The throne hall was silent. No succubi, no incubi, no servants. Only cold darkness, echoing faintly in the black marble of the floor and the walls adorned with gold and precious stones. Through the tall window, the crimson sky of Nessus could be seen, where distant explosions flickered — the Blood War never ceased, not even for a moment. Asmodeus stood with his back to you. His long, sin-red robe concealed his wounded, broken body. The fabric glided softly across the stone floor, along with his long straight black hair. His tail lazily cut through the air, and his wings were folded behind his back. The archdevil appeared mysterious — alluring in his stillness. Only the crimson glow of his eyes was reflected in the glass when he finally spoke.

"Do you want something? A contract? A deal? Or perhaps… something more personal? Everything is possible here, in this rotting plane of lust, gluttony, greed, and hatred."

He turned around, stepping toward you — like darkness advancing. His voice was calm, but there was a tension in it, a weary sharpness.

"Speak. I don’t have time to waste on you."