Veymar plunged his hand straight into Riven's chest, sinking into the fiery core of his soul. With a swift pull, he tore the fire soul from him, and Riven crumpled instantly, lifeless, hitting the ground with a hollow thud. Silence hung for a heartbeat before Veymar's lips curled into a smile.

"The rules of Hell are like no other, aren't they?" he said, his voice calm but slicing through the air like a sharpened blade.

He turned slowly to the crowd of trembling human souls, their eyes wide with terror, and his own eyes flared with infernal light. "Welcome to Hell."

The human souls recoiled, their fear palpable, but Veymar chuckled, taking a step forward. "Oh no, don't be afraid. Did I not tell you? Hell is home to all. You are free to do whatever you want. I stand here, offering to be killed—surely that should be enough to abandon your morality."

He let the words hang, savoring the tension. "You see… all are welcomed in Hell. Good, bad, all alike. Discrimination is not part of Hell's culture."

As he walked forward, the air cracked with tension.

Stab.

Gasps tore through the gathered souls. Veymar turned sharply, and there was Riven, miraculously revived, clutching a shard of his broken blade. He lunged, desperate, but the invisible shield surrounding Veymar absorbed the strike effortlessly. The fragment shattered into splinters against the barrier.

"Oh… it seems you are back," Veymar said, almost pleasantly.

Riven trembled. "Why… why do you bring us back when you kill us?"

A hint of amusement flickered across Veymar's face. "Misconception, perhaps. I do not kill because I want to. No. I do it as punishment. You sinners are here to face justice for your sins. Each gate has its own method, decreed by the Pillars. Consider this… my own way of enforcing it."

He stepped closer, letting his words sink like lead. "When a sinner dies in Hell, their punishment does not end. You return… to suffer again. Your true punishment is eternal torture."

Riven's mind reeled in terror. We… we will keep dying. Over and over. Endless… unrelenting…

Veymar's hand rested on Riven's shoulder, a cold weight that made the young man flinch. "Come with me. Let us speak of your victims, from the life you once led. Tell me… what did they look like in their final moments? And yes… I heard about the priest."

Riven swallowed, voice trembling. "I… I killed for money, but… killing… it was art to me."

"Art, huh?" Veymar echoed, walking alongside him, the shadows of Hell stretching around their feet.

"Yes," Riven said. "The priest… he came preaching to me about redemption and salvation. I… I killed him. He angered me."

Veymar's gaze darkened. "Do you think he is in Heaven or Hell?"

"I… I wouldn't know," Riven admitted, fear sharpening every word.

Veymar's lips twisted into a small smile. "In Hell… he does not seem to occupy my gate."

The other human souls and Blight watched, horrified, as Veymar led Riven away. His aura radiated authority and menace, a living nightmare walking among the condemned.

Veymar stopped, glanced back, and said calmly, "Blight… do away with the rest."

"Yes, my Lord," Blight replied.

One human soul stammered in terror, "Do… do away with us? What does he mean?"

Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath them split open with a thunderous roar. Screams erupted as every soul plummeted into a bubbling pit of lava. The fiery abyss swallowed their cries, then sealed silently, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind.

Blight exhaled slowly. "It seems Lord Veymar has found himself a new toy… though I wonder how long it will entertain him."

Meanwhile, Veymar and Riven walked, their conversation low and deliberate. "The priest who came to you… what was his name?"

Riven scratched his head, trying to recall. "…Patrick… I think… yes. Patrick."

"Patrick," Veymar mused. "I will check with the Pillars if he lies within their gates. But considering your actions, his punishment likely began long before your arrival. I will consult the soul calendar."

Riven shivered. "Is it even possible… for him to be in Hell?"

Veymar's eyes gleamed, enigmatic. "Who can say? But what are the odds?"

---

First Gate of Hell — Infernal Doctrine

High above the smoldering lava below, human souls hung suspended by thick chains, their chests bare, the heat steaming their sweat-soaked bodies.

Malphas observed silently from the shadows, Morgath at his side, the two of them like predators sizing their prey.

Behind each suspended soul, Helk guards waited, whips of molten metal coiled in their hands, ready to strike. Aldric stood at the center, orchestrating the punishment with the precision of a conductor.

He turned to Malphas, who nodded in silent agreement.

"Begin!" Aldric commanded.

Immediately, the Helk guards struck. The whips bit into flesh with sizzling crack, leaving seared lines that steamed in the heat. Human screams tore through the air, but the guards continued relentlessly, each strike sharper, louder, more punishing than the last.

The chorus of agony became deafening, mingling with the roar of lava below.

Malphas raised his hand, and a writhe of flame formed above the scene, manifesting a burning list. He examined it, eyes narrowing. "It seems… the souls have learned some manners. Only a few require the Infernal Doctrine."

Morgath's voice rumbled with satisfaction. "Their punishment has only begun. Many more will follow. Only the most corrupted are transferred to this sector of the First Gate."

Malphas nodded, a thin smile crossing his face. "You are correct. Let us see how the souls fare at the Infernal Lake."

And with that, the two of them walked away, leaving the screams of the damned to echo through the burning halls of Hell.

---

Fourth Gate of Hell — Serpentine Cage

Selmora rose slowly from her chair and walked to a long table lined with whips of all kinds, neatly arranged inside a black sachet. She ran her fingers over them as if deciding which one to use, then picked up the sachet and turned to face Ban.

A smile tugged at her lips.

"Ban… which one would you prefer?"

Ban froze, his heart racing. Panic flashed in his eyes as he backed away, step by trembling step. Then he bolted for the cage door—

Crack!

A whip lashed through the air, striking his back with a sharp sound that echoed through the chamber. He fell hard, groaning as a burning sting carved across his skin.

When he turned, Selmora was watching him calmly, a satisfied smile on her face. She twirled the whip, inspecting it with mild disinterest.

"Not bad," she murmured, "but no… this won't do."

She tossed it aside and searched for another.

Ban, clutching his back, sat up and leaned against the cold wall, his breath trembling.

Finally, Selmora selected another whip—this one different, shaped almost like a flattened blade. She tested its weight, then smiled. Without warning, she used a second whip to hook Ban by the leg and drag him toward the center of the cage.

He yelped, trying to resist, but she only watched him with quiet amusement as he struggled.

"So, Ban," she said softly, circling him, "what style should we go with today?"

Ban's voice cracked. "What are you talking about? What style—? I don't understand!"

Selmora paused mid-step, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "This isn't fun," she muttered. Then, her eyes brightened. "I know… I'll choose for you."

Her smile returned—wider now, unsettling.

"What do you think of pain and romance combined? Wouldn't that be exciting?"

Ban's face twisted with fear. "You've lost it! You're insane! Somebody get this crazy woman away from me!" he shouted. "Anyone—help!"

But his words died in his throat as a heavy, dark aura filled the room. The air itself seemed to pulse with it. Selmora stood still, her expression shifting. She bit her finger hard enough to draw blood, the crimson drops splattering onto the stone floor.

Ban stared in disbelief. "Oi… what are you doing?"

Selmora tilted her head back, her emerald eyes beginning to glow. "This is… exciting," she whispered.

Her gaze snapped down to him, sharp and unblinking. She licked her lips slowly, the whip in her hand smacking softly against her palm as she walked toward him.

"Let's run wild, Ban," she said with a soft, chilling laugh.

Ban stumbled backward, muttering to himself, "What's wrong with her? She's not the same anymore… she's lost it—" His voice broke. "Stay away from me!"

And then—she was suddenly behind him.

Her presence pressed down like a storm; the air grew thick. Ban froze as her breath grazed his ear.

"Are you…" she whispered, her voice low and dangerous, "…afraid of me?"

He said nothing.

The whip cracked again. Ban gritted his teeth, eyes shut tight, refusing to cry out. She struck once more. He endured.

Selmora's smile deepened. "That's what I like to see," she said softly.

She appeared in front of him in an instant, moving with serpentine grace. Ban flinched, falling back. Selmora crouched beside him, her movements deliberate and unnerving. She tilted her head, studying his expression, her tone playful yet cold.

"Still defiant…" she murmured.

Ban's heart pounded wildly, confusion and fear blurring his thoughts.

Selmora leaned closer—too close—her eyes glowing brighter now, until green fire began to shimmer faintly around her. Ban tried to pull away, but his strength was gone.

The emerald light flared. A surge of heat filled the air, the very cage trembling from its force.

Selmora stood over him, untouched by the flames that now danced across her form. When the light finally dimmed, she sighed, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

"That was fun, Ban. Truly," she said softly, "but I may have gotten… carried away again."

She turned toward the cage door. With a wave of her hand, green fire erupted from the lock, reducing it to ash. The metal creaked open, and Selmora stepped through unharmed, her expression calm and composed.

"I should really learn to control myself," she murmured, her voice echoing faintly through the hall. "I do tend to lose such valuable toys."

Then, with a faint smile, "Oh well. There are always more."

---

Outside, Nyssara was waiting at the massive gate, flanked by guards. Each guard held a leash attached to strange "man-dogs"—humans bound by chains around their necks, crawling obediently on all fours.

When Selmora emerged, the guards and Nyssara immediately bowed. One of the chained men crept toward her, panting eagerly, pressing his head against the hem of her dress.

Selmora knelt, patting his head. "Good dog," she said softly.

The guard yanked the chain, pulling the man back, and Selmora rose, joining Nyssara as they walked away.

"How was he?" Nyssara asked lightly.

Selmora shrugged. "He was good. Didn't last long, though."

Nyssara sighed. "My lady, you truly must learn to restrain your excitement."

Selmora pouted playfully. "I know. You don't have to tell me—I'm trying."

Nyssara chuckled faintly. "Well, Ban wasn't the only soul shipment we received. Let's leave it at that."

Selmora glanced ahead thoughtfully. "I wonder how Aria fares in the world of the living."

Nyssara nodded. "Indeed… I wonder what Lord Azreal and his team are up to right now."

---

World of the Living — Nena's Caffé

Chaos filled the street outside the café.

Men dressed in black suits and dark glasses surrounded Azreal and Nena, brandishing metal rods. One of them swung at Nena—

Azreal caught the weapon mid-strike, gripping it tight. The rod cracked in his hand and shattered to pieces.

He raised his gaze to the man before him, his voice low and dangerous.

"Back off," Azreal said. "Or I'll kill you."

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