If there was one thing the Pride Ring did better than every other layer of Hell, it was pretending everything was fine.
From up high above the smoke, the neon, and the arrogant spires Pride looked almost civilized. Grand towers. Clean streets. Gold-trimmed mansions. A skyline dressed in stained glass and old-world architecture, desperate to mimic the Heaven it could never return to.
Alastor knew better.
Hell never changed.
It only performed.
His voice echoed inside Malerion's mind like a calm radio broadcast tuning in over static:
> "Since you're going to spend more time here, dear boy, let's give you a proper introduction."
There was amusement in his tone not mocking, simply entertained.
> "The hierarchy of Pride has… layers. More than the other Rings. More rules. More eyes. And much bigger egos."
He walked through the streets unseen, unbothered and narrated like a man touring a museum full of relics destined to crack.
THE COURT OF PRIDE
> "At the highest level sits Lilith."
A tall palace tower glittered in enchanted crystal and pink sigils.
> "Queen by social agreement rather than brute force. Elegant, terrifying, and let me be clear smarter than everyone else here combined."
His grin sharpened.
> "The demons here don't obey Lilith because they fear her. They obey because they know she could ruin them socially, politically, culturally and never lift a finger."
A pause.
> "Now, Lucifer…"
Static hummed.
> "…is complicated."
The King's influence was quiet here not absent, just… distant.
Lucifer existed more as a symbol than an active ruler a myth in his own castle.
> "He rarely interferes. Especially now. And of course…"
His tone dipped into dark amusement.
> "…he cannot harm sinners. A rather inconvenient detail for a king."
THE GOETIA
A carriage drawn by winged serpents passed beneath him. Inside a noble with too many jewels and too little humility.
> "The Goetia hold political weight here even though their homes lie in the tallest layers of Hell. They claim ancient blood, celestial lineage, and superiority."
His chuckle rolled like velvet coated thunder.
> "Most of them are fragile birds with sharp beaks and soft skulls. Paimon, however?"
Silence.
A flicker of respect just barely.
> "Paimon is old enough to remember Heaven's architecture. He acts rarely but when he does, the Ring listens."
THE OVERLORDS
Alastor stopped before a gilded plaza banners, guards, obsidian statues.
> "Below royalty sit the Overlords sinners who clawed their way high enough to be impossible to ignore."
Faces carved in stone:
Powerful. Violent. Territorial.
> "They are the real power in Pride. The Court negotiates around them not above them."
One statue was shattered, fresh cracks still glowing where Paimon erased the fool behind it.
> "As you've seen… some of them forget their place."
THE IMPS City.
Further down the glamor faded.
Narrow streets. Crowded alleys. Music. Crime. Commerce.
Life.
> "Imps make up most of Pride's workforce. Messengers, builders, entertainers, mercenaries."
His tone softened unexpectedly.
> "They survive not through strength… but adaptation. A skill even Overlords underestimate."