The cavernous depths of Hell yawned before Luca like a corpse waiting to be claimed. The air was thick with ash and sorrow, heavy with the weight of countless forgotten souls. The fires that once roared with infernal fury now whispered weakly, their glow a pale echo of what had been. The scent of smoke and decay lingered in every breath, a bitter reminder of destruction and neglect.
Luca's footsteps echoed against the cracked stone floor as he moved deeper into the abyss. His bare feet brushed over sharp fragments of obsidian and broken bone, relics of a time when Hell brimmed with endless torment and unyielding power. The warmth he carried within was not enough to rekindle this wasteland's former blaze, but it was a promise. A promise that the embers would awaken again.
He had returned, not as a conqueror, but as a guardian preparing a realm for what was to come.
In the dim, flickering light, two massive figures stirred atop broken thrones of blackened bone. Their forms, colossal and grotesque, still bore the marks of their former glory, the horns twisted like gnarled branches, eyes glowing faintly with an unsettling, sickly light. Yet they were shadows of themselves: weakened, diminished by centuries of silence and ruin.
Abadon, the Devourer, shifted his cracked scales, his voice a gravelly rumble that seemed to scrape the very air. "Father… or what remains of you."
Beside him, Cain, the Betrayer, let loose a hollow, bitter laugh like chains dragging over stone. "Returned to the ashes, are you? We thought you lost to the Shepherd's blessing, gone beyond redemption."
Luca's gaze was steady, his eyes glowing faintly with the twin flames within, the pure blue of the ancient grace, and the black of Yin's shadow. The fire of his grace simmered beneath the surface like a cold-burning coal, waiting to ignite.
"I am not lost," Luca said quietly, but with undeniable authority. "I am preparing."
Abadon's eyes narrowed, filled with scorn and old resentment. "Preparing for what? Your failure is evident. The blood of grace that once bound you is diluted. Your power pales beside what we once wielded. You are no longer the Father of Mercy. You are a broken shell."
Cain snarled, baring jagged teeth. "And yet here you stand, burdened with that same blessing. We are the devils of old, and yet " He flexed his claws, "....we are shackled by this... Malignance."
Luca's voice remained calm, a quiet storm beneath the surface. "Malignance is your weakness, yes. The weakest power a devil can wield. But it is not nothing. It is the foundation from which you must rise again.".... "had you been a common demon and descended through curses like others you would know that is where all devils started
Abadon let out a low growl, turning his gaze to the dim fires that barely flickered in the distance. "We are bound to Malignance because the flames of Hell have all but died. Our strength is drained, our will broken. We are but shadows clinging to what little remains."
"You will rise," Luca said firmly, stepping forward, his voice echoing with the weight of inevitability. "But not by the old fires alone. The world is changing. The coming storm demands that Hell be ready to receive the lost souls, the damned souls who will flood into this realm. Your strength will be rekindled but it will not come from pride or vengeance. It will come from purpose."
Cain's eyes glimmered with a mixture of bitterness and curiosity. "And you, shepherd of grace, will light the way?"
Luca allowed himself a grim smile. "No. I will prepare the path. But my place is not here among the ashes. My place is beside the boy Simon. He is the one who will reshape the world. Hell must be ready for what his coming will bring."
Abadon's voice softened, touched with something almost like reverence. "He is strong."
"Yes," Luca said quietly. "Stronger than I ever was. And he carries the burden I once bore the burden of guiding those who cannot save themselves."
Cain turned away, his lips curling into a bitter snarl. "Then perhaps Hell's true power lies not with us, but with him."
The two devils exchanged a glance, a wordless understanding passing between them. Their time was not yet come. They were but echoes of a past age, clutching the remnants of a once-great might, prisoners of their own weakness.
Luca raised a hand and from his palm spilled a small, flickering mote of blue-black flame the mingled essence of Blue Grace, Yin Depravity, and the faintest trace of Blood Grace. The flame danced, alive with both light and shadow.
"This flame," Luca said, his voice low and commanding, "will kindle your power. Rise, not in arrogance, but in purpose."
Abadon and Cain extended their hands cautiously. The Malignance they wielded flickered uncertainly, like dying embers stirred by a faint breeze. It fed on Luca's grace, trembling and wavering, but growing stronger.
The air shifted, heavy with an ancient hunger and cautious hope. The pale fires in the cavern brightened, flickering like newborn sparks struggling against the encroaching dark.
Luca turned away, the weight of his mission heavy on his shoulders. "I will not stay," he said quietly, "Simon still needs me. The boy is powerful, but he is young and even power cannot protect him from what is coming."
Behind him, the faintest echo of a roar rose from the depths, a sound not of rage but of awakening. As if Hell itself were stirring, sensing the breath of life returning to its cold veins.
Luca looked once more at the devils behind him once masters of torment, now guardians of the flame's future. "When the world burns, and souls are torn from their flesh, Hell must be ready to receive them. You will be ready."
The devils bowed their heads in acknowledgment, their eyes glowing a little brighter with the mingled flame of Malignance and the spark of Luca's grace.
And in that dark silence, Luca stepped forward toward the gate that led back to the mortal realm.
His place was no longer in the depths.
His place was by Simon's side.