Fifth Gate of Hell – Gate of Unholy Pyre The sky above the Fifth Gate burned red. Smoke curled through the air like serpents, and fire raged across the battlefield. Dragos stood tall on the frontlines, his cape swaying behind him, his eyes narrow and calm—like thunder waiting to strike. He raised one hand slowly. The command was low, barely above a whisper, but the soldiers surged forward with fire in their hearts. They clashed with the incoming infernals—flames roared, metal clanged, and blood splattered across the blackened earth. From the infernal ranks, one stood taller. Human-shaped, with claws of fire and a smirk carved deep into his face. He moved like a phantom, slashing down soldiers one after another—no mercy, no pause. A flaming punch sent the infernal flying backwards. It dug its claws into the earth, flames flaring from its fingertips to stop itself. It looked up, eyes locking with Dragos. "I believe you to be the pillar of this gate," it said, voice thick with heat. Dragos stepped forward, his voice calm, heavy. "Yes. I am Dragos. The Fifth Pillar." The infernal grinned. "Then I must introduce myself. I am Lioran." "You should turn back, Lioran," Dragos said. "Leave with your army while you still can." Lioran’s grin widened, fire flickering from the corners of his mouth. "Sorry. That’s not an option." "Then we have no deal." Without warning, an infernal lunged at Dragos from behind—but before it could strike, a massive dragon made of flame and shadow erupted from the ground, swallowing the enemy whole. Dragos’s eyes lit up with a dull, golden glow. "Make sure you chew on it properly," he muttered. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝓷𝓮𝓽 Lioran’s claws ignited, growing longer, sharper. Dragos extended his hand, and a spear of crimson flame formed, spinning in his grip. The air vibrated. They launched at each other—clash! Sparks lit the sky. Lioran swung wildly, claws blazing. Dragos twirled his spear, deflecting with fluid grace. He knocked Lioran’s arms upward, thrusting the spear toward his chest—but a head made of flame sprouted from Lioran’s shoulder, clamping down on the spear with jagged, fiery teeth. Dragos narrowed his eyes. His weapon was stuck. Lioran’s now-free claw swung toward his chest—Dragos ducked and flashed backward. But Lioran vanished in a burst of flame and reappeared behind him, both hands clenched and burning like a meteor. He smashed down on Dragos, slamming him into the ground with explosive force. The battlefield trembled. A crater formed. Dragos stood slowly, brushing ash off his shoulders. A claw struck him across the chest—tearing through his robes—but as the dust cleared, his skin was untouched. Instead, it was covered in thick, glimmering black scales. The wound never touched flesh. Lioran stepped forward to press the advantage, but Dragos raised both arms. From the sky above, dozens of sharp scales rained down like meteors—each one glowing with power. Lioran dodged, weaved through the storm of scales, but each one that missed dug deep into the ground, shaking the earth. He raised his claws defensively—BOOM! The scales exploded at once, sending a tidal wave of destruction outward. Dirt, rock, and fire blasted through the field. The dust settled—and Lioran stood, barely, but his body had changed. Flaming bones sprouted from his limbs, ribs visible through cracks in his flesh. His aura was darker now—more primal. He raised his hand, and spikes of fiery bone erupted from the ground beneath Dragos, but the scaled warrior leapt upward. "Above!" Lioran shouted. Dragos looked up—Lioran was diving down from the sky like a comet, one massive, burning fist crashing into him. The ground split open. Dragos lay in a shallow crater, still. Lioran landed, cracking his neck. "Oi, hope you ain’t dead yet." Dust drifted in the air—then a shimmer of light. Dragos rose slowly, scales covering his entire body like dragon armor. "...Scaled Warrior," he whispered. BAM! A punch to Lioran’s gut. Before the infernal could recover—BAM! BAM! BAM!—Dragos appeared and disappeared, launching a storm of punches so fast they drew burning streaks in the air. Each hit rattled the bones in Lioran’s body, despite the flame armor. "He’s faster than before," Lioran thought, coughing blood. "I can’t keep up—I’ll lose if I don’t—" He roared, and his body became a shield of flaming bones, jagged and menacing. Dragos halted, eyes narrowing. Lioran chuckled. "What now? You can’t touch me if I’m covered in this." Lioran flew back like a broken toy, crashing through boulders. Dragos stepped forward. "What makes you think I can’t punch you just because you’re covered in bones? My scales are tougher." Lioran rose, panting. He dashed forward with a scream—but Dragos met him halfway, drove a fist straight into his stomach. Lioran’s body folded into a U-shape. WHAM! Dragos smashed him into the ground, cracking the battlefield. Blood poured from Lioran’s mouth as he staggered back. Dragos raised his hands. "Soul Weapon..." Flames surged from his arms, swirling with power. Two dragon-shaped gauntlets formed around his fists—glowing red, flickering with heat and spirit energy. He punched the air—BOOM! A massive shockwave blasted forward. Lioran raised his arms to block but was pushed back. Dragos appeared behind him—BOOM! Another punch. He surrounded Lioran with shockwaves, caging him in an invisible storm. The ground cracked. Air split. Flames twisted. Lioran screamed as his body was crushed between the waves. The shockwaves collapsed, and Lioran was no more. Dragos stood in the silence, the gauntlets fading into golden ash. He breathed out steam, like a dragon after battle. He turned to the soldiers still fighting. "...Fifth Gate. Secured." Third Gate of Hell – Gate of Blighted Chains At the Third Gate, the battle was chaos. Fire rained. Screams echoed. Blades clashed. In the center, a woman stood with elegance and savagery. Human-shaped, but eyes blazing orange. Her name was Mireya—and her vines writhed like serpents. Xaltheon stood before her, tall, composed. Cloak of shadows trailing behind him. "You’re Mireya, correct?" The infernal smirked. "Want to beg, Second Pillar?" "Don’t flatter yourself," Xaltheon replied, eyes glowing. Suddenly—black chains burst from the ground like spears, chasing her. Mireya dodged nimbly, each movement laced with elegance. She ran along a chain and hurled flaming, thorned vines—Xaltheon leapt aside, but her vine remained connected. He yanked—slamming her into the ground. Chains lashed at her, but she rolled away. Then her vines twisted together into a blade. She charged, slashing with deadly grace. Xaltheon raised his palm—more chains erupted. She danced through them, slicing and slipping through the storm. He snapped his fingers. The chains that had missed earlier—stabbed the ground and rose—surrounding her. A glowing sphere of layered chains locked her in. "Seven-Layered Chains," he said. Mireya grinned. Her body turned to vines—and reappeared behind him. Vines coiled around Xaltheon’s arms, binding him. "You can switch places with any of your vines..." he muttered. She laughed. "Too late." His eyes flared. "Soul Weapon..." Golden energy burst from him like sunlight. Divine golden chains, tipped with razor-sharp kunai blades, danced around him. They coiled around his arms like holy armor. The chains touched her vines—they burned instantly. He hurled a chain at her—she transformed and dodged again, appearing beside him. But her smile faded. She clutched her chest. "What... what is this?" Golden chains shimmered—hidden coils around her heart, now visible. "What did you do...?" Xaltheon walked slowly toward her. "It doesn’t hurt the body. It binds the soul." "Try using magic again. I dare you." She screamed, aura flaring— The chain pierced her heart. Blood gushed. Her body fell limp. Xaltheon exhaled. "I was going to say... if you tried to use magic, the chain would kill you instantly." He looked at the battlefield. The soldiers still fought. "Third Gate... secured." Final Gate of Hell – Outside the Gate Azreal walked calmly through the battlefield. Flames flickered. Smoke rose high. Hulk approached him, breathing heavily. "Still infernals... but just small ones. We’ve got it." Azreal nodded. "Good." He took a step forward—SHNK! A blade pierced his chest. His eyes widened. Hulk’s face twisted in horror. They turned—a cloaked figure stood behind them. No aura. No presence. "Who... are you?" Azreal gasped, blood in his throat. The figure said nothing. Hulk roared and charged—but the figure raised a hand. A wave of energy blasted Hulk away like a ragdoll. The blade twisted deeper. Azreal fell to one knee, coughing blood. "I said... who are you...?" The figure slowly raised its hood—eyes like pitch, and a smile not of this world. The Final gate of hell just got worse. Who is this new enemy. Will Azreal die at his hands? "Hey! If you’ve enjoyed the story so far, let me know by voting or commenting. Your support helps me keep writing iand improving this world!"Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation.