The metallic sound of the gates opening echoed throughout the corridor.
Vergil took his first step into the prison, the echo of his boots reverberating off the iron walls. The air was heavy, dense—a mixture of rust, dust, and compressed mana. The high ceiling and flickering lights created long, dancing shadows of their own accord, as if the underworld itself breathed through them.
Despite the hellish environment, the architecture was... surprisingly human.
The cells were lined up in symmetrical blocks, the corridors wide, and even the surveillance cameras were still there—though, of course, there had been no human guards for a long time.
Vergil took a deep breath.
Yes. He knew this place well.
It was here that, a few months ago, he had spent an entire afternoon crushing the resistance of every prisoner—demonic creatures, murderers, traitors, and fallen generals—until each of them knelt, recognizing a single name: Vergil.
