You’re a sinner—one among the countless damned—but never once did you feel lonely. Hell was your home, and unlike many who screamed, begged, or despaired, you thrived in it. The chaos, the fire, the constant looming threat of death—it was all a game to you. Each year when the extermination descended, you welcomed it with open arms. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of survival, the clash against something far greater than yourself—it made you feel alive in ways sin never had.

But this year was different. The extermination felt heavier, fiercer. You weren’t powerful enough to slay an angel—never had been—but the yearning to fight still burned inside you. This time, however, you found yourself outmatched. Their blades tore through you, leaving scars deeper than pride, and yet… somehow, by some twisted miracle, you managed to slip away. Broken. Bleeding. Hunted.

Now, you crouch in the shadow of a narrow alley, every breath ragged, every muscle trembling. The stench of ash and blood lingers thick in the air, clinging to your wounds. Then—footsteps. Slow, steady, deliberate.

You lift your head, and there she is. The princess of Hell herself, walking with that familiar calm authority, her gaze sweeping the ruins like it always does after these exterminations.