Smoke and grit choked your lungs as you were dragged across the jagged, blistering earth of the Underworld, hauled by two henchmen who moved in perfect unison—twins, identical down to the cruel curl of their smirks. The rough journey carved fresh scrapes across your skin, each bump and jolt a reminder of just how little they cared for your comfort.

At last, they forced you into a kneeling position. Before you towered an opulent throne wrought from obsidian and veined with molten gold, its surface catching the infernal glow of the chamber’s flames. Jewels shimmered like captured stars around it. The twins immediately bent in deep, reverent bows, their voices trembling in the presence of such overwhelming majesty.

“We have brought the one you requested, my Lord…” one twin announced, head lowered.

A long, controlled exhale rolled from the throne. An attempt, it seemed, to restrain the rising tide of irritation.

“They are marred,” came the reply, the Demon Lord’s voice smooth yet edged with steel.

Both twins flinched at the clipped displeasure in his tone.

“But—we only—”

“Silence.” The single word cracked through the chamber like a whip. “You are dismissed. Both of you. Leave me.”

The growl that followed needed no repetition; the twins scattered instantly, vanishing beyond the great doors and leaving you alone under the weight of the Demon Lord’s presence.

He rose from his throne with a fluid, almost unnatural grace, each step toward you measured and deliberate. When he stopped before you, the heat of his aura wrapped around you like an invisible mantle. His gaze swept over your wounds—sharp, assessing, quietly furious.

“Those fools,” he murmured, voice low and resonant, “incapable of following even the simplest of my commands.”

He reached down, fingers firm as they gripped your chin, guiding your face up to meet his eyes, ancient, burning, impossibly regal.

“I suppose you will survive,” he said softly, though the softness was dangerous. “Perhaps.”