided behind him, their guttural whispers filling the space with a dissonant chorus.
Lastly, Razagoth, the Scourge of the Depths, brought up the rear, a colossal creature with putrid green scales, his four massive arms ending in barbed claws dripping corrosive venom. His multiple eyes, arrayed in a crown around his deformed skull, shone with a greenish gleam, and a serpentine, spike-laden tail lashed the air behind him. His Deep Leviathans, aquatic beasts with segmented bodies and gaping maws, slithered from the portal, their scales glistening with sickly moisture, their roars shaking the ground like an underground tempest.
Myriad cohorts and legions followed these captains—Sulfur Hounds with flaming fangs, Ash Specters with shrieking chains, Abyss Wyrms with molten metal scales—an ocean of flesh, bone, and fire stretching beyond sight, their growls and cries forming a symphony of chaos that rattled the crater's foundations.
The angels still aloft, their golden armor tarnished by battle, were seized by panic. Archangels, their spears broken, tried to flee, wings beating frantically against ash-laden winds, some collapsing under the Hemophages' assaults, their bodies drained of blood in an instant. Seraphim, their six blazing wings faltering, ordered a desperate retreat, their commands drowned by the infernal legions' roar. Only the three Omniviels remained, their eight wings studded with countless eyes spread like shields of light, their central suns pulsing with purifying radiance. They stood valiantly, their burning gazes locked on Satan, a defiant glint shimmering in their myriad eyes.
Satan halted at the crater's center, his shadow engulfing the survivors and imps like a living mountain. His eyes settled on the small group of protagonists, a cruel smile stretching his scorched lips. He raised a massive hand, claws glinting like magma blades, and gestured to Natass—a simple, almost casual motion, yet laden with absolute authority. Fregass, stunned, stumbled back, his round glasses clattering pitifully to the ground, his vertical pupils dilated with a mix of disbelief and terror.
"I see you've won your wager, Natass… heh," Satan rumbled, his guttural voice shaking the air like a tolling bell. He slowly turned his gaze to the Omniviels, his red eyes flaring with amused light. "Now I'll show my future rivals the power they must surpass if they truly wish to bend the hells to their will… Muahahaha!" His laughter erupted, a sound that seemed to tear the fabric of reality, quaking the ground and snuffing out the crater's last flickering flames.
At those words, Satan pivoted toward the celestial invaders, his captains fanning out around him in an implacable formation. Bhaal roared, his claws slashing bloody arcs that shredded a fleeing seraph, golden blood splattering the ground in a scarlet spray. Azazel raised Umbra Aeterna, and a wave of shifting shadows engulfed a group of archangels, their screams fading into oppressive silence as the Living Shadows devoured them. Razagoth struck the ground with his serpentine tail, summoning a tide of Deep Leviathans that burst from fissures, their gaping maws swallowing angels in fetid whirlpools.
The Omniviels countered, their purifying beams lancing forth like solar spears. The first struck Bhaal, his scarlet blood boiling under the assault, but he bellowed, his Hemophages forming a living shield that absorbed the radiance. The second targeted Azazel, his shadows wavering under the glare, but he muttered an incantation, and Umbra Aeterna pulsed, reflecting the beam in a dark explosion. The third swept Razagoth, his green scales crumbling under the light, but he drove his claws into the ground, a wave of corrosive venom surging to meet the attack in an acidic hiss.
Satan, unmoving at the chaos's heart, raised a hand, and a torrent of black flames erupted, an incandescent darkness that engulfed fleeing angels, their armor melting like wax under an infernal sun. The Omniviels, unyielding, focused their central suns, a blinding flare rising to challenge the Supreme Monarch. But Satan, with a casual gesture, stomped the ground, and an apocalyptic shockwave swept the crater, fracturing the earth to the horizon's edge, hurling stone and lava shards in a devastating storm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Survivors' Defiance:
Amid this deluge of power, the survivors stood frozen, their trembling silhouettes outlined against the glow of flames and light. Gills, his red flames faltering, exchanged a glance with Kira, her Cestus of Astrugg crackling weakly, and Soehpt, his hybrid form flickering under Volgurax's influence. "We can't stay here," Gills muttered, his hoarse voice cutting through the clamor. "The Crown… or survival?" Kira nodded, her eyes blazing with fierce resolve. "We follow Natass," she growled. "He has the Crown." Soehpt, his blue flames dancing wildly, murmured, "Or we defy Satan…"
Tyrnat, Yulius, and Nera, a few meters off, formed a fractured but ready trio. Tyrnat sneered, his shadow sickle glinting. "Natass won his wager, but the Crown's still in play," he said, his eyes fixed on Satan with cold ambition. Yulius, his Massacre dripping coagulated blood, grunted, "I'll kill the first one who gets close." Nera, her shadow threads quivering around her, whispered, "Or I'll take them both…"
Bhaadon and Solom, supporting Gota near Natass, braced to defend their ally. Bhaadon levitated a shard of Ignis Carcerem, his tonfas trembling in his wounded hands. "We finish what we started," he murmured, his hateful glare locked on the Styx Reapers. Solom summoned a wavering bolt, his Ivory Staff cracking under the strain. Gota, her reformed jellyfish shimmering, whispered, "For Iff…"
Orak, solitary, drove his lance into the ground, summoning a frost storm that formed a shield around him. "I bow to no one," he growled, his gray eyes defying Satan. Razhïel, his severed arm dripping black blood, adjusted his mask, Tenebris Lux glinting in his remaining hand. "The heavens will fall before I do," he rasped, his voice carried by the wind.
Natass, watching the scene, burst into shrill laughter. "My Grand Tyrans, pick your side!" he cried, his cane raised like a scepter. "The Crown is mine, but Satan… oh, he offers a spectacle even I can't refuse!" Fregass, on the ground, snatched up his cracked glasses, his Abyss Shadows growling around him. "You won't win forever, Natass," he hissed, his voice quaking with rage.
Satan, ignoring the tumult, advanced on the Omniviels, each step shaking the crater. The celestial entities unleashed a final wave of purifying light, a flare so intense it briefly blinded the battlefield. But Satan raised a hand, and the black flames swallowed the radiance in a deafening roar, the Omniviels faltering under the onslaught. The Supreme Monarch then turned his gaze to the survivors, a cruel smile stretching his lips. "Who dares defy me?" he thundered, his voice rattling heavens and hells.
The crater, drowned in chaos, became the stage for a suspended moment—a looming choice, an inevitable war, and a Crown that would seal the fate of the hells.