In the depths of Hell, something unusual was stirring within the resurrecting form of the Hell Lord Nightmare.
After crafting Andariel's dreamscape, his revival grew excruciatingly difficult.
A shadow of Baal began eroding his essence during the process.
It didn't usurp his dream domain, but it siphoned every ounce of power he could draw from Hell.
This wouldn't kill him, but it left him barely clinging to existence.
Without power, no matter his station, he was frail and helpless.
Baal, the Demon God of Destruction, was using him as a host, slowly reviving.
As one of the three prime evils, once Baal regained full consciousness, his strength would surge rapidly.
As long as the world existed, destruction would fuel him, pushing him toward the limits of his dominion.
Nightmare became his nourishment, awaiting the day of Baal's resurgence.
"Things in the mortal world aren't looking great lately."
Satanis, his red-and-blue face stark, spoke to Mephisto nearby.
With Hell sealed off, the Hell Lords were growing restless.
They used to amuse themselves by tempting mortals, but now not a shred of power could reach the human realm.
"Not十Not happy? Then I'll open a gate and send you up to try. After all, you're strong enough to challenge my throne."
Mephisto forced a wry smile at Satanis.
To him, with Dormammu gone, he was the strongest among Hell's remaining lords.
Satanis couldn't steal his position, though Mephisto cared little for status.
"You're always joking. Don't you want to go up and see for yourself?"
Satanis brushed off Mephisto's jab. Status squabbles hardly mattered.
Hell Lords harbored ambitions, but sometimes those ambitions were just reasons to keep existing.
In their endless lives, even the most thrilling pursuits faded.
If not for lingering emotions, they'd likely not bother with power struggles.
They could discard what they didn't care for, but couldn't stand others taking it.
That was reason enough.
"Hell's own mess is enough to annoy me. Besides growing stronger, what's left to look forward to?
Reflecting to avoid going mad like the Spirit of Vengeance? That's fresh?
Then go chat with Cyttorak. The road from Hell to the Crimson Cosmos isn't far."
Mephisto scraped filth from his nails with a demon's horn, slouched boredly in his chair.
"That guy would talk to you? Or just crush you and let you experience rebirth?"
Satanis laughed, the branches atop his head trembling.
Growing stronger was every immortal's pursuit—chasing the shadows ahead.
Cyttorak was the closest they saw, ruling a universe with such power.
Thus, Hell's demons, consciously or not, sought to conquer more territory.
"How's Lucifer reviving faster than Nightmare? Something's off."
Mephisto spoke without looking up. No Hell Lord had ever been fully erased, so this didn't raise alarms.
Curiosity, a rare novelty, drove their discussion.
It all traced back to Bulkathos shattering the Dark Soulstone.
That relic held the souls of the Seven Demon Kings.
When it exploded, Malthael forcibly seized their power.
But as the stone crumbled, their essences escaped, later breaking free from Malthael's grasp alongside the four archangels, fleeing to this world.
This had happened, yet few knew—least of all Hell's lords.
"What do we care? Nightmare getting devoured bit by bit? Hell's essence isn't easily stolen. We'd feel it if it happened."
Satanis's abyss-deep mouth grinned.
He didn't care about other lords' fates. Beyond plotting revenge on Ancient One, he was idle.
Invading the mortal realm?
A long game with no true win or loss.
Hell would endure, and he'd remain a lord.
Unless someone like Cyttorak shattered the dimension itself.
Unbeknownst to him, Cyttorak was being pestered by an outsider.
In the Crimson Cosmos, a diminutive demonic illusion whispered to Cyttorak.
Belial.
The Lord of Lies.
The embodiment of deceit, for whom truth and lies held no boundary.
Risking failure, he preserved some power during his escape, becoming the first of the Seven to regain awareness.
Yet, among them, he wasn't the strongest. Limited in energy, he indulged in the thrill of schemes.
Combat he disdained, unchanged even after being sealed in the Dark Soulstone.
But as the Lord of Lies, Belial wielded the power to make all heed his deceptions.
Cyttorak was his chosen power source. Convincing this near-fearless titan would ease his rebirth.
Deceiving a powerhouse to fight for him let Belial scheme from the shadows.
Convincing Cyttorak was no small feat—his words went unanswered.
Cyttorak's consciousness was undeniable, but communicating with him was near impossible.
The Crimson Cosmos's master had few desires—his strength could seize anything.
A formidable, unavoidable presence, yet like a recluse holed up at home.
No one, not even Belial, knew what piqued his interest.
But lies would eventually sway him—that was Belial's power.
It would just take a very long time.
(Chapter End)
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