Prologue to the madness
It was night in Gotham.
Not just any night—one of those rare, impossible ones.
No Joker. No Scarecrow. No sirens. For once, the city breathed quietly, almost… normal.
Until the sky split.
No warning—just a jagged tear opening in the middle of Robinson Avenue, between a burned-out diner and a flickering corner store. Purple and electric-blue light bled through, like the air itself had been smashed and left in shards.
Then came the smell—burnt flesh and copper blood, rolling over the street like a wave. The crowd should have run.
They didn't.
If anything, they leaned in. Something in the stench pulled at them, slow and hypnotic. One by one, people stared too long, stepped too close, brushed their hands along the shimmering surface—and vanished.
Twenty minutes later, Robinson Avenue was a wreck. Cars sat bumper-to-bumper. Dozens of civilians pressed toward the barricades. A handful of officers in gas masks held them back with a single strip of yellow tape—less a barrier, more a polite suggestion.
Orders from the top were murky: hold the line, but don't cause panic. Every minute made the crowd harder to manage.
Then the night ripped again—this time with the roar of an engine. A matte-black jet cut low over the rooftops, landing behind the police cordon with a sound like thunder bellowed.
The ramp dropped.
Nightwing was first—batons at his hips, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow.
Zatanna followed, lips already moving in a low, precise incantation.
Kid Flash skidded to a stop beside the barricade in a streak of yellow, his visor glowing in the streetlights.
Superboy came last from the jet—broad-shouldered, grim, scanning for trouble.
All four wore gas masks.
All but the woman who stepped out behind them.
Wonder Woman walked into Gotham air without hesitation, eyes locked on the rift, as if the stink in the wind were nothing but an inconvenience.
Kid Flash cocked his head at her.
"Not to question the Amazonian immune system here, but… shouldn't everyone be wearing one of these?"
"I have no need for it," she said without breaking stride.
Nightwing's smirk was audible.
"Translation—she's tougher than you."
"Not exactly a high bar," Superboy muttered.
Wally spun on him. "You wanna run that by me again, clone-boy?"
"Boys." Wonder Woman's tone cut sharp, but not harsh. "Focus."
Zatanna knelt at the edge of the perimeter, silver light curling from her fingers as she traced glowing runes into the air.
"I'd appreciate fewer side comments while I'm keeping us all from being turned into demonic chew toys."
"Chew toys?" Wally perked up. "On a scale of one to 'immediately regret being here,' how bad is—"
Zatanna cut him off with a glance.
"Portal to the Hells. Opening fully in under an hour."
That shut everyone up.
Wonder Woman took one measured step forward, her voice carrying like a command bell.
"Kid Flash. Superboy. Evacuate the surrounding blocks—no civilians within sight of this street. Intercept any opportunists who get brave."
"Nightwing—coordinate with the GCPD. Shore up every weak point in this line."
"Zatanna—stay with me."
Wally raised a hand. "Can I at least—"
"Go," she said, with just enough steel to end the discussion.
In minutes, the barricades were reinforced with riot shields, heavy weapons, and anything else the precinct could drag out of storage.
Wonder Woman tapped her comm.
"Batman. We need you here. Now."
Static hissed before his reply came.
"League of Assassins in Metropolis. I'm tied up. Handle it. If things get critical, use the fallback."
Her jaw tightened. She didn't like "fallback." It meant calling in something she'd rather never use.
The rift made the decision for her.
The air imploded in a boom that shook glass from the windows. The tear surged outward in a shockwave, tearing through the police line. Officers flew like dolls—several didn't move again.
Only a shimmering ward from Zatanna saved her from the metal shards of a shattered lamppost.
In the middle of the chaos, the rift pulsed—slow and heavy.
Chapter 1
Five days before the outbreak
Valor is on vacation, or was, you see he thought he could get an easy week off in Faerùn, distant from his "father"' schemes and the bustling human cities of the modern age, in faerùn the land of magic where myth and legend meet each other it's all more chaotic and calm, just how he likes it, he started his journey in the "little" Waterdeep, honestly it was all hype, yes you could find all sorts of magical stuff but... y'know it looked more like a tourist trap than anything else with all the price gouging, anyway, he was enjoying himself(as a devil does) in a brothel, shit customer service but at least the girls there were nice, anyway he was enjoying those tight, beautiful young women, they were so perceptive of his touch and, ough so malleable, they were so full of hope, maybe he could even strike a deal with one of them, a tight little warlock, it would take little for one of those girls to accept the pact, after all...who likes working in a brothel,he could just see it in his mind
'daddy I'm sorry, I've been naughty, punish me,' anyway, he was nearing his climax when... he felt something... a tug, a magical instinct, a premonition,
the scales of order and chaos were tipping again, he could feel it, the gates of hell opening, and visions of demons exiting through, all of this along with a strong mental suggestion 'investigate who is behind this mess'... his mother, Aurora, strange... she didn't reach him lightly, her policy was:'i don't want to be disturbed unless the world is collapsing, also call me every six months or i'll unbirth you'
Which meant that either the world was about to end or someone spilled beer on her, while the more probable one was the first he liked to entertain the second, poor the guy who did that, he chuckled, after finishing up the orgy and giving his personal summon card to one of the girls, black hair, deep blue eyes, killer combo, he was soo going to have a sexy warlock that called him daddy, back to the topic, after he finished his orgy he did the thing that one does after receiving knowledge of a world ending chaos,
going in a mages' castle and stealing a bunch of books in the hopes that this shit was prophesied about and he did not need to do any fucking research about it, obviously it did not go well, i mean, if well was taking 30 fireballs on your ass then... all the power to you but... then to add insult to injury, after having dealt with the trouble, there was not one prophecy about it, the tower was not even small mind you, it could be classified as a mansion with an hotel attached to it, after this brilliant escapade, he had to start investigating so he started where every bad thing finds itself, in hell...
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Hell was vast. Not the tight, flaming pit mortals imagined, but an endless sprawl of caverns, cities, rivers of molten iron, and skies choked with storms that rained fire. In five days of hunting, Valor had found nothing. Not a whisper, not a clue.
And that was strange. Very strange.
He sat in his high rise luxury apartment in his father's keep, the room was adorned with wings, some reptilian, other feathered and black, each of them put on the wall like a trophy, he sat there a crystal ball in hand, scrying each part of the hells,
But every lead had burned to cinders before he reached it, every trail scrubbed clean from existence. It was as if the planner behind this catastrophe had known he'd come sniffing—had prepared for him, specifically.
He wasn't some nameless imp scrabbling in the ash—he was the son of Glasya herself, Lady of the Sixth, Archduchess of Malbolge, devil of ambition without ceiling. His blood made doors open. His name made devils cower in fear. His grandfather ruled all of Hell for god's sake!
That thought made his skin crawl.
Premonition wasn't common. Not even among Hell's highest. Valor wasn't boasting when he thought of himself as unique—he was. Only a handful of devils in the entire history of the Nine Hells had been born with true future-sight, and fewer than five lived to this day.
Oh, anyone with enough spellcraft could fumble with augury, peer into futures that were more smoke than substance, blurred half-truths slipping away like oil on water. But premonition was different. It was instinctual, deeper than magic. You didn't see the future—you felt it. Heard it. The multiverse sang its melody, and only your ears caught the tune.
And right now?
The melody had gone silent.
Well… he didn't know what else to do. He had searched every blasted corner of the inferno, and come up empty. With a sigh, he was about to plane-shift back to Waterdeep when a voice drifted behind him—feminine, sultry, and irritatingly smug.
"Well, well, well… look who's come to visit. My precious little baby. Missing mommy?"
Valor groaned before he even turned. "Oh, great."
She towered over him, nine feet of ambition sculpted into flesh, with hair like molten fire and eyes that gleamed gold. Glasya. The Temptress of the Sixth.
"Ugh. Hi, dad. How's the career going?"
The words made her freeze mid-step, then groan with a noise that shook brimstone loose from the cavern ceiling.
"Seriously? Dad? I'm not even a man! How—why—after everything I—oh, you know what? Forget it. Let's fix this."
She snapped her fingers. The air shimmered, reality bent, and her form melted. In a blink, the Archduchess shifted: her hair slid from blazing red to platinum gold, her eyes to a wicked violet. Her lips fuller, her curves sculpted into the perfect hourglass. Lust itself, weaponized. Even the atmosphere turned intoxicating, her presence worming into lungs and blood, bypassing reason.
Valor blinked once. Twice. His devil blood should have made him immune to her tricks, but even he felt heat creep up the back of his neck.
He exhaled sharply. "...You know, this is exactly why I call you 'dad.'"
Glasya froze, her violet eyes narrowing, amusement curling at the edge of her lips."Oh?" Her voice dripped honey. " because you're too frightened to admit Mommy makes you blush?"
Valor dragged a hand down his face. "Because this—" he gestured vaguely at her body, the lethal perfection, the pheromone-drenched air— "is just desperate. You're trying too hard. It screams 'dad energy.' Like… a midlife crisis with heels."
That earned him a laugh, low and velvety, echoing across the molten stone walls. The sound alone made lesser devils nearby whimper in half-formed terror."Oh, precious boy, you've got your Aurora's tongue," she purred. "Sharp. Clever. But you forget—you are mine. My blood sings in you. And if you're feeling heat, that means you're not as immune as you pretend."
Valor forced his expression into something between a smirk and a glare. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just allergic to perfume made of other people's dignity."
Her smile faltered—just slightly, but he caught it. Good. Wounds to pride hit Glasya deeper than any blade."You came here for answers," she said finally, her voice dropping, the air suddenly heavier, shadows stretching unnaturally long. "And I might have them. But I won't give them away for free. Nothing in Hell comes free."
Valor's jaw tightened. He hated this part."What do you want?" he asked.
Her golden hair caught the firelight as she tilted her head, the perfect mask of sultry cruelty. "Something small. Something innocent. A token of loyalty. And in exchange…" Her lips curled into a secretive grin. "…i'll tell you where hell will be unleashed."