Earth, an integral place where everything abounds, from happiness rolling in delight to evil infecting every corner. Scum has thrived since eons ago, since the dawn of the universe—individuals sacrificing their lineage for thirst of vengeance, or clans with an appetite for power whose only method to satisfy their hunger is massacre. Evil spreads through every place, growing stronger with each century, a malevolence increasingly eager to pierce the weak and overthrow the strong, like a hunter stalking its prey.
But the great question remains: why does evil exist? To answer this grand question, one must travel to a place where the entry of a mere mortal is impossible—a realm outside the natural plane, coexisting in the spiritual zone, where condemned souls suffer for eternity. This was the sole and exorbitant Hell: souls burning in the flames of the mundane, spirits eternally torturing the pagans, and an arcane prophecy that foretold that the firstborn of the creator of evil would dare to wield the power to make the infernal regime govern absolutely over the earthly plane, even in the celestial realm.
That place of titanic extensions, the chambers of the King of Darkness. Reaching the Devil was no simple task; his chambers were guarded by his most loyal minions, who would not hesitate to risk their souls just to keep their exalted king safe.
To the south of the castle resided an endless number of demons unworthy of royalty, called bastards, inhabiting the midlands of Hell. To the north, there were various ecosystems such as the Sea of Flames of Hurvangel or the Darkness of Surby. To the southwest of the castle, before the Forest of the Cursed Sins, stood the Royal Coliseum the battlefield where demons fought among themselves for amusement or fought humans, dismembering them for mere leisure, with foundations of soul stone and pillars of ocaronite, an ancient stone resistant to bestial impacts.
Today, a highly coveted battle was unfolding between Yutumham, a formidable warrior of the Fifth Circle of Hell, and a mysterious masked fighter whose identity remained unknown, yet exuded an aura as dark as Hell itself.
The demons, agitated at the sight of the confrontation, accompanied by the wails of souls that made the duel's atmosphere even more ominous a place of chaos and destruction, where millions of bodies had been executed purely for the pleasure and desire of the beings inhabiting that dark realm.
The combat was about to begin. Yutumham was the first to step forward, his supporters cheering as he traversed the sliding corridor of the coliseum. His pale skin contrasted with the white snow, small horns close to his head, markings across his body that empowered him and contained the soul of Gorh the Third, an ancient beast conqueror who had mercilessly annihilated several archangels and conquered and founded much of the Dark Meadow society. After his conquest, he disappeared, leaving only power through his marks.
Yutumham, with his icy abilities, was a being to be feared. With his cold personality and desolate gaze, he spoke in a challenging voice:
—"Your greatest lord has embarked on his battle; now it is time to utterly vanquish this rival without mercy."
His voice echoed throughout the coliseum, his excited followers praising their lord. This audience, made up of his entire people, had come from far away from the Frost of Sunken Tears, west of the Sea of Flames. In the midst of this spectacle, Yutumham drew his spear an extremely long weapon with an infernal crystal tip. With his serious gaze and imposing presence, he idly awaited his opponent. On his face, one could see the obsession for destruction that radiated from his soul.
At the other end, walking slowly with a breeze of pride and arrogance, came the mysterious masked figure. Wearing an orange mask like the flame of hell, the mask had a stripe in the middle. A black hood covered his entire being, and he carried two simple magma daggers. The spectators did not understand why he had been summoned, but the battle was only beginning.
Upon seeing his rival, Yutumham let out a small, mocking laugh. The masked figure, without saying a single word, bowed before the audience, enduring their mockery and jeers.
Malakar, the one responsible for narrating the duel small in stature, bulging eyes, agile legs, clad in violet robes with a thirst for combat grabbed his trumpet. Its sound resonated throughout the coliseum, overpowering the noise of the passionate crowd and the wails of the condemned. Malakar bowed before everyone and, with a deep voice, exclaimed:
—Blessed are these two warriors! Let the best prevail, and may the dark blood accompany them.
And thus, the battle began.
The spectators could not stop cheering for their beloved king, who launched the first strike. Yutumham lunged at the mysterious warrior, his eyes reflecting a burning desire to kill, but the warrior easily dodged the attack. Seeing his rival evade, Yutumham, with a quick but daring movement, created three sharp ice daggers that shot rapidly toward the masked man. Within seconds, the daggers were about to hit, but with a swift motion, the masked warrior cut all three daggers with his own sharp weapons.
The crowd could only let out mocking laughter at the masked warrior's skill. Yutumham and the masked warrior stood face to face. The masked warrior struck swiftly at his opponent, but the icy being, with the masked warrior close, landed a hook that sent him flying through the air. Yet the mysterious hooded fighter had a plan.
The audience went wild seeing their ruler take control of the fight. Malakar, in a deep voice, exclaimed:
—His Majesty of the Fifth Circle landed a decisive blow!
The masked warrior immediately recovered from the hit, maintaining the height of the battle. The airborne fighter, with a swift hand movement, released a will-o'-the-wisp cyclone from his palms that surged toward the icy warrior. The ice ace, with a calm gaze as the technique approached, raised his arm and a frozen shield emerged, intercepting the fiery burst. Malakar, astonished, shouted:
—That shield was a perfect block against that fire technique. The masked warrior is on the ropes in hell.
Yutumham dissolved the shield and, with a mocking tone and a gaze full of superiority, exclaimed:
—You think that can harm me? You are a fool, and you will never defeat me, filthy scum.
The masked warrior merely sighed, his mind and being calm. Still in the air, he ignited flames that enveloped his body and, with a fleeting movement, struck Yutumham. The impact was extremely effective against his enemy, but the masked warrior had not finished his mission. Yutumham, defenseless in midair, was targeted again as the masked warrior leapt even higher and, with a sudden motion, unleashed his fire cyclone once more—this time successfully hitting him, leaving him wounded on the ground. The masked warrior's intention was clear: to continue attacking with relentless aggression until the fight concluded.
A profound silence fell over the crowd, as their king had been countered. The only sounds were the groans and the flames striking Yutumham.
Seeing the scene, Malakar, in a surprised tone, said:
—The battle has taken an entirely unexpected turn. That masked stranger is giving the ruler of the Fifth Circle a real fight. His power is immense. Let's see what becomes of Yutumham and whether this will be his end.
The crowd, refusing to abandon their king, began chanting to bolster the will of their revered ruler. Yutumham, with a skillful movement, rose swiftly, wounded but filled with rage, and lunged at the masked warrior. With a quick motion, the masked warrior blocked him, but Yutumham landed a punch to his face. Furious, the mysterious being recovered from the strike and attacked Yutumham with vengeance. They exchanged blows and kicks, their clash making the coliseum shake. A decisive strike cruelly hit Yutumham, pushing him away from the masked warrior, but in an unpredictable move, Yutumham hurled an ice shard at the masked warrior, hitting and cracking his signature mask.
At that precise moment, the mask fell to the ground. The impact of the shard on the outer front caused darkness to pour from the mysterious warrior's face like a cascading torrent. The darkness kept flowing endlessly. The crowd could not take their eyes off the powerful masked figure, their pupils hypnotized by the incredible spectacle. Malakar knew the origin of that mask it had been forged in the plains of exhausting lust, in the northeast of the Valley of Terror. That mask contained only immense power, and now they would finally know who the puppeteer behind the act was.
His mask fell to the ground, and that formidable being lifted his face with a smile of superiority, his arrogant eyes and sinister pupils revealing his identity it was none other than Lucius, the firstborn and known as the Infernal Prince. His black, straight hair styled at medium length, his sculpted body, and pale skin radiated pride. His eyes, with pupils red as the blood moon, reflected only rage. Lucius exuded both beauty and lust.
His egocentric, pedantic, and mischievous personality was his key to confronting any challenge, yet despite all, he possessed a colossal power, descending directly from his father.
The crowd, seeing the son of the singular and proud king, praised his presence, for Yutumham was nothing compared to the prince. Even Malakar remained silent, having underestimated him, his eyes wide with surprise and fear as he continued to admire the duel.
Yutumham, upon seeing the being, trembled; his eyes widened and a wave of fear swept through his icy form. Yet he did not concede the fight. Without uttering a word, he unleashed a frigid gale toward the newly unmasked Lucius. The prince, seeing the icy wind, proudly asked:
—Is this your emperor?
In a fleeting motion, he cut through the gust with his dagger, and with blinding speed, Lucius positioned himself behind Yutumham, ready to end the battle.
Meanwhile, a small crow flapped its wings toward the north of the coliseum. It was no ordinary crow but a messenger of the damned royalty. Its black plumage, rounded beak, and dull eyes carried it decisively toward the infernal castle. Its mission was clear: to inform the king that his reckless calf was engaged in a duel. It flew through the infernal atmosphere, wind brushing its feathers, the groans of the damned echoing in its ears. Upon reaching the castle, it admired its lord and, in an anxious tone, recited:
—Lord, Lucius is in the midst of a duel, and we are horrified.
The Devil, seated imposingly on his throne a massive seat shrouded in immeasurable darkness simply rose from his beloved throne. With a precise punch, he disintegrated the messenger bird, malice burning in his eyes as he fulfilled a critical purpose.