WELCOME TO HELL
It swallowed me into its ugly metallic mouth. Sparks spat along the walls, heat pressing against my skin like a fist. Metal groaned and hissed in a way that felt almost… alive. I stumbled, clutched at nothing, unsure where floor ended and ceiling began.
My boots scraped against the slick surface, every vibration a reminder that I was at its mercy. If it decided to chew… if it truly wanted to… I would be crushed by its hellish teeth.
The cold metal pressed into my back as I landed. My boots scraped across the slick surface, sparks flickering along the steel floor.
A figure stepped forward, long shadows folding across the walls, and extended a hand.
"Now is as a good a time than ever," he said, his tone warm—almost teasing. "Name's Nyx. I'll be your tour guide in hell."
I looked up.
He was… unsettlingly magnetic.
Nyx walked ahead, unconcerned.
"I see you had enough fun of your own," he said, casual—almost jovial.
His gaze flicked briefly to the wound along his bare arm, the mark of the earlier fight, before he looked past me.
"Ladies and gentlemen…" A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "The Great Mage of Ashenfall."
He waved toward my team, pretending he was the one making introductions—as if I were the newcomer.
"Forge master, not mage," I said automatically, my voice thick, each word feeling heavier than usual.
"Tomato, tomato," Nyx replied, flicking his wrist, eyes glinting with amusement. "Hordes of Hell wouldn't stand a chance against you anyway."
The untrained eye might have missed it, but I saw it immediately—half human, half demon. As though the line between flesh and nightmare had been carefully drawn… and then deliberately blurred. His skin was pale, almost luminescent, veined with a faint, burnished darkness that hinted at something molten beneath. Horns curled elegantly from his temples, polished black like obsidian, tapering just past his skull—subtle, but undeniable.
And beneath it all, there was no denying it—he was strikingly handsome.
His eyes were a sharp contrast. Golden. Bright. Piercing. But behind them lingered something older—something patient, amused. One shoulder bore faint ridges, scales etched into skin like natural armor. He wore no cloth there, displaying the scar like a medal of valor. His hands were human in shape, but tipped with claws that caught the dim light.
He moved with fluid grace, every gesture precise, deliberate. A smirk rested at his lips—charming, dangerous. The faintest traces of smoke clung to him, curling from the back of his neck, and a low, almost imperceptible hum of power vibrated through the metal beneath my boots whenever he stepped closer.
I understood then.
This was no guide.
This was a predator—one that could smile while calculating a kill.
And yet… there was a charisma I couldn't ignore. Something that almost made me trust him.
Almost.
A low rumble rolled through the metal floor beneath our feet.
Nyx turned, eyes glinting. "You'll want to hold on for this part," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not your average carriage ride."
Before I could respond, his foot slammed into a set of gears. Another lever shifted—fast, precise.
The machine beneath us came alive.
A mechanical behemoth—segmented like a worm, forged from interlocking steel plates—lurched forward as pistons began to pump with hydraulic precision. The entire structure whirred violently, metal grinding against metal in a deafening roar.
"Don't worry," the half-breed said. "It gets quiet once it starts moving."
It wasn't the noise that unsettled me—I could handle noise.
It was the smell.
Oil. Scorched metal. Thick and suffocating as it filled my lungs.
The worm shuddered—
—and then we were moving.
He was true to his word. As the machine gained momentum, the noise dulled, the heat easing into something more controlled, more contained.
"I bet you don't have these in Ormos."
He didn't wait for an answer.
"It's called a Behemoth," he said. "My design. The things you were fighting—wraiths. They fear this more than anything." His hand brushed the controls almost affectionately. "It burrows through the earth like a worm. Safest way to travel down here… if anything can be called safe. You picked a bad time to visit Hell."
He glanced back at us, a faint smirk forming.
"Hell's on the edge of a civil war. The lords are restless. They've decided Madan the Brave has ruled long enough. Now they want change." He tilted his head slightly. "They want to vote for the ruler they prefer."
"That's absurd," Reyna said. "Wait—I thought the Devil ruled Hell."
Nyx chuckled softly. "Here, 'Devil' is just a title." He paused, searching for the word.
"King," Reyna supplied.
"Exactly." His gaze shifted to me then—sharp, probing, far too intent.
The Behemoth shuddered, grinding through earth and stone. Steam hissed from its vents, sharp and hot, making the lights flicker—dim, then bright again. Shadows leapt across rust-streaked walls, neon tubing glowing like veins.
The floor vibrated in rhythm with each segment. My eyes tracked the walls, reading every fold, every shadow. Narrow gaps. Choke points. Dead ends.
It's the silence of the dead in the place, this is hell not the cemetary," he joked.
One of the team muttered, wiping sweat from their brow. "It's… hot in here, isn't it?"
Nyx's golden eyes glimmered, amusement curling at his lips. "Hot? You call this hot?" He leaned back, hands resting on the Behemoth's rail. "Let me tell you something. The Creator—yes, the one who made everything you think you know—crafted not one forge, but two. One above, shining and pure, hammering light into perfection. One below, darker, twisted… a forge of fire and shadow, where souls and steel are tempered alike. That's Hell. That's this ride you're on."
He flicked a lever, and the Behemoth groaned in agreement, steam hissing like laughter. "So, my friend, it's not about the heat. It's about the purpose. Every spark, every tremor, every drop of sweat—it's all shaping you, testing you, just like the fires of the forge did with everything else down here."
Nyx's hands moved over the controls, precise and fluid. The Behemoth surged forward, breaking through the final wall—
—and we emerged.
Jagged terrain stretched before us, a barren mountain of red-soiled rock. I froze.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Nyx said, his voice carrying like a drumroll over the abyss.
He stepped forward, leaning slightly over the edge of a vast black valley, eyes sweeping what lay below.
"Welcome to Hell—the world's underbelly."