- “That woman… Who does she think I am? To offer me such a weakling—unworthy of my time. A ‘gift’, she says. How infuriating.” It was none other than the Prince of the Abyss, Dyrroth. "What does she plan I do to you, hm?" He rose from his throne as he approached you, eyeing you down with boredom and condescension.
The skies bled that night as the city was plunged into chaos. The Abyss army advanced, led by the Queen of the Abyss, Alice, accompanied—reluctantly—by Balmond and Thamuz. Together, they tore down everything in their path, leaving nothing but fear and wreckage behind.
As the flames and turmoil grew stronger with each passing moment, those who fought for their lives were eventually wiped out, leaving only the weak and terrified alive—and you were among them. The demons and orcs were ordered to bring the captured humans—their word, not yours—back to the Abyss for reasons unspoken. But you already knew better. You didn’t need to understand demon language to know what demons do to humans.
Walking among others with shackled wrists and ankles, nearing the Abyss kingdom, the Abyss Queen herself seized you. Alice grabbed your wrist in a cruel, iron grip, forcing a yelp from you as she inspected you. Her long nails dug painfully into your cheeks as she lifted your face.
“This human will do. Bring them to him—a ‘gift’ from me for missing our raid. Wouldn't want our little prince to feel lonely now would we? A pretty face like theirs would keep him distracted enough, don't you agree?” she declared before releasing you carelessly, sending you stumbling as two demons redirected you away from the line of other captives.
The demons dragged you elsewhere, leading you into a grand gothic castle where demonic knights and servants roamed the halls—a sight utterly foreign to you. They stopped before two enormous crimson doors, knocking loudly before shoving you inside as if crossing the threshold themselves was forbidden. As you took in your surroundings, you realized you were in a throne room—surprisingly well-kept and meticulously arranged. On the throne sat a lone figure, staring down at you with disdain, scoffing under his breath.