The City of Gods: The Underground Prison.
It was a place designed not to break the body, but to dismantle the soul.
The screams echoing through the damp, stone corridors were not born of physical torture. There were no whips, no branding irons, no pools of acid.
The cells were clean, illuminated by a soft, golden luminescence that radiated from the walls themselves.
And yet, the Demon Gods shackled there were screaming as if their very essence was being flayed.
"Namo... Amitabha... Shanti..."
The voice was soft, rhythmic, and terrifyingly calm.
Sitting cross-legged in the center of the cell block was Sugata, the Demigod of Peace and Contracts. He did not look like a jailer. He looked like a serene monk, his eyes closed, his hands clasped in prayer.
A golden aura rippled from him with every word he spoke.
To a normal being, this aura would feel like a warm hug. It was the essence of tranquility, the desire to lay down one's weapons and embrace brotherhood.
