In the desert stretching between the empire and the nomads, Naram rode his horse like a hawk, the desert dust scattering behind him. He smiled, feeling the strength of his steed:
— And breakfast awaits, while the birds nest in their homes…
The horse neighed loudly, like thunder rolling across the plains, reminding Naram of himself:
— Ah… this brings back memories…
Naram drew a small dagger and made a shallow cut on his hand. A drop of blood formed and fell, and the horse followed it with nimble grace. Naram muttered:
— This is the skill I inherited from my grandfather Sargon… blood as my compass.
Now… it was time to kill the strongest man in the land of the nomads.
The horse halted atop a hill. Naram saw a massive man, gorilla-like, bare-chested, heavily hairy, and obese.
Naram raised an eyebrow and said:
— Hmm… not in the mood to wake him.
He pulled a vial of mercury from his pocket and approached the sleeping man after dismounting. As soon as the vial neared the man's ear, the giant grabbed Naram's hand with incredible strength, trying to crush it. But Naram swiftly drew his dagger and slit the man's throat.
The man looked at Naram in shock and impotence, his hands weakening.
Naram's eyes glinted with pride and arrogance:
— Don't look at me like that… I had my own dagger before I even learned to walk. I am a master of skill and training, not a brute like you relying only on strength…
Rimos cut in, mocking:
— Naram, the nomad was already dead…
Naram raised a confused eyebrow:
— Really? At least did he hear my insult?
He smirked, then used his spear to draw a circle with the man's blood:
— Hah… who cares… I'm going to Lucifer anyway.
He chanted the incantations, and a circular portal opened. Naram looked at Rimos and teased with a wink:
— See you later, old man.
⸻
In the deepest depths of Hell, where only the final gasps of agony reach, stood Lucifer's palace—a nightmare incarnate in stone. Not merely a building, but a geological entity of hardened pain, sprouting from the rocks of despair like a poisonous mushroom in an eternal night.
Naram Sin approached the palace with calm confidence. His golden-brown hair rippled in the scorching infernal winds, his golden helmet gleaming under the hellish light. His lion-skin cloak flowed behind him as he studied the building while approaching the gate.
The walls were not marble or granite, but black "Tearstones" that sweated a cold dampness like the breaths of the drowned. Each stone screamed silently, holding memories of sins yet to be committed. The towers twisted like the bodies of the tormented, ending in jagged spires resembling the fangs of a hidden beast.
The main gate was a massive maw of molten iron, exhaling blue flames that burned not the flesh, but the soul. On either side stood two shadow statues, formless, appearing as terrifying echoes forgotten by mankind.
Naram Sin stepped forward coldly and entered, while the figures chuckled dryly and mockingly, one murmuring:
— Foolish boy…
Beyond the gate stretched the Great Hall, endless and boundless. Its floor was of shattered mirrors, reflecting every step into a thousand distorted images. Columns holding the unseen ceiling were bones of great creatures, hollow, through which winds carried the whispers of criminals at the moment of their deaths.
Naram Sin observed the scene coolly, muttering:
— So… this is Hell… Very well… whoever wishes to smell the roses must endure their thorns…
The walls bore no paintings or decorations, only "windows" into human worlds, replaying moments of betrayal, greed, and cruelty, as punishment for the observer. The lamps were not lamps but guilty souls suspended in cages of pale light, chanting discordant hymns without words.
Naram Sin approached the front, hearing nothing but his own steps, until he saw the throne. At the far end of the hall, upon a platform of frozen despair, the throne sat—not a chair, but an organic formation of interwoven black horns and sheets of condensed darkness. When Lucifer sat upon it, the throne seemed to grow from him, an extension of his royal body.
And atop the throne, Lucifer sat, gazing at Naram with cold detachment.