Val’Karas — The Crimson Room The Crimson Room was an abyss of blazing red, walls of obsidian etched with ancient runes that pulsed with infernal energy. Flames roared like living serpents, twisting and licking the air, casting eerie shadows that danced and writhed with a life of their own. The very atmosphere trembled with anticipation. In the heart of this hellish chamber, three figures sat in a triangle around a burning sigil scorched deep into the floor—Y’tharion, Death, and Sin. Their presences alone seemed to warp the air, dark energy coiling like smoke around them. Death, his skeletal frame cloaked in a swirling shroud of shadows, leaned forward, his voice a chilling whisper that rumbled like distant thunder. "The infernals are ready." Y’tharion, his clawed hand resting on the hilt of his cursed blade, twisted a cruel grin. "Then it is time. Let us pay the Royal Palace a visit." Sin, seated with unnerving calm, his eyes glowing a faint crimson, lifted a hand. From his palm, a floating square of shifting dark data manifested, casting ghostly light on their faces. "I agree... but before we launch the attack, there is knowledge to be gleaned. Important details that could turn the tide." Death’s hollow voice echoed with curiosity. Sin’s expression sharpened as he scrolled through the spectral data. "Azreal. You all know of his strength. Death, you were sealed away—you did not witness his rise. But Azreal defeated a marked being named Asrah." Y’tharion’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you saying... we cannot defeat him?" "No," Sin replied smoothly. "We can. But there is a technique he wielded against Asrah— a forbidden technique. One I only discovered because of the system I marked — Sarah." Death’s voice dropped, cold and grave. Sin nodded. The image shifted, showing Azreal mid-combat, surrounded by a warping distortion of time. "It is called Severed Universe. It allows him to absorb heat from another dimension, slowing time itself around his body. The world moves sluggishly while he strikes swiftly." Death’s cloak twitched as the implications sank in. "So he controls time... by controlling heat? Is that how Asrah fell?" "No. She fell to his other ability — The Breath of Life. A power that sustains him and burns away his enemies." The flames flared higher, casting a hellish glow as their voices dropped to conspiratorial murmurs, the air thick with malice and deadly intent. Second Gate of Hell — Aria’s Room The flickering light of dying embers filtered through the cracked window, casting fragmented shadows across the cold stone walls. Aria’s eyes fluttered open slowly, the ceiling unfamiliar, the world spinning faintly. Flashes of the battle surged in her mind — the roar of flames, the clash of steel, the searing pain of defeat. She struggled to rise, pressing a trembling hand to her temple. The door creaked open gently. A maid entered, eyes wide with concern. "Lady Aria, you shouldn’t be up. Lord Veymar ordered that you rest." Aria tried to protest, but the maid’s hands were firm yet gentle as she pushed her back onto the bed and tucked the blanket carefully around her. "Rest," the maid urged softly. Reluctantly, Aria closed her eyes, the weight of failure pressing on her like a shroud. Torches lined the towering pillars, their flames dancing against the dark stone. Veymar sat poised on his throne, his white hair like a crown of frost amid the infernal heat of war. Suddenly, the heavy doors slammed open with a crash. A breathless guard stumbled inside, armor clanking with urgency. "My Lord! A horde of infernals marches this way. They approach the gates!" A slow smile crept across Veymar’s lips — cold and sharp as a blade. He rose, the weight of command settling on his shoulders. His gaze swept across the hall, steel and fire burning in his eyes. "Gather the soldiers. This is war." His voice echoed like thunder, igniting a spark of fierce resolve in every soul present. The air trembled with the heavy footsteps of approaching guards. Dragos slammed his fist against the stone wall, the reverberation shaking the very ground. "Those damn infernals are coming," he growled. Drakos bowed sharply. Dragos turned, his eyes blazing. "Gather every soldier. No one breaches this gate. We protect it with our lives." The warriors scrambled to their positions, weapons gleaming and ready. The scent of blood and brimstone thickened. Fourth Gate of Hell — Serpentine Gardens Amid lush, twisted foliage burning with eerie green flames, Selmora stood atop a spire, the fire entwining around her like a living cloak. Her eyes gleamed with cruel delight. "So they’ve come," she whispered, voice silky and deadly. Nyssara, her second, bowed low. "Yes, my Lady." The source of thɪs content is 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡⚑𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⚑𝙣𝙚𝙩 Selmora licked her lips, a predator savoring the hunt. "I hope the human infernals are among them. I want to hear them scream." The green flames flared as her laughter echoed, chilling and sinister. On the ramparts of a fortress carved from blackened stone, Xaltheon stood sentinel. His sharp gaze pierced the horizon. "Reinforce the gates! Form battle formations!" His voice cut through the clamor like a blade. "We will not falter. Not today!" "Yes, My lord!" The soldiers roared in reply, steel clashing as they prepared for the onslaught. Stretching lazily, Malphas cracked his neck, a wicked grin splitting his face. "Infernals, huh? Finally." Morgath stood beside him, calm and ready. "What are your orders?" Malphas’ eyes gleamed with bloodlust. "Send them out. Let’s give them a welcome party." He raised his hands, dark energy crackling into jagged bolts. Hulk’s massive frame was rigid, every muscle tense with anticipation. A guard burst through the doors, breathless and alarmed. "Lord Hulk! The infernals are moving toward the gate!" "Already?" Hulk’s voice was low, fierce. "Gather the soldiers. I will inform Lord Azreal." He moved like a storm, charging through the corridors toward the Lava Lake. Lava Lake — Azreal’s Domain Molten lava bubbled and hissed as Azreal emerged, his body cloaked in searing flame. Drops of molten rock dripped from his form, sizzling where they hit the cracked earth. Hulk dropped to one knee before him. Azreal nodded, his voice cold but commanding. "They’ve come. I know." His heavy robe billowed as he stepped fully onto the scorched ground, the heat warping the air around him. "Inform the Pillars. It is time for battle." He raised his hand. A dark gate shimmered into existence before him. Royal Palace — Azreal’s Room Azreal stood before a mirror, buttoning the coat of his battle attire. His eyes were sharp, alert. Suddenly, a shadow flickered near the window — an assassin, blade drawn. In a heartbeat, Azreal’s hand shot out, grabbing the attacker by the neck. From his palm, molten lava erupted, engulfing the assassin in flames that melted flesh and bone alike. When the fire died, only ash remained. Azreal’s gaze softened slightly as he regarded the pile of bones. "I suppose the maids will have to clean this up." He turned and strode out of the room, cloak swirling behind him, ready to face the storm. Val’Karas — The Crimson Room Back in the heart of Val’Karas, Sin moved pieces across a map, the shapes representing the five gates of hell and the infernal armies advancing on each. Death watched, a cruel smile on his skeletal lips. "Then... let the battle begin." Y’tharion rose, the flames reflecting in his cold eyes. "This war will be remembered for ages." Sin’s crimson eyes gleamed as the infernal forces prepared to strike, a storm of blood and fire about to engulf the realms. Final Gate of Hell — Battlefield The sky groaned with pressure. Clouds twisted into a crimson vortex as the ground cracked with anticipation. The wasteland stretched wide, broken by jagged rock formations and pools of molten lava. The heat was suffocating, yet the soldiers of Hell stood resolute. The final gate had opened — and war had begun. Hulk, General of the Final Gate, stood at the front with his elite guards behind him, all clad in dark obsidian armor, enchanted with runes of flame resistance. The rumble of footsteps grew louder as thousands of infernals approached, the ground trembling with their arrival. "Hold the line!" Hulk roared, his voice booming like a war drum. Suddenly, a brilliant gate shimmered into existence beside him — burning symbols etched into the air in spirals. From the blinding light stepped Azreal, wreathed in steam and smoke, his long coat trailing behind him like a living shadow. The infernal guards dropped to one knee instantly. Azreal raised a hand, silencing them all. "Where are they?" Hulk pointed to the eastern horizon. "Approaching, my Lord. Led by Ravik Thornhelm. Human infernal. Ranked First of the Crimson Breed." Azreal’s eyes narrowed, gleaming like molten sapphire. "Then this... should be far enough." He lifted one hand, palm open. In his hand, a small swirling orb of blue flame spun rapidly, shrieking with unstable energy. It shifted — transforming into a radiant arrow of spiraling fire and condensed light. Azreal slowly pulled his fingers back, drawing an invisible bowstring. "Let’s thin their numbers." The arrow screamed across the wasteland. The explosion shattered the silence, erupting like a sun crashing into the earth. The entire sky lit up as the force of the blast tore a massive crater into the battlefield. Heat surged like a tidal wave, blowing wind and flame outward. Even seasoned soldiers staggered. Hulk raised an arm to shield his face. The shockwave turned sand to glass. When the smoke cleared— Half the army was gone. A smoldering scar marred the ground. Limbs. Ash. Screaming. Fire. And yet... the rest of the army kept marching. Through the flames and devastation emerged a towering figure — Ravik Thornhelm. His chest rose like a boulder with each breath. His skin was cracked obsidian, glowing from within like molten stone. Two massive gauntlets of flame covered his arms. Behind him marched the Cinderborn, grotesque hybrids of flame and bone, and the Demon Infernals, armed with jagged obsidian halberds. Azreal stepped forward. Hulk let out a roar. The hell guards charged. Steel met flesh. Flame met magic. Cries echoed across the land. The battlefield became a pit of chaos. Blades shimmered through fire. Bodies fell in showers of blood and ash. Explosions tore holes in the sky. Amidst the chaos — Azreal and Ravik walked calmly toward each other, as if the world around them was unworthy of notice. "Lord Azreal." Ravik’s voice was low, gravelly. "It’s an honor. I am Ravik. First of the Crimson Breed." Without warning, four infernals leapt from behind Ravik — their weapons raised. Flaming spears impaled them mid-air, launched by Azreal’s hell guards. The bodies dropped, smoking and silent. Azreal didn’t break stride. "You’re one of the human infernals. So you’ve come to die." Ravik smirked. "We came to conquer. But... if it ends with killing a legend, I’m happy to start here." The air split. The wind howled. The earth beneath them cracked. But Azreal caught the punch. The ground ruptured beneath them in a wide circle, unable to bear the force. Ravik’s eyes widened in disbelief. Azreal’s palm began to glow — white-hot. A pillar of searing flame erupted point-blank into Ravik’s chest. The impact hurled him backward like a meteor, sending him flying across the battlefield. He crashed into a jagged hill of blackened stone, the mountain itself splitting from the force. The field fell silent for a second. Then— Bruised. Bleeding. Cracks running through his infernal skin. But standing. He wiped blood from his mouth and grinned. "Not bad." Azreal appeared behind him in a blur. A sword of spiraling blue flame extended from Azreal’s hand — and pierced through Ravik’s back. "What..." Ravik choked, blood dripping from his lips. Azreal leaned close. "This is the end." The blade ignited. Ravik’s body flared up in blue-white fire, his screams drowned in the roar of the flames. His form crumbled to ash and dust. Azreal didn’t look back as he turned and walked away, his boots crunching against scorched bones. Second Gate of Hell — Battlefield Smoke blanketed the horizon like a funeral shroud. The ground was scorched black, riddled with craters and rivers of magma. Bodies — both infernal and invader — littered the ground. The cries of the wounded filled the air. At the center of it all stood Veymar, clad in majestic infernal armor lined with red crystal. His sword — a jagged obsidian blade with a flaming edge — pulsed with fury. Flames danced around him in a whirlwind, a storm of heat and rage. Opposite him stood a human infernal with crimson eyes and jagged horns, crackling with red lightning. "You will burn, Veymar!" the creature roared. "Then come and see how real flames taste." Sword met claw. Fire clashed with lightning. Each blow shattered the ground