As the cold air surrounding the frozen lake seemed to crystallize even further, King Yama stood resolutely before the bound form of Lucifer, his powerful presence unwavering despite the overwhelming infernal chill. The chains that shackled Lucifer were a twisted amalgamation of divine and infernal metal, glowing with faint celestial light, their weight and complexity hinting at the immense power required to imprison such a being. But Yama had come to end this farce—he had come to make sure that this was the last time Lucifer's dark influence would be allowed to spread.

  Yama’s amber eyes flickered with ancient knowledge as he stepped forward, his voice low but commanding as he began to chant in a language that had not been heard in eons—a language older than time itself. Each word rang out like the tolling of a distant bell, heavy with the weight of forgotten rituals. The very air around them seemed to tremble, the winds howling as though they were aware of the impending shift in balance.

  Lucifer’s crimson eyes narrowed with malicious amusement as he watched the king’s movements, a sardonic grin playing across his lips. “So, it comes to this, does it?” Lucifer sneered. “You, Yama, intend to unseal me? After all this time? Do you think that spell, that pathetic little incantation of yours, can truly bind me?” His voice dripped with contempt, his gaze unwavering from Yama. “I’ve seen empires rise and fall. I’ve torn the fabric of universes apart with nothing more than a thought. And you, Twelfth King, believe you can trap me forever?”

  Yama's expression remained unfazed, his voice steady as he continued to chant the ancient words. The very ground beneath them seemed to resonate with the sheer magnitude of his power. The spell he was invoking was not one of simple magic; it was a forgotten art, a forbidden technique passed down through the annals of infernal history, one that had been used only once before in the darkest corners of Hell.

  Lucifer chuckled darkly, the sound rich with arrogance and malice. “Foolish king. What you fail to understand is that I am Hell's very heartbeat. Without me, Hell would collapse. You think you can simply cast me aside, lock me away in chains like some common demon? Do you even know what you are unleashing by attempting such a foolish act?” He flexed his bound hands, the chains creaking under the pressure of his vast power. His smile widened. “You’ll regret this, Yama. And when Hell trembles, you will be the first to fall.”

  But Yama did not falter. His voice grew louder as the incantation reached its crescendo. Ancient symbols began to glow beneath his feet, tracing an intricate pattern into the ice. The energy in the air shifted, thickening and pulsating with an almost unbearable pressure. The frozen lake groaned beneath them, cracking as the weight of Yama’s power surged.

  Lucifer's eyes widened for a split second, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “No. You don’t understand, do you?” he snarled, his voice rising in anger, but it was too late.

  With a final, thunderous word, the spell was unleashed.

  The chains binding Lucifer shattered with an explosive crack, sending shards of divine and infernal metal spiraling outward, each fragment burning with an unholy light. The power that had been holding Lucifer in check for millennia was undone, and with it, the very foundations of Hell seemed to quake in response.

  Lucifer’s laughter filled the air—maniacal, all-consuming. It was as if the heavens themselves had cracked open. His form shimmered and twisted, the chains falling away to reveal the full extent of his dark majesty. His massive wings unfurled with a deafening rush, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the entire Ninth Circle. His crimson eyes, glowing like twin suns, burned with an insatiable hunger.

  “You fool,” Lucifer’s voice boomed, rich with an ancient fury. “You dare to unleash me? Do you not see the chaos you’ve invited? Hell is mine to command! I am the power that drives this realm. And now…” His laugh turned dark and violent, echoing through the frozen expanse. “Now Hell will burn in my name!”

  The ground beneath them cracked open as Lucifer’s power began to warp reality itself. The very foundations of the Ninth Circle buckled, fissures spreading like cracks in glass. The temperature dropped to unbearable extremes as molten rivers of lava surged from the cracks in the earth. The winds howled with the fury of an ancient storm, and the skies above darkened as though Hell itself was waking from a long slumber.

  King Yama’s expression remained grim, his amber eyes narrowing in determination as the full weight of what he had unleashed began to settle in. Lucifer’s freedom was a monumental risk. It had been a calculated gamble, one Yama had hoped would bind the archdemon to a new path. But as the infernal energy poured from Lucifer like a tidal wave, Yama knew that he had made a mistake. A terrifying mistake.

  "You're right," Yama muttered, his voice barely audible over Lucifer’s victorious laughter. “Hell will burn. But not in the way you think.”

  Lucifer's eyes glinted with amusement as he hovered in the air, his immense power radiating from him like a dark sun. "You truly think you can stop me now? Foolish king. The chains are gone. Your realm, your precious Hell, will unravel. Your little empire—all of it—will be mine again."

  Yama’s hand shot out, and his aura flared with a brilliant infernal light. The temperature around them plummeted, and a deep growl resonated from the very depths of the abyss. “I didn’t come here to play games, Lucifer. You may be free, but you will not have control. Not yet.”

  Lucifer’s smile faltered as he realized the ground was shifting again, this time beneath his feet. The ancient seals Yama had placed in the foundations of Hell were not as easily undone as Lucifer had thought. The boundaries between realms were beginning to fragment, destabilized by the unleashing of Lucifer’s power. The archdemon’s victory would be short-lived if the very fabric of Hell tore apart before his eyes.

  But Lucifer only laughed louder, his voice reverberating across the Nine Circles. “Let it break. Let it all fall apart. In the end, there will be nothing left but me.”

  The air around him crackled with dark energy, and Hell’s very heart began to pulse with the rhythm of his laughter. As Yama prepared for the coming battle, his amber eyes flashed with renewed resolve.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  In the vast, twisted expanse of Hell, a palpable shift reverberates through the fiery abyss. The usual cacophony of screams and wails falters, as if the very air holds its breath. The ground trembles, cracks splitting open like a dark prophecy, and the fires burn with an eerie intensity, casting deep shadows that seem to writhe and pulse.

  Hell's denizens, be they demons, fallen souls, or lost spirits, grow still, caught in a rare moment of hesitation. There’s a subtle yet undeniable presence, one that lingers like an oppressive weight in the atmosphere. Even the eternal torment of the damned seems to quiet as if the infernal realm itself recognizes the ancient, unfathomable power now sweeping through it.

  Lucifer’s essence fills the air, like a distant storm cloud before the storm, a sense of familiarity and dread that stretches into every corner of the underworld. His will is felt in the trembling of the ground, in the flickering of the flames. Time slows, and even the boldest of the damned shrink away, as if the very concept of defiance would be swallowed whole by the darkness he commands.

  For a moment, there is no sound but the heavy pulse of his presence, the echo of his arrival, powerful and absolute. The rebellion that once roared in the depths of Hell now feels like a fragile echo of what was, and the future of this forsaken place seems bound to a new, unseen order.

  In the eighth circle of Hell, Lucifer's presence was felt much more vividly compared to all the other circles...

  " Im-Impossible" the guide

  The atmosphere turned extremely heavy, as every single demon, monster, and soul, felt the return of Lucifer.

  As the battle raged on, both the rulers and champions took an excessive amount of damage: King Minos staggers, his once-imposing figure weakened by deep cuts and bruises, while Cerberus limps, its three heads growling in pain as blood seeps from jagged wounds, the Minotaur groans, its horns broken and its body battered from battle, and Amon drags his massive frame forward, his armor cracked and scorched, the strength of his demonic form faltering under the weight of his injuries. Gorgonath's jagged scales crack and its heads twist unnaturally, while Kalruun stumbles with molten lava sputtering from its cracked skin, Umbrieth flickers erratically, its tendrils struggling to remain solid, and Terrorox limps heavily, its blood sizzling on the ground as it drags its massive form forward, still burning with rage despite its wounds.

  But, the moment Lucifer essence was felt, it was the first time that brief a period of a pause occurred.

  " W-What it is happening? Why does it seem like something horrible just happened?!" Shouted the soul, as if the very sense of his life was taken again. A foreboding sense of fear filled him up every inch.

  " Lucifer has returned..." whispered the guide, daring not to believe it himself.

  The eight rulers, eight champions, and Groviko were all looking toward the barrier with a sense of dread.

  " The Prince has returned..." Lucifuge Rofocale was the first respond

  But before anything else could be said, Groviko’s manic laughter echoed through the chaos, his eyes wide with terror, realizing the return of Lucifer, he raised the mysterious object high. The object’s surface shimmered with an unnatural glow, and fear gripped Groviko’s heart—his master had warned him about this, but the time had come, and it was no longer a choice. With a shaking hand, he activated the object, Groviko watched the Eight Rulers and Cerberus, his eyes filled with a mix of respect and fear for their unmatched power and unwavering strength, but as the last echoes of the chaotic battle faded, his expression darkened as he turned to them and coldly declared, "The battle is over..."

  and in an instant, a force far beyond anything he had ever imagined erupted, pulling everything around him into a deadly vortex. A scream filled the air—the guide’s desperate cry as their body and soul were yanked toward the swirling abyss within. “No! This isn’t what I—!” The guide’s words were snatched away, swallowed by the encroaching darkness.

  The Eight Rulers and Cerberus stood frozen, a foreboding sense of dread settling in as the object floated ominously in the air, its power undeniable. A ripple of unease ran through the group, their collective strength faltering for a brief moment, as they sensed the presence of something far beyond their control. Cerberus growled low, its three heads snarling at the unknown force, while the Rulers’ expressions twisted from disbelief to alarm.

  With a sudden, violent rush, the swirling void expanded, pulling Groviko, the Eight Champions, and everything around them into the object’s dark maw. The last sounds to be heard were the agonized cries of the guide, the wails of the souls, and the desperate shouts of the Rulers as they were dragged into the endless darkness, swallowed whole by the mystery Groviko had unleashed. The object hovered alone in the air, its power still pulsing ominously, leaving behind only a chilling silence, and the sense that something far worse was yet to come.

  Meanwhile, in the Fourth Circle of Hell ( Greed) is a grotesque expanse of shattered earth and endless rivers of blood and molten gold. The ground pulses beneath the weight of countless demonic feet, slick with the viscous remains of torment. Jagged stones and scorched peaks rise from the crimson sea, littered with the broken bodies washed in molten gold from those who dared challenge the wrath of Hell’s infernal guards. The very air is thick with the stench of decay, a buzzing hum of agony echoing through the land. Above, a sky of shattered obsidian hangs heavy, casting a sickly red glow over the realm of carnage, where eternal battles rage for power, dominance, and survival.

  Demons rush with frenzied fury toward the First Circle, drawn towards the portal. Clawing and biting, using weapons and spells tear through flesh, as blood floods the ground paved with gold. The fighting is endless—a relentless torrent of violence, a cacophony of twisted roars, and the crackle of broken bones. In this chaos, the vicious struggle for ascension continues without pause, the ruthless pushing forward, indifferent to the lives they trample in their path.

  Yet, amidst this storm of carnage, a single figure moves—King Xeruo, the mastermind of this rebellion. His molten armor gleams faintly in the hellish light, an unyielding exoskeleton forged in the heart of infernal fire. His steps are quick, as he moves through the chaos without fear, his crimson eyes cold and calculating...

  A tremor suddenly shakes the very foundations of Hell, a violent ripple that cascades through the molten earth. The skies crack open with fire, and the air grows thick with a pressure Xeruo hasn’t felt in millennia. The flames flicker as if recoiling from an unseen presence, and the ground beneath his feet groans, shuddering with the weight of something ancient stirring from the depths.

  Lucifer.

  "The Morning Star has returned." A sense of shock and disbelief was plastered over Xeruo face.

  The realization pierces through him with brutal clarity. He stands motionless, his molten armor pulsing faintly under the blood-red glow of the sky, his eyes narrowing as his mind races. It was never supposed to happen like this. He had expected Lucifer to remain absent, bound in his prison, forgotten by time, a relic of an age long past. Xeruo had crafted his reign in the void left by the Morning Star’s absence—calculated, precise, and unchallenged. He had planned to use Lucifer, to take reign over hell, and claim the full force of the Morning Star’s power for himself.

  Xeruo's lips twist in frustration, as hastened his speed, moving deeper into hell...