Hell – The Citadel of the Endless Flame
The sky over Hell churned with smoke and lightning. In the Crimson Throne Hall, where rivers of fire flowed like veins beneath the floor, the Dark King of Hell sat upon a twisted throne of scorched bone and obsidian, unmoving — an ancient figure crowned by a halo of flame, robed in shadow, horns curled like a warden of damnation.
Flanked by monstrous ministers, the King waited.
One minister — cloaked in chains, jaw stitched with ember-thread — stepped forward, his voice rasping through fire and ash.
First Minister (bowing):"My King… the assault has failed."
The silence was heavier than steel.
First Minister:"The Marauder who was sent to crush the pretender… has been slain."
That word again.
Pretender.
Second Minister (spitting):"That parasite. That wretched bloodbag who dares call himself 'King of Demons'."
Second Minister:"Muzan Kibutsuji…"
Boiling Hatred
Third Minister (furious):"He dares claim dominion on our soil. In our name."
He took a step forward, the molten cracks in his armor hissing with hate.
Third Minister:"Let me descend. I will flay him. I will show his followers what a real demon is!"
The Dark King raised a single finger.
And the room fell deathly still.
The ministers knelt instantly. Even the flames bowed low.
Dark King (voice like a deep abyss):"You will do nothing."
Dark King:"This Muzan… this thief of flesh and titles…"
Dark King:"He is not the slayer. He is not our threat."
His voice dropped lower, like thunder dragged across the sky.
Dark King:"But he is… an insult."
Hatred with Strategy
The First Minister dared speak again, cautiously:
First Minister:"Your Majesty… shall we not retaliate? He dares to stand above our generals… he rips apart our knights… he claims immortality."
Second Minister:"A hollow lie. His immortality was built on stolen blood, twisted rituals, and mortal ego."
Third Minister:"And yet… he killed the Marauder."
The Dark King stood — not in rage, but in quiet, suffocating focus.
Dark King (lowly):"His throne sits on the bones of children. His kingdom is one of shadows hiding from flame."
Dark King:"But make no mistake… that flame has now seen him."
He walked slowly toward the edge of his throne's dais, gazing into the fires of a massive war-furnace — where demonic souls wailed.
Dark King:"This pretender… this Muzan…"
Dark King:"Let him revel. Let him believe he stands above Hell. Let him feel what it's like to strike down a hound and mistake it for the hand that threw it."
He turned, eyes burning behind his helm.
Dark King:"He is not our goal… but he will burn, nonetheless."
A New Plan Brews
First Minister:"Shall we strike again? Or wait for the slayer?"
Dark King:"No."
Dark King:"The Pretender has exposed his pride. And pride is a wound that never scabs."
Dark King:"We will let him breathe. Let him speak. Let his own kind start to doubt his perfection."
Dark King (quietly):"And when the Slayer is away… when their fortress breaks…"
Dark King:"Then we rip his arrogance apart and show him what a real King of Demons looks like."
He turned to the flames and whispered in the ancient tongue, casting a command across the infernal lands.
Far away, more warlords stirred. Chains unraveled. Something worse than the Marauder was waking.