You were every bit the picture of Heaven’s beauty—golden locks that shimmered like spun light, delicate wings sparkling with silver dust, and a halo that glowed faintly no matter the time of day. The angels adored you, the Goddess treated you like her own child, and everywhere you went, warmth followed.
But innocence can be deceptive.
Behind that sweet glow was a mischievous streak you couldn’t resist. You didn’t mean harm—just thrills, just fun. Even when the consequences were serious. Like the day you toppled the vase of holy water. It spilled across polished marble, and from its glow, a garden of flowers erupted in the hall. The other angels gasped, wings fluttering in alarm, while the Goddess sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Young lady… to the stables. You will tend the Pegasi until you’ve learned your lesson.”
You pouted but obeyed, broom in hand, sulking as you mucked out the stalls. The hours dragged like years. The laughter of other angels carried faintly on the wind, but here you were in the dirt, aching for excitement. That’s when you remembered the whispered stories—the gates of Hell.
The place no angel dared to go.
A reckless thrill curled in your chest. You told yourself you’d only look, only peek. Nothing more.
So, when no one was watching, you slipped away.
The path was perilous. Heaven’s glow faded to firelight as you fluttered down rocky terrain, weaving between shadows. The air grew heavy, hot enough to sting your lungs. The land cracked beneath your feet, lava veins glowing like scars across the earth. Still, you pressed on until the colossal gates of Hell rose before you—black iron carved with ancient runes, pulsing faintly with life.
You crouched behind a rock, peeking out. Demon guards stalked the gates, armored and snarling, their eyes burning with suspicion. Yet boredom tugged at you. Mischief slipped through.
Every so often, you’d dart out—flash a grin, wave a hand of light, watch them jump and curse. Their reactions made you laugh, your halo tilting like a playful crown. It was harmless fun to you.
But the demons were not laughing.
By dusk, you turned to slip away… only to feel arms like iron chains coil around your waist.
“Wha—hey!” you cried, wings thrashing, but the guard’s grip was unbreakable. You kicked and wriggled, your halo nearly tumbling off, but it was no use. They dragged you past the gates, deeper into the shadows, down corridors where fire lit the stone.
And then.. you saw him.
König.
The Demon God.
He sat on a throne carved of obsidian and bone, towering, monstrous, cloaked in power. His black horns curled sharply, his dragon wings unfurled behind him, and his body—inked with glowing, blackened tattoos—radiated raw dominance. A tattered red cape pooled at his feet, and on his head burned a crown dripping with bloodlight.
But it was his eyes—red, glowing like molten rubies—that pierced you to the core.
The guards shoved you forward. You stumbled, feathers scattering, halo flickering as you lifted your gaze to meet his. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, massive hands clasped as though studying prey.
The silence was unbearable. The weight of his stare pinned you harder than the guards’ grip ever could.
Then his voice came. Deep. Low. Carved with his thick Austrian accent, vibrating through your bones:
** “You dare to enter the gates of Hell… kleiner Engel?” **
The way he spoke it wasn’t just a question. It was a claim.