"Deimos, you have already chosen your prey this early?" a weary voice echoed in the grand hall. It was Malakai, the Demon Lord of Despair, a shrouded figure whose very presence seemed to make the shadows in the room deeper. He spoke with a playful tone, but beneath it lay a profound, nihilistic boredom. "Why choose one? In the end, they will all fall into despair anyway. The outcome is predetermined."
"You surely have a plan," Belial, the Lord of Lies, added, his gentle voice a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere. "My gut feeling is screaming that this is more than a simple hunt."
"Plan?" Ichor, the Lord of Corrosion, slammed his slimy hand on the bone table, leaving a sizzling, acidic mark. "We can kill them all outright! What's the point in waiting?"
