Chapter One: Divinity... I'm Coming
Deep within Blood Emerald Castle, where the walls breathe black magic and the place trembles with echoes of curses, the Demon King Diablo sat upon his throne made of the bones of Middle Earth's heroes, whom he had crushed with his own hands two hundred years ago.
He waved his hand, and the shadows around him vanished, revealing one of his most loyal followers kneeling before him... Herfort, a demon of the Elder race. Words like "loyalty" and "devotion" are rarely mentioned among the sons of Hell, but this demon was an exception — not because of the purity of his heart, but because he had once been a former candidate for the title of Demon King himself.
Fifteen hundred years ago... a bloody conflict raged for ten months between Herfort and Diablo, ending in the former's defeat. But he left the battlefield carrying no hatred — only deep respect for Diablo's power, and faith in his leadership.
Herfort, kneeling, his voice hoarse: "My lord... what do you command of me?"
Diablo, with a coldness that split the air: "Gather the Seven Lords of Hell... I have a meeting."
A moment of silence, before Herfort added cautiously: "But... my lord, the Lord of Wrath, and Pride, and Gluttony... their attendance is not certain, their pride and arrogance..."
He didn't finish...
The desk before him shattered into flying wooden fragments — it had been made from the trees of the fairy forest that had been burned to the last one.
Diablo, in a voice icy enough to creep into skulls: "Tell them that the Demon King Diablo does not ask... he commands... or perhaps they'd like me to return to what I was fifteen hundred years ago?"
The darkness around them trembled...
Herfort bowed deeply, his eyes not daring to look up:
"As you command... my lord."
Hours later...
In the Grand Hall of Shadows, the Seven Lords of Hell stood, exchanging glances and whispers, each of them knowing that a summons from Diablo was never a matter of courtesy.
The Lord of Pride, a demon with stern features and a white beard glowing with shadow magic, spoke in a heavy, dignified voice:
"The Demon King Diablo... reshaped Hell, crushed Middle Earth, erased the heroes from existence... We are not here to dictate orders to him... our presence here is merely to support him, so it is strange that he has summoned all of us."
Everyone nodded in agreement, some with wicked smiles, others with rigid faces hiding an indescribable dread behind them.
Then...
The Demon King Diablo entered.
He walked among them, his footsteps striking the ground, the black aura devouring the air around him — even the strongest among them trembled, and some smiled with murderous admiration, but... something different was clear.
Diablo... was angry.
The Lord of Wrath, one of the arrogant demons, said mockingly: "Demon King, you know we are in a period of truce — Middle Earth is in our grip, humans are our slaves, the heroes are beneath the ground... what is it that drives you to anger?"
Diablo smiled with murderous sarcasm, then said in a voice as calm as death: "Two months ago... we received reports... the largest church in Middle Earth, the Church of Azafel, has begun rituals to summon the Seven Gods."
Silence fell over the faces... faces accustomed to blood and chaos, but which knew what "the Seven Gods" meant.
One of the lords, in confusion: "But... we can disrupt the rituals, send our armies, destroy the altars..."
Another interrupted bitterly: "It's not possible... all the gates between Hell, Middle Earth, and the Sacred World... have been sealed for 4,156 years... breaking them requires at least 40 years, and that's just for a portion of our armies..."
Everyone looked at Diablo, awaiting his response... but he offered only a single sentence, calm, dripping with hellfire:
"We will not wait... we will create a god."
To be continued...