In Hell, the Flaming Hall roared alive like a beast breathing fire. The ground pulsed with molten veins, and rivers of flame ran beneath the thrones of the Pillars of Hell—each of them seated in grim authority, their towering guards standing silent and still behind them. The air crackled with heat and the faint screams of tormented souls echoed faintly from the lower depths, a sound so common that it was almost music to their ears.

Damantia sat among them, his presence cold and composed despite the flames licking around him. Behind him stood Baalrik, a hulking shadow, his red eyes glowing faintly like twin embers in the dark.

Damantia finally spoke, his tone calm but edged with irritation.

"It seems a lot has happened without my knowledge. After the Infernal War, the key still wasn't recovered—and there's been no trace of the Evolutionalist. And now, even the world of the living faces corruption… humans transfiguring into infernals, only to die afterward."

Veymar, leaning casually on one arm, chuckled.

"That's the summary of it. You really should leave that Soul Gate once in a while, Damantia. You're missing out on Hell's live news."

Damantia's crimson eyes flickered slightly as he replied, voice even.

"There are countless souls to attend to at the Soul Gate. I don't have the luxury of visiting here as you do."

Xaltheon, his chains faintly rattling with every movement, turned to Veymar.

"Don't listen to him, Damantia. We all know how occupied you are. The Soul Gate's duties are endless. There's no need for you to come here unless it's an emergency."

Veymar raised his hands innocently.

"Come on, Xaltheon. I was just saying he should visit once in a while."

Xaltheon ignored him entirely, his gaze turning away.

Then Malphas spoke, his tone calm but his eyes sharp like a blade.

"Leaving that aside—the reconnaissance team returned again. Still no sign of the key."

Veymar sighed, rubbing his temples.

"There's no end to this nonsense."

Selmora, her long black hair swaying gently as she leaned forward, added softly,

"They keep returning unharmed. That might mean the Evolutionalist isn't in Hell at all."

Dragos, ever blunt and cold, crossed his arms.

"So should we call off the search? It's pointless if there's no sign of them after all this time."

Malphas shook his head slowly.

"No. The search continues. Lord Azreal himself ordered it. Until he says otherwise, it goes on."

The hall fell silent for a moment. None dared to question Azreal's will.

Finally, Veymar broke the silence with a groan.

"Speaking of Lord Azreal… they must all be enjoying themselves in the world of the living, while I'm stuck here."

Xaltheon sighed.

"You're still talking about that."

Veymar slammed his hand on the armrest.

"Of course I am! Lord Azreal took Nena with him!"

Dragos glanced at him flatly.

"Then you should've gone along. Why complain now?"

Veymar pointed at Xaltheon, glaring.

"I tried! But someone decided to tie me up with his damned chains and drag me back here!"

The memory replayed in his mind—him wriggling on the obsidian floor, chains coiling around him like serpents as Xaltheon dragged him away without even a glance.

The others ignored his outburst.

Damantia rose to his feet, his long cloak brushing against the flaming floor.

"I'll be taking my leave. There's much to do."

Baalrik followed silently behind him, their figures fading as they stepped through a burning portal.

Malphas's calm voice broke the fading echoes of their departure.

"Then we, as the Pillars, have one duty left—keep watch over Hell and prepare for whatever enemy comes next."

No one argued. One by one, they summoned their portals—circles of black flame—and vanished into the infernal void.

---

Fifth Gate of Hell — Fifth Underground Layer

The heat here was unbearable. The air shimmered like liquid glass, and beneath the jagged cliffs of black rock lay a boiling sea of lava, its surface bursting with red bubbles that exploded with molten fury. The stench of burning metal and charred flesh filled the air.

A fiery portal tore open above the pit, and Dragos stepped out, the heavy metal grating under his boots. Behind him followed Drago, his monstrous servant whose scaled skin glowed faintly red from the heat.

They stood on a platform suspended above the lava—a hellish scaffold made of rusted iron, with chains dangling deep into the pit below. Above them, metal cages hung from those chains, each containing writhing human souls.

Their screams filled the cavern. Some clung desperately to the bars, their flesh already blistering from the heat, their eyes wild with terror.

"Please! Let me out! I don't want to die again! Please—I beg you!" one screamed, voice cracking in agony.

Dragos didn't flinch. His expression was as still as the dead.

Then he spoke two words, his voice cutting through the shrieks like a blade—

"Release them."

The hell guards obeyed instantly. The chains rattled, groaned, and then dropped.

The cages plummeted into the molten sea below.

The humans screamed in unison—a sound so raw and filled with terror that even the flames seemed to pulse with it. The cages hit the lava, metal sizzling, and the prisoners thrashed violently as their skin melted off, their bones blackening, their voices fading into silence.

One man, burning alive, reached a trembling hand through the bars—his skin peeled away before his arm dissolved completely. His last scream was swallowed by the lava.

After a moment, the chains groaned again and began to lift.

The cages rose from the bubbling inferno—charred, dripping with molten fire. Inside them, only skeletons remained… until, suddenly, flesh began knitting back together. The smell of regeneration—burnt blood and magic—filled the air.

The humans gasped as they came back to life, clutching their throats, coughing, weeping. One of them cried out in disbelief,

"I'm alive! I'm alive!"

His voice was a desperate mix of relief and madness.

Dragos silenced him with a stare colder than ice.

"Do not rejoice." His tone was quiet, but it carried the weight of finality.

"This is only the beginning of your punishment. You'll burn, die, and revive. Over and over again. There is no end to it. There is no escape."

The realization sank in. One by one, their faces changed—from confusion, to denial, to pure despair. Their eyes went hollow. Their screams turned into pitiful sobs.

Dragos gave a small nod.

"Release."

Once more, the chains gave way.

The cages fell again—

—and the pit erupted in a symphony of screams and fire. Flesh cracked, bones sizzled, and the smell of despair filled the air.

Dragos and Drago watched in silence, their faces empty of sympathy, unmoved by the endless suffering before them.

When the cages were raised again, the humans had revived once more—only to be dropped again.

Burn. Revive. Burn again. Revive again.

A cycle of eternal torment, echoing through the Fifth Gate of Hell.

Fourth Gate of Hell — Serpentine Cage

A young man sat on the cold, blackened floor, chains wrapped tight around his legs, each one glowing faintly red from the heat. The chains connected to the wall behind him pulsed like veins alive with molten fire. The air was thick, reeking of sulfur and old blood.

The iron bars of the cage rattled with a low screech. Ban slowly lifted his head, eyes half-open, and froze.

Standing before the door was Selmora.

Her lips curved into a smile that was both beautiful and wrong—too wide, too eager. Her eyes shimmered faintly green, glowing through the haze, while the black dress she wore clung to her body, revealing just enough to make the darkness around her seem to breathe. Every step she took echoed with soft grace, yet there was something hungry in the way she moved, like a predator savoring the sight of prey.

"Lock the cage," she said, her voice a slow caress.

The guard obeyed instantly, bowing before leaving the two alone.

Selmora turned toward the table by the wall. Laid across it were whips—each different, each cruel. Some were leather, some metal, some alive with faint sparks of green flame. Her fingers brushed along them lovingly, one by one, as though deciding which of her children to feed first.

"How was your day, Ban?" she asked sweetly without looking back.

Ban didn't respond. His silence was heavy, his gaze fixed on her.

Selmora chuckled softly. "Still so quiet," she murmured. Then she looked at his chains. "Let's take care of those, shall we?"

Her eyes gleamed. A flick of her finger—and the chains burst into emerald fire, burning to ash in seconds. The flames danced briefly before vanishing into thin air.

Ban rubbed his wrists, staring down at the faint burns left behind. He stood, his muscles tense.

Selmora smiled again, holding her hand over the whips. "So," she said lightly, "which would you like?"

That was the last thing she managed to say before Ban moved.

He lunged forward, grabbing her by the throat. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the cage. Selmora gasped softly, but instead of fear, her eyes lit up with thrill. "Such strength…" she whispered, her voice rasping as she trailed a hand up his arm, her fingers gliding over the hard lines of his biceps.

Ban scowled and tightened his grip until her breath hitched. Her smile didn't fade—it only deepened. He slammed her against the wall. The stone cracked behind her.

Her vision blurred from the impact, yet even through the pain, her lips parted in a shaky laugh. "He's so rough," she whispered breathlessly, "I like that—"

Before she could finish, Ban threw her across the room. She hit the opposite wall with a dull thud and crumpled to the ground like a broken doll.

Ban turned toward the cage door. He crouched, picked the lock, and it clicked open. But just as he was about to step out, a presence thick as smoke washed over him.

He froze. His instincts screamed. He swung his arm backward, striking nothing but air.

He looked back—Selmora's body was gone.

His heart pounded as his eyes darted around. Then—bam!—something dropped onto his shoulder from above.

Selmora wrapped her legs around his neck, her hair brushing his cheek. She laughed softly in his ear, her voice sweet and chilling all at once.

"You're so rough with me," she whispered, "but that's exactly what I love about you."

Ban reached up to grab her—but she vanished into smoke. Before he could react, she reappeared in front of him, her legs locked around his waist, her arms snaking around his neck.

Ban's eyes widened. "How did you—?"

Her smile answered him. With one quick motion, she tore his shirt open, the fabric shredding like paper. Her hand slid over his bare chest. "Oh my…" she breathed, her voice trembling with delight. "Perfect."

Ban tried to break free, but her grip was iron. Her eyes burned brighter, her smile stretching as her fingers tightened around his neck.

The sound of cracking bone filled the air.

Ban's breath hitched. His vision dimmed as pain shot through his spine. She only held him closer, whispering in his ear, "Give me more… more…"

He screamed. His voice echoed through the endless tunnels of the Serpentine Cage, joining the other cries of the damned.

Selmora's eyes shimmered as she adjusted her hold, squeezing tighter.

"Yes," she hissed, "that's it. Scream louder. Let me hear it."

The pressure built—then came the snap.

Ban went limp. His body hung in her grip like a lifeless puppet. His voice cracked as he choked, "I… I can't feel my body…"

Selmora smiled, loosening her grip. He fell to the ground in a heap.

"I was just getting started," she murmured. "You can't leave me unsatisfied, Ban. We still have so much to do."

She raised her hand, green flames blooming in her palm. The fire spread over Ban's body, consuming him completely. Then it faded.

Ban gasped, his eyes snapping open. His body—whole again. He looked down at himself, trembling. "What… what is this…?"

Selmora crouched beside him, brushing a hand over his cheek. Her grin widened, eyes glowing like two suns of madness. "Welcome back," she whispered.

Ban backed away slowly, his pulse racing. His fear was raw, visible in his shaking hands.

Selmora's eyes glowed brighter, and she leaned closer, her breath brushing his lips. "Are you ready? It's time for the next phase," she said, almost laughing. "I can't wait."

She threw herself onto him, knocking him onto his back. Her hair spilled over his face as she traced a finger from his chest up to his jaw.

"Let's enjoy ourselves in Hell while we still can," she whispered. "Don't you think so, Ban?"

Ban's breath hitched. Every nerve in his body screamed. Who is this woman? he thought desperately.

Selmora tilted her head, her voice dropping to a soft, dangerous whisper.

"Now, Ban… what method of pleasure would you like?"

Her fingertip ignited with fire. She pressed it into his chest. He screamed as steam hissed from his skin, the smell of burning flesh filling the air.

"Pain?" she asked, smiling faintly. "Or…"

She leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. The kiss was slow, suffocating—hot enough to steal his breath. When she pulled back, a strand of saliva clung between them.

"Romance?" she whispered. "Or perhaps… something else?"

She slid onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, eyes glowing with a manic kind of affection.

"It's your choice," she said softly. "Take this chance while you can…" Her smile deepened as she leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear.

"You're in charge."

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