[Location: Wrath's Palace, Wrath Circle, Seventh Hell]

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" The thunderous roar shook the entire palace, while the witch, just just hovered in front of the throne with her pinky finger digging her ear in a lazy, unconcerned way.

The air vibrated with demonic fury, red lightning crackling across the vaulted obsidian ceiling. Lava veins running through the floor flared brighter, molten rivers carving through the cracks like bleeding arteries.

"Don't get your horns twisted, Wrath," she said lazily, flicking a spark of crimson flame from her fingertip. The ember drifted down like a petal and burned a sigil into the marble. "Your daughter— Prince Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar's Fiancee— Zeraphira Baelgorath is on with him."

"I know the name of my own daughter, you witch! What I want to know is— Why am I getting this news from you, instead of my own spies?!"

The Satan of Wrath's growl rolled through the throne hall like thunder trapped in a cavern. Wrath's towering figure leaned forward, claws digging into the molten arms of his throne, molten saliva hissing against the floor as it dripped.

The witch only smirked, crossing her legs mid-air, her skirt of living embers coiling around her thighs like smoke-serpents.

"Because, dear Wrath," she said with a playful lilt, "your spies are either dead… or running back home without their souls. Take your pick."

A pause. The lava's glow dimmed for a heartbeat. Then Wrath's aura flared again, oppressive and suffocating.

"Impossible. No mortal, no half-breed could breach my daughter's escort units—"

"Unless she herself burned their soul with her infamous 'Inferno of Rage', quite powerful, I tell you~"

BOOOM!!!

"Yeah, just like this, but tell me think~ yours seem... how do I put this, wea—"

"Say one more word, and Witch Queen will be looking at your corpse—" Before Wrath could finish, the Witch's expression was already stone cold.

"Just this once, I will overlook your threat to a contracted Witch; next time, the entire witch community will ban you from our services for at least a hundred years. Consider that a mercy, Wrath."

Wrath's claws twitched, molten veins along his arms pulsing with seething fury. He inhaled, the heat of his rage radiating so intensely that the lava rivers seemed to quiver in deference. "Fine," he hissed through teeth like jagged obsidian. "Tell me everything. Every move she's made since leaving Hell.

The Witch's eyes gleamed, reflecting the crimson light of the hellfire around them. She leaned forward, letting the ember-laced smoke of her skirt curl up around Wrath's horns. "Oh, you'll like this. The Prince… Dominic… has changed. His powers—"

"HIS POWERS?! HE IS NOTHING BUT A DRIED-UP CORPSE—"

"—nothing but a dried-up corpse?" The Witch's eyes sparkled with amusement, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Oh, Wrath… you really need to catch up. That 'dried-up corpse' has more life and 'spirit' in him than your entire army of infernal generals combined."

Wrath slammed a massive fist against the armrest of his throne, sending molten splashes across the hall. "You lie! That is impossible! All his powers all but vanished when he was sealed away a millennium ago. The ceremony contract drained every ounce of his essence! Every demon in the Infernal Records knew it!"

The Witch's eyes narrowed, lips curling into a sly smile. "Ah, yes. The ceremony… quite a cunning way to strip a prince of his birthright and force him into a husk. There is still a question lingering about the incident—how the ceremonial ritual came to be? as there was no such thing before in the entire history of hell's existence. I wonder if you will quench my curiosity~"

Wrath's eyes blazed like twin furnaces, his jaw tightening until it threatened to fracture. "Enough riddles, witch. Speak plainly, or I will personally descend to the mortal realm and tear every secret out of that insolent boy myself."

The Witch Queen chuckled, a sound like cracking obsidian under pressure. "Oh, I was going to… but your patience is as brittle as your pride, Wrath. Very well." Her gaze sharpened, eyes glinting with an unnatural light. "He killed an avatar and Champion of Ares, the Greek God of War. And is apparently connected with Artemis, the Greek Goddess of Hunt—"

"REPEAT IT!"

"What? That he is connected to Artemis—"

"NO! YOU DUMB FUCK—"

"Careful now," the Witch purred, her tone suddenly deadly calm, slicing through the molten roar like a dagger of ice. "You wouldn't want your head decorating the gates of Hell before I finish my story."

Wrath's eyes flared, molten rage coiling around him like living fire. He rose from his throne in a towering sweep, claws scraping against the obsidian floor and leaving shallow furrows that smoked instantly. "Speak! Or I will rip your throat out with these hands!"

The Witch's gaze never wavered. "Very well, Wrath. You may not like what comes next. Prince seems to have activated a glimpse of his Primordial heritage... You can guess what that means for you and other satans—"

Boom!

Crack!

"He is coming for us." For the first time in a millennium, strength left his monstrous build as he crashed back onto his throne like a shattered volcano collapsing under its own weight.

The obsidian pillars quivered, and molten rivers hissed violently, spitting sparks into the air. Wrath's chest heaved, smoke curling from his nostrils as his eyes burned like twin furnaces of molten fury. For the first time, uncertainty crept into the heart of a Satan who had ruled his circle with absolute dominion.

"Do others know already, or am I the first to get this privilege?" Wrath's voice trembled slightly, though the molten fury still clawed at every syllable. His eyes, usually twin furnaces of absolute dominance, flickered with something foreign—fear.

"Oh, we, witches planned this," As she mockingly looked at her wrist as if checking the time. "Riiiight about... Now! Every satan like you must be questioning their life choices or practising how to beg for mercy—"

"NOW YOU BE CAREFUL, WITCH! WRATH NEVER BEGS!" the mighty demon bellowed, his voice shaking the very foundations of Wrath's Palace. The molten rivers surged violently, spilling over the edges of their channels as if Hell itself recognised its master's fury. The obsidian walls groaned under the oppressive heat and tension, ancient runes carved deep into their surface flickering with the reflected crimson of his wrath.

The Witch tilted her head, amused, as if she were observing a particularly volatile experiment. "Of course, of course," she cooed, letting the ember-light in her skirt ripple hypnotically. "But let me remind you, dear Wrath, the boy does not care for titles, for ranks, or even the very concept of fear you wield so well. He only cares for results."

Wrath's claws dug into the armrests of his throne again, leaving deep gouges that smoked and hissed. "Results? You speak in riddles, witch! What is this… abomination I am hearing about?!" He roared, molten heat rippling outward, melting the edges of nearby pillars as if the world itself trembled at his fury. His wings stretched out, black as magma-shadowed steel, spanning the hall like twin blades of despair.

The Witch floated down, her eyes gleaming like stars burning in a black sky. "Abomination? Oh, Wrath, you make it sound so… ugly. He is magnificent. And utterly terrifying. You may have thought you, all seven, can do whatever you want in his birthright realm. That Morningstar house is done for... all except the Silver Queen—Ah! Now that Silver Queen is quite active in hell, you must've been dying to get a glimpse of her again, huh~ huh~ for you loved her presence."

Wrath's head snapped toward the voice, eyes narrowing until the molten glow of his irises burned holes through the Witch Queen's playful smirk. "Silver Queen… Grayfia Lucifuge?" His voice was low, grinding like tectonic plates beneath a volcano.

"Oh! You know as well as everyone else in this realm, how terrible your acting is. She—"

SQUEECH!

BOOOOM!

Before the Witch could complete her sentence, more than a dozen frozen bodies destroyed the giant gates of the throne room, and busting into tiny glittering snowflakes.

The air snapped with the chill of impossibility. Snow swirled unnaturally, coiling around the shattered gates like serpents made of frost and silver light. Each flake burned with a cold that seemed to erase heat from the molten halls, searing as it touched Wrath's wings. Lava hissed and recoiled, steam rising in violent geysers as the winter storm claimed space that no mortal or demon should have dared enter.

Click! Click! Click!

Sound of clicking heels echoed across the obsidian floor, a precise, deliberate rhythm that cut through the chaos like a scalpel. Grayfia Lucifuge stepped forward from the snow-laden breach, her silver hair cascading softly over her shoulder, bouncing with each stepfall.

Her eyes were calm yet unreadable. The classic maid uniform she wore fit her perfectly—black fabric trimmed with white frills, a crisp apron tied neatly around her slender waist. Every movement carried quite a grace, from the way her gloved hands rested together to the subtle poise in her stance, like she'd been sculpted from elegance itself.

Wrath's molten fury stuttered. His wings quivered involuntarily, the black-hot steel of their membrane blistering against the unnatural chill that emanated from her. "Impossible…" he hissed, voice trembling as the obsidian floor beneath him froze in brittle fissures. "How… how did you—"

Grayfia's eyes, silver and unyielding, locked onto his with the weight of a thousand winters. "I've been waiting," she said softly, her voice calm yet carrying the unrelenting force of absolute authority. "Waiting for the moment my prince's enemies forgot fear… and began to believe they could act freely."

The Witch, still hovering above the shattered gates, blinked once. For the first time, her smirk faltered, replaced with the flicker of apprehension. "Ah… so the Silver Queen has decided to grace us with her presence," she muttered, almost under her breath.

Grayfia didn't speak again. Instead, her hand rose, and the temperature plummeted further. Crystalline spikes erupted from the molten floor, slicing through rivers of lava as if they were mere paper, and the obsidian pillars shivered violently. The frost spread with unnatural speed, overtaking the air, curling around Wrath's wings, crawling up his horns, and coating his obsidian throne with silver filigree.

Wrath rose to his full height, every muscle tense, claws glowing with molten fire that struggled against the encroaching frost. His voice boomed, shaking the palace to its foundations. "Grayfia Lucifuge… you dare—"

She cut him off with a single gesture. A gust of spectral wind spiralled from her, carrying shards of ice that slammed into Wrath with the force of battering rams. His molten veins hissed violently, steam and frost colliding, yet she did not advance further. Her posture was regal, unmoving — a queen surveying a battlefield, not a single hair out of place.

"Know in your place, Wrath," Grayfia said, the words cold enough to shatter stone. "You will wait for my prince to come, and when he finally steps into this realm, you might not have the honour of greeting him alive."

Wrath staggered slightly, the sheer presence of her aura pressing against him like the weight of an entire frozen continent. Lava hissed and recoiled beneath her, as if the molten rivers themselves recognised her dominion. The obsidian floor beneath her feet gleamed, each step leaving frost that did not melt, as though she carried the cold of death itself in her shadow.

The Witch hovered behind her, silent now, her usual amusement gone. Even she could sense the undeniable authority in Grayfia's presence — a power that was not just formidable, but absolute.

"Your patience has always been admirable, Silver Queen," Wrath growled through gritted teeth, "but you should know — even your prince cannot withstand the entirety of the Seven Satans and 'Him' without consequence."

Grayfia's eyes narrowed, the silver light within them flaring like twin moons. "I am not here for him to withstand. I am here to ensure that nothing touches him without paying in full." Her voice, serene yet lethal, echoed through the chamber. Every syllable carved into Wrath's mind like a blade, cutting away at his confidence.

The molten demon spread his wings wide, the heat radiating from him attempting to push back against the encroaching frost. Steam erupted as fire met ice, a violent clash of elemental extremes. Yet Grayfia did not flinch. She raised a hand, her fingers tracing arcs in the air, and shards of silver light tore through Wrath's assault like a conductor silencing a cacophony.

Wrath's roar split the air, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "You dare to freeze me in my own palace? To mock me before all of Hell?"

Grayfia's lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, almost imperceptible, but it carried the weight of inevitability. "I do not mock you, Wrath. I merely prepare the stage. The moment my prince enters, the reckoning will not be mine — it will be his. I am merely the harbinger of order, the blade that carves the path."

The Witch's voice finally returned, quieter, almost reverent. "I… I underestimated her."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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