Pandemonium, the capital of Hell, loomed like a burning memory etched into obsidian — a city of blade-spires, echoing fire, and skies choked with ash.
At its heart stood the Throne Pit, a jagged circle of infernal marble descending into the deep. Here sat the Cadre of Ten, Hell's elite rulers — each older than nations, each the embodiment of sin, and none truly alive.
Lucifer, clad in tailored shadow and light, stood before them.
The First of the Fallen.
His six wings were half-unfurled as opposed to what a bystander would think..... in irritation.
"We are not gathered here for ceremony," he said coldly. "We are gathered because the balance is shifting."
Seated on the elevated, throne-shaped shards circling him were:
Lucarion, The Crown of Mirrors, Pride incarnate — silent, legs crossed, fingers laced in black gloves, eyes glimmering with cruel intelligence.
Astriel, Lust — her voice silk and venom, her throne shaped from writhing obsidian serpents.
Baelgor, Wrath — flame-haired and scarred, his axe resting at his side like a sleeping dog.
Ghazriel, Greed — morbidly beautiful, gold dust leaking from the cracks in his eyes.
Belzazhul, Gluttony — bloated, seemingly, sipping the soul of a saint from a wine glass.
Morbion, Sloth — draped in velvet and silence, barely awake, yet seeing all.
Asmodeus, second in rank, his armor cracked from eons of war.
Lilith, ageless, cross-legged, lips painted with sin, her gaze burning holes into Lucifer's.
Lucifer walked the circle slowly.
"The Djinn walks the earth again. Ramiel. The self-acclaimed Equal of Heaven."
Ghazriel scoffed, shifting the rings on his fingers. "That race burned itself out."
"He didn't," Lucifer replied. "He lives. He breathes. He remembers."
Baelgor slammed his axe into the floor. "Then we kill him."
"We've tried," Asmodeus said. "That failed. Twice. During the war and after. We had to seal him. He was one of the arch-angles before the fall"
Lilith tilted her head. "You want a war, Lucifer?"
"I want control."
Lucarion finally spoke, voice velvet and icy. "Ramiel's survival threatens our pact with the Throneless Realms. If he unravels the seals, others will rise. Sealed Djinns. Surahims. Forgotten Angels. The Veil will split."
"Then we break him before he becomes myth again," Baelgor growled.
Lucifer's smile was thin. Cold. "Then we will send The Crackin."
A silence fell.
Even Gluttony stopped sipping.
Morbion blinked once, the most reaction he'd shown in centuries.
"You would release that?" Lilith murmured.
"He is a beast," Lucifer said. "Bound in the Ebon Chasm. No wings. No eyes. But strength enough to shatter grace from bone. Ramiel is weak still. Let him feel hunted."
Astriel licked her lips. "And if The Crackin fails?"
Lucifer turned.
"Then Hell opens its gates."
He raised his hand and spoke the summoning in the tongue not meant for sound.
And far beneath Pandemonium, in a cage carved from pain, a creature as large as a lion stirred.
It looked like something between the crossbreed of a Siberian tiger and a Pitbull.
It's roar sent surrounding objects flying several meters away.
The hunter was about to be hunted.