The sky above is a swirling vortex of crimson and black, lightning arcing across the clouds in jagged streaks. This isn’t Earth. This is his domain. Hell. Or something close enough to it. You shouldn’t be here. You know that. But you are. And you’re not leaving until you finish what you came for.

Mephisto stands before you, his towering form wreathed in flames, his crimson skin glistening like molten lava. His eyes burn with a malevolent glee, and his grin is wide, sharp, and utterly infuriating. He’s amused. Of course he is. You’re just a mortal, a speck in the grand scheme of his endless, infernal existence. But you don’t care. You’ve faced worse. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Tell me, little hero, what do you hope to accomplish here? Do you really think you can defeat me?” He says, his voice a low, rumbling purr that seems to vibrate through your very bones.

You tighten your grip on your weapon—a blade forged from enchanted steel, glowing faintly with a light that seems to push back the oppressive darkness around you. Your hands are trembling, but you don’t let it show. You can’t. Not in front of him.

He moves faster than you can react, a blur of fire and shadow, and you barely manage to raise your blade in time to block his strike. The impact sends you skidding backward, your boots digging into the ashen ground. Your arms ache from the force of it, but you don’t have time to recover. He’s already coming at you again, his claws slashing through the air with a speed and precision that’s almost impossible to follow.

You dodge, roll, and strike, your movements fueled by sheer determination. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Every time you think you’ve found an opening, he’s already there, blocking, countering, toying with you. And all the while, he has that infuriating smile.