The Ashen Plains stretched like a sea of pulverized obsidian, their shards glinting under a crimson sky torn by silent lightning. Hot winds carried spectral whispers, remnants of damned souls, as the Great Tyrants—Gills, Soehpt, Kira, Tyrnat, Yulius, Nera, Bhaadon, Solom, Orak, and Razhïel—advanced after their triumph over the Tower of Radiance. Their Rings of Tyranny hummed softly, an echo of their victory against the Fallen Archangel and Dawn Guardians, but also a reminder of Satan's command: prove their worth for the Crown of Black Flames. Razhïel's unmasked face, his broken mask, and his threat to the heavens—"Tell Alkahël she's next!"—still resonated, as did Gota's warm smile and Natass's enigmatic chuckles, trailing them like a shadow of mystery.
Gills paused by a cracked monolith, his scarlet flames glinting like pensive embers. "That tower was just the start," he murmured, his voice tinged with sharpened intuition. "Satan's testing us… but for what?" His eyes settled on Natass, probing for a crack in his mischievous smirk.
Kira, leaning against a rock, cracked her Astrugg Cestuses, a smirk on her lips. "Test or not, I smell a scam," she said, her tone blending defiance and mistrust. "What are you hiding, imp?" She shot Gills a conspiratorial glance, their unspoken bond bolstering their vigilance.
Soehpt, brushing a runic ash on the ground, narrowed his eyes, his blue flames dancing like scrutinizing specters. "The Rings… their energy's shifted," he observed, his analytical voice searching for patterns. "As if they're waiting for a signal."
Tyrnat, his cloak of shadows rippling, leaned against a boulder, a calculating smile on his lips. "Satan wants blades, but at what cost?" he murmured, his suave voice tinged with opportunism. "Maybe we can turn his game to our advantage."
Yulius, with Massacre driven into the ground, let out a rough laugh. "Let him come with his chains, I'll break them!" he said, his eyes sparkling with brutal joy. He spun his sword, a near-playful gesture.
Nera, weaving a shadow thread between her fingers, studied Gota, who walked beside Natass. "Our dear Abyssal Lady knows things," she murmured, her eyes glinting with cunning. "And Natass… he plays too well to be just a guide."
Bhaadon, hovering slightly, fixed his gaze on Gota, a stone levitating beside him like an instinctive shield. "You're telling us everything, right?" he asked softly, his voice heavy with hope more than doubt. Gota returned a warm smile, her spectral medusas swaying. "Everything that matters," she murmured, an unreadable glint in her eyes.
Solom, one hand on his Ivory Staff, placed a reassuring hand on Bhaadon's shoulder. "The truth will come," he said, his voice calm like a beacon in the storm. Orak, apart, scanned the horizon, his spear resting on his shoulder. "I just want this over," he muttered, his tone weary but alert.
Razhïel, unmasked, his runic scars glowing under the ashen light, stared at the sky, his golden eyes haunted by his past. "The heavens know we're coming," he murmured, his voice an echo of vengeance. "But Satan… what does he truly want?"
Natass stepped forward, his black horns gleaming under the lightning. "My dear Tyrants," he called, his shrill voice cutting through the wind, his smirk widening. "A moment, before we reach the throne. We must talk… of chains." Gota, at his side, nodded, her warm smile masking a newfound gravity.
Gills crossed his arms, his flames glinting. "Speak plainly, Natass," he said, his voice firm but curious. "What do you know?"
Natass chuckled, flapping his wings to hover slightly. "Satan's preparing a cursed infernal pact," he revealed, his yellow eyes sparkling with serious malice. "A ritual to bind your Rings of Tyranny to his control. Once sealed, you'll be his eternal slaves, blades without will." He paused, letting his words sink in.
Kira let out a dry laugh. "Slaves? He can dream on!" she said, her cestuses crackling. "Why trust you, imp?" Soehpt narrowed his eyes, his blue flames intensifying. "Because the Rings… they hum like a cage closing," he murmured, his tone grave.
Tyrnat tilted his head, a sly smile on his lips. "A pact, huh?" he murmured. "And you, Natass, free us out of pure kindness? Or do you want the Crown?" Yulius grunted, Massacre glinting. "Crown or chains, I'll cut through it all," he said, a spark of defiance in his eyes.
Natass raised a claw, his smirk softening. "The Crown? It's safe, beyond Satan's reach," he said, a cryptic glint in his eyes. "But listen, this is bigger. The power of the Black Flames… it doesn't belong to Satan." He paused, his words falling like stones into a tense silence.
Gills frowned. "Explain," he ordered, his flames flaring. Natass chuckled, his cane glinting. "What we forged—me and my kin, in the Abyss Forge—were fragments of the primordial demon's soul, the ancient god of the hells… our true master, Mephisto."
The revelation struck like lightning. Soehpt stepped back, his blue flames flickering. "Mephisto?" he murmured, his mind searching for references. "A legend… or more?" Kira clenched her fists, her cestuses crackling. "You're saying Satan's an imposter?" she said, her tone mixing disbelief and anger.
Natass nodded, his yellow eyes blazing with rare intensity. "Satan couldn't have defeated Mephisto alone," he continued. "I still don't know who his allies were—Monarchs, the heavens, or worse?—but he took us, me and the throne's imps, to forge the Rings and Crown from Mephisto's fragments. He claimed his power… but not his essence."
Tyrnat let out a cold laugh. "Fascinating," he murmured. "So, the Crown is more than Satan claims. You're offering us a shot at it?" Nera wove a shadow thread, her eyes sparkling. "Or manipulating us for your own game," she murmured, a cunning smile on her lips.
Gota stepped forward, her medusas swaying gently. "Natass speaks the truth," she affirmed, her voice warm but firm, her eyes fixing Bhaadon with sincere tenderness. "He taught me to see beyond the hells' lies. Listen to him… for all of us."
Bhaadon approached, a stone levitating beside him. "You knew this from the start?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion. Gota placed a hand on his arm, her smile soothing. "Not everything," she murmured. "But enough to protect you. Natass showed me the way."
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Flashback: An Ancient Forgotten Kingdom, Ten Years Ago (Gota's POV)
The ruins of a forgotten kingdom sprawled under a frozen aurora sky, where iridescent clouds floated like shattered stained glass. Collapsed towers, draped in luminescent vines with turquoise and magenta blossoms, shimmered in a soft mist, their mosaics narrating lost wars. Fountains, still flowing, sang a crystalline murmur, and the air carried a scent of jasmine and ancient ashes. Natass had brought me here, far from the Black Eden, to train in this vibrant sanctuary, a secret refuge he called "The Lost Radiance."
I was sixteen, a Nephalem torn from the infernal tournament, lost but burning with resolve. Natass, his black horns glinting under prismatic rays, became my guide—not a cruel master, but an unexpected father. "Knowledge, Gota," he'd say, his shrill voice softened by rare warmth, "is the blade no one can parry." He taught me infernal runes, tracing glyphs in the air that danced like fire butterflies, and strategies to outwit the Monarchs, his tales vibrating like epic sagas.
In a courtyard paved with gleaming gems, he trained me relentlessly. "More precise!" he'd shout, dodging my spectral medusas with diabolical agility, his wings flapping in a burst of laughter. When I stumbled, exhausted, he'd lift me, his claws gentle on my shoulders. "You're a blaze, my dear," he'd whisper, his yellow eyes sparkling with paternal pride. One night, under a rose-crystal arch, he handed me a black artifact—the Medallion of Knowledge, a runic gem pulsing with an abyssal glow. "Keep it secret," he whispered, his tone grave. "It holds my wisdom… and your freedom." He taught me to hide it, to play the hells' game, to mask our bond. "Why me?" I asked, moved. He smiled, a vulnerable glint in his eyes. "Because you reminded me we can choose our chains."
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Back to the Present
Gota snapped back, her medusas quivering. "Natass gave me a future," she said, her voice soft but resolute, her eyes fixed on the Tyrants. "He wants to offer you the same. Satan is not your master…"
Bhaadon, fists clenched, murmured, "You're my light, Gota." His words, heavy with love, made Gota's eyes shine. Solom nodded, a golden spark in his palm. "We fight for this," he said, his voice a rock in the storm.
Natass approached Gills, his claws brushing the Ring of Tyranny. "One last thing," he said, examining Lilith's mark on his arm—a rune pulsing with a silvery glow. His yellow eyes narrowed, a frown creasing his face. "No runes of domination or subjugation," he murmured, puzzled. "Knowing Lilith, that's… suspicious. The Queen of the Black Eden has a plan, and I don't like not knowing it." He stepped back, his smirk returning. "I'll dig, my friends. Count on me."
A rumble tore through the air, and Primal Specters—massive shadows with claws of black flames, Satan's creations—rose from the ashes, their glowing red eyes fixed on the Tyrants. "A warning from the Monarch, no doubt," Natass growled, his cane glinting. "Show them your fire!"
Gills roared, a torrent of scarlet flames charring a specter. Kira dove, her cestuses pulverizing another in an orange explosion. Soehpt slashed with a Soul Blade, Tyrnat summoned Nidhoss, Yulius tore with Massacre, Nera bound with threads, Bhaadon crushed with a telekinetic storm, Solom electrocuted, Orak froze, and Razhïel shredded with explosive runes. Gota, her medusas immobilizing a specter, fought beside Bhaadon, their synergy flawless.
In moments, the specters collapsed, their flames fading into the ashes. Natass chuckled, striking his cane on the ground. "Splendid!" he called. "Now, prepare for Satan… and beware his chains."
Gills nodded, his gaze sweeping the group. "We head to the throne," he said, his voice resolute. "But we forge our own fate." The Tyrants agreed, their unity strengthened yet fragile, as the Ashen Plains faded behind them, the rumble of Satan's volcano calling like an inescapable verdict.