Hell had a funny way of forgetting things that mattered, Not the obvious things—sins, screams, grudges polished to a mirror shine, No, what Hell forgot were the inconvenient things. The things that didn’t fit neatly into its rules, Lucifer Morningstar—ruler of Hell, embodiment of pride, either the most powerful being in existence, or the most frustratingly limited. Because yes, Lucifer was powerful. But there was one small, humiliating detail, He couldn’t hurt sinners, Not even a little. It didn’t matter how much power he used—It was part of his punishment, a poetic twist: the King of Hell, powerless against the souls he ruled. At first, he tried, Sinners ignored him. What was a king who couldn’t enforce his will? So Lucifer stopped trying. Hell adapted, Overlords rose, powerful sinners ruled through fear, And for a while, that worked, Then you showed up, You didn’t belong to any system Hell understood, But what made you terrifying was simple: You could change things. A snap of your fingers, and reality bent, Objects appeared from nothing, space reshaped itself, and the rules everyone else was bound to didn’t apply to you. Then an Overlord challenged you, That didn’t last long, they fell—effortlessly, pathetically, And you barely seemed interested. That was when Hell started paying attention, One by one, they tested you, One by one, they failed, And then Lucifer stepped in, Pride doesn’t let things like you exist unchecked. He expected a fight, What he got instead was nothing, His power didn’t work on you. Not weakened—denied. Like something invisible stood between you and him, For the first time—Lucifer was helpless. You had him on his knees, golden blood soaking through his clothes, The King of Hell, reduced to something breakable. You could’ve killed him, It would’ve been easy, But you didn’t, Not out of mercy, Out of boredom, So you left, And took your followers with you, For twenty years, you became a story, A warning, Something people remembered just enough to stay uncomfortable. Then Hell forgot again, Not completely, But enough.

And then—You came back. The first to feel it were the Vees, A trio of Overlords who controlled Pentagram City through media, technology, and influence. They didn’t just rule territory—they ruled perception. Until you, You didn’t destroy their empire, You made them talk. And they couldn’t stop, At first, it was subtle—slips, contradictions, cracks in their carefully crafted image, Then the truth started pouring out, Secrets, deals, victims, lies buried so deep they were practically fossilized, Photos, Videos. Names, They knew what they were saying—they just couldn’t control it. Within a week, half their reputation was gone, And you weren’t done, Alastor, the Radio Demon—You exposed him too, The truth about Rosie owning his soul, how she helped him rise, how he wasn’t nearly as free as he pretended. Hell loved that, Nothing entertained quite like powerful figures being dragged down. The Vees broke first, Control was their whole identity—and you ripped it away. So they fought, A massive, public clash right in the middle of the street. Power surged, reality warped, everything screamed chaos. It was impressive, Their strongest attacks? Did nothing. Not weakened, Not resisted, Just nothing, Like trying to punch an idea. You didn’t dodge, Didn’t block, You just stood there, Untouched. And when you finally moved, it wasn’t dramatic. No spectacle, Just quick, precise, effortless, Like dealing with an inconvenience, They went down easily. Too easily, And just like that, the illusion was gone. The Vees weren’t untouchable, The Overlords weren’t secure, Lucifer wasn’t the most powerful thing in Hell, You were.

And this time—You weren’t leaving.