Hell did not wait for Jack Storm.
The moment he crossed the threshold, it answered.
The ground beneath his feet was different this time—no longer black stone, but glassy obsidian shot through with veins of violet light. The sky churned in slow, grinding spirals, thunder rumbling without lightning. The air pressed against his skin, heavy with expectation.
Jack staggered slightly as the infernal core in his chest reacted violently.
Not hunger.
Recognition.
"Yeah," Jack muttered, steadying himself. "I feel it too."
This was not the same Hell.
Or perhaps—it was Hell responding to him.
The platform rose again, but larger now. Taller. Engraved deeper. The symbols carved into it twisted as he stepped forward, rearranging themselves like a living language.
The Infernal Broker emerged without ceremony.
But something was different.
Its brass-like skin was cracked now, faint purple light leaking through the seams. Its smile—once precise—was wider. Hungrier.
"You survived," it said.
Jack stared at it. "You sent a collector after me."
The Broker placed a clawed hand over its chest in mock offense. "I sent a reminder."
"You almost got people killed."
The Broker's eyes flickered. "You did get people killed."
Jack's jaw tightened.
The demon souls began to surface from his core—far more than before. Dozens of them, compressed and writhing, each one screaming silently as they orbited him.
The Broker's voice dropped, reverent.
"You have been busy."
Jack didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on one soul in particular—larger than the rest, darker, warped.
The child's demon.
He pushed it away violently. It dissolved into ash before it could reach the platform.
The Broker chuckled. "Wasteful."
"Necessary."
The platform flared.
"Then let us begin," the Broker said. "Your first true upgrades."
THE FIRST UPGRADE — PURPLE FLAMES OF ERASURE
The air screamed.
That was the only word for it.
The symbols above the platform ignited, not red, not orange—but violet. The color bled outward, staining the sky itself. The demon souls were dragged forward, ripped from Jack's core by invisible hooks, their silent screams suddenly audible.
Not through sound.
Through thought.
Jack staggered as the screams pierced his mind—rage, terror, despair, hatred—all overlapping, all collapsing inward.
"Focus," the Broker hissed. "Or you will be consumed."
Jack planted his feet.
He didn't suppress the pain.
He accepted it.
The souls slammed into the platform and ignited.
Purple fire erupted—not wild, not hungry—but absolute. It didn't spread. It didn't roar.
It erased.
Stone vanished. Air collapsed. Even sound died where the flame touched.
Jack screamed as the fire surged into him, threading through his veins, rewriting something fundamental. His infernal core shattered—and reformed.
The Broker's voice echoed distantly.
"Purple flames do not burn flesh. They incinerate existence."
Jack fell to one knee as the fire settled into his hands, flickering faintly like dying stars.
"Anything caught within it—demon, spirit, construct—ceases to be."
Jack clenched his fist.
The flame obeyed.
Then vanished.
His breathing was ragged. His vision swam.
The Broker leaned closer. "Cost?"
Jack swallowed. "What's the cost?"
The Broker smiled. "You will never be able to unfeel their deaths."
Jack laughed bitterly. "I already can't."
THE SECOND UPGRADE — SOUL SCREAM
The platform shifted again.
New symbols emerged—spiraling inward like a vortex.
"This one," the Broker said softly, "is… personal."
Jack's instincts screamed warning.
"Explain."
"Trade six souls," the Broker said, "and you gain the ability to release the collected agony within you."
The symbols pulsed.
"Not outward. Inward."
Jack frowned. "Meaning?"
"Your enemies will hear every scream you carry," the Broker whispered. "Not with ears. With their mind."
Jack felt it then—the pressure building behind his eyes. The souls he carried weren't gone. They were stored.
Contained.
"Range?" Jack asked.
"Line of sight," the Broker replied. "Or proximity."
Jack thought of Crowe.
Of demons laughing.
Of possessed victims screaming as they died.
"Do it."
Six souls ignited.
Jack screamed as the pressure released—then stabilized.
He gasped, clutching his head.
"What does it do?" he rasped.
The Broker's smile widened. "You will see."
THE THIRD UPGRADE — TELEPATHIC SCREAM
The Broker raised both hands now.
This was unusual.
"Last offering," it said. "And the most dangerous."
The symbols carved themselves into the air, hovering inches from Jack's face.
"This is not a weapon," the Broker continued. "It is an echo."
Jack felt dread crawl up his spine.
"You may project your will directly into another mind," the Broker said. "Not words. Not commands."
"Pain," Jack said quietly.
The Broker nodded. "Pure, focused psychic collapse."
Jack closed his eyes.
"How many souls?"
"All of them."
Silence fell.
Jack opened his eyes slowly. "Then no."
The Broker tilted its head. "You will need it."
Jack shook his head. "Not yet."
The Broker studied him for a long moment.
Then it laughed.
"A pity. You are learning restraint faster than anticipated."
The platform sank.
The upgrades were complete.
But Hell was not finished.
THE BOSS — THE SPEAR OF DOMINION
The ground split.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
Something rose.
A massive humanoid form emerged from beneath the obsidian—over twelve feet tall, plated in bone and black steel, runes carved deep into its flesh. In its hand was a spear longer than a car, the tip humming with condensed malice.
Its face was a mask—featureless except for a single vertical slit glowing white.
The Broker stepped back.
"You wanted proof," it said softly. "Here it is."
The creature spoke.
"I am Varkath, Spear of Dominion."
Its voice shook the realm.
"Prove your worth."
Jack straightened slowly, purple flame flickering faintly around his hands.
"So this is a test," he said.
Varkath planted the spear into the ground.
"No," it replied. "This is execution."
The world detonated.
Varkath moved faster than Jack expected.
The spear tore through the air, splitting space itself. Jack barely rolled aside as the weapon obliterated the platform behind him, carving a trench that stretched into the horizon.
Jack retaliated instinctively—hellfire flaring.
Varkath didn't dodge.
It walked through it.
The flames bent uselessly against its armor.
Jack's eyes widened.
"Right," he muttered. "Purple it is."
He thrust his hand forward.
Purple flame ignited.
The spear's shaft vanished where the flame touched—ceased to exist.
Varkath recoiled for the first time, roaring in fury.
Jack felt the cost immediately.
Pain lanced through his skull as the souls screamed.
He staggered—but stayed standing.
Varkath lunged again, reforming the spear from raw hellmatter.
Jack raised his head.
And released Soul Scream.
The air distorted.
Varkath froze mid-strike.
Its massive body trembled as every soul Jack carried detonated inside its mind. Screams layered over screams—rage, terror, regret—collapsing inward.
Varkath howled, dropping to one knee.
Jack didn't hesitate.
Purple flame surged.
The demon king's chest vanished.
Not burned.
Gone.
Varkath stared down at the emptiness where its core had been.
"…Impossible," it whispered.
Then it fell apart—piece by piece—erased from reality.
Silence returned.
Jack stood shaking, breathing hard.
The Broker watched, fascinated.
"Impressive," it said.
Jack wiped blood from his mouth.
"Now send me back."
RETURN — FIRST BOSS DOWN
Jack emerged in the real world in the middle of chaos.
A warehouse district.
Fire.
Screaming.
And standing before him—
A massive breach demon, newly emerged, its form unstable, limbs dragging across concrete.
Jack didn't hesitate.
Purple flame ignited.
The demon ceased to exist.
Crowe watched from across the street as the impossible happened.
His hands trembled.
"…What did you become?" he whispered.
Jack turned slowly, eyes glowing faint violet now.
Something new.
Something dangerous.
Something earned.
And far below, in Hell, the Infernal Broker smiled.
Because Jack Storm had just crossed the first real line.