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With a fierce cry, Nadir released her power, a wave of force that clashed with Belial’s, the collision causing a shock wave that swept through the burrow. Belial staggered, a look of shock crossing his face as he steadied himself.
Nadir took advantage of the momentary respite, her hand gripping Azimuth’s tighter. His ice-blue eyes met hers, and she saw the same determination reflected there. They were a team, and they would face this wrath together.
A growl rumbled in Belial’s chest, his aura flaring brighter as he prepared to lash out once more. Nadir felt her body tensing, ready for the onslaught, her own powers simmering just beneath the surface.
Suddenly, an ear-splitting roar echoed through the burrow, a sound so powerful it seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. Everyone froze, turning their attention to the large tapestry everyone used for porting in and out. A monstrous shadow was taking shape, as if the darkness from the depths of Sheol itself was about to port in.
Belial’s eyes, pools of liquid malice, flicked up to find an unexpected sight. A moment later, Ranna, the ever fashionable elder daemon, arrived with Hades, the God of the Underworld, following along behind her. Ranna was draped in long sapphire robes, her head crowned with a gleaming golden diadem nestled against her diminutive horns. Around her neck hung a shimmering amulet with an ancient symbol of wisdom and knowledge carved into its face, which Nadir recognized as the hierophant.
Hades strode in with a stormy aura enveloping him, as if to declare his very presence. His black garment clung tightly against his body and trailed behind him like an ebony cape. His face was contorted with rage, and his eyes glittered like two emeralds buried within coal. He brought an icy chill that disrupted the tranquil atmosphere Belial had been enshrined in.
“Belial, Prince of Sheol,” Ranna’s voice was a quiet hurricane, building tension in the silence. “Do you know why we’re here?”
Belial’s smile twisted. “I was enjoying a quiet evening, contemplating the finer things in life, like how to annihilate certain annoyances,” he said, a veiled threat hanging between the words.
Ranna, ever unflappable, simply raised an eyebrow. “It seems your pastimes have taken a turn for the reckless.” She raised her hand, producing an illusion of a shimmering sancre blade. “What exactly do you plan to do with these blades of yours, Belial?”
The image of the illicit weapons turned the big, blue daemon’s rage into a tangible entity. It crashed against the walls of the burrow, making the shadows themselves tremble.
“Nadir,” he spat out, his voice venomous. “She told you, didn’t she?”
His rage was an inferno, ready to consume, but Hades stepped forward, his hand raised, a barrier of divine energy materializing between Belial and Nadir. “Answer the question, denizen,” he commanded, his voice echoing with the authority of the ages.
Belial’s face contorted in rage, an animalistic growl escaping his throat. But before he could retort, the world tipped on its axis. The trap was sprung, and Belial, the mighty, was ensnared. His fate lay not in his hands, but those of his accusers, poised on the edge of treachery.
Belial’s fury seemed to falter; his gaze locked with Hades. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent standoff between two powerful entities.
“These are my sancre blades, crafted to destroy our kind. Under my direction, my children have been purifying Sheol of those daemons who feast upon humanity, tainting unending essence.”
Ranna cleared her throat. “But it’s not just specific daemons, is it, Belial? It’ll destroy some of their lineage too, won’t it?”
Belial’s rage was an oil-soaked bonfire, threatening to consume everything in its wake, but Hades was an ocean, extinguishing the fury with a force that echoed divine authority.
The God of the Underworld’s gaze fell upon Belial, a silent reprimand that cut deeper than any spoken word could. “Your aspirations have reached beyond your means, Prince. Indiscriminately killing your own kind is a crime I cannot abide,” his voice was a rumbling thunder, resounding with a finality that left no room for debate.
Belial snarled, a feral sound, but the fire in his eyes dimmed in the face of the god’s icy resolve. The scent of defeat, bitter as gall, filled the air, the acridity of it filling Nadir’s nostrils and making her eyes sting. But she watched, unable to tear her eyes away as Hades took a step forward, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
“I cast you to the depths,” Hades proclaimed, a hint of savage satisfaction in his tone. A bright flash of light swallowed Belial whole, and when it receded, he was gone.
A deep, ominous silence filled the burrow after Hades’ proclamation, as if his words had physically sucked the air out of the room. Belial was gone now, and with him, potential salvation for her and her cabal mates. Nadir stood in shocked disbelief, feeling an immense sense of dread as the full realization of their plight sunk in.
And then, Ranna’s request cut through the tense silence as if nothing of consequence had just occurred. “My lord, I request custody of Belial’s former possessions, including his children, Nadir, Azimuth, Kobol, and Orias.” Her voice was a velvet caress against the stony silence of the burrow.
Hades’ eyes narrowed at Ranna, his thoughts hidden behind an inscrutable expression. Yet, despite his initial hesitation, he conceded, honoring her request for her part in uncovering the treacherous Belial. His hand rose, an otherworldly glow surrounding his fingers. “In recognition of your service in exposing his treachery, I grant this request.”
A feeling akin to a shiver passed through Nadir, a cold, tingling sensation that ran the length of her spine. It was like a thread being cut, then tied anew. She, along with Azimuth, Kobol, and Orias, were no longer connected to Belial. They were all Ranna’s now. The sensation was disorienting, leaving her feeling adrift, as if the ground beneath her had shifted. Their fates were rewritten in that moment, leaving them suspended in a future full of uncertainty.
With another flick of his hand, Hades initiated the transfer of powers. It felt like a swirling vortex, pulling at the essence of Nadir, Azimuth, Kobol, and Orias, an otherworldly force severing their bonds to Belial and weaving new ones to Ranna. The sensation was disconcerting, a pulsing shift that unsettled Nadir’s stomach. She could taste the iron tang of fear on her tongue, her nerves alight with a combination of apprehension and a hint of reluctant relief.
Through it all, Ranna remained still, her face an enigmatic mask. Only the flicker of triumph in her eyes betrayed any sign of her internal emotions. There was a strange allure to her in that moment, a dangerous mix of power and authority that seemed to radiate off her like heat from a flame.
The process was over as quickly as it had begun, the ethereal glow that had enveloped Hades’ hand dissipating into nothingness.
Ranna snapped her fingers and the bindings holding Kobol and Orias in place fell away, freeing them. They remained quiet, but warily stood up.
Then Hades looked at each of them, holding out his hand. “I require the sancre blades. All of them.”
One by one, they each handed over their silver blades. Azimuth handed over his last. “These are all of them. Belial only made the four.”
