© Everything Here Own And Written by me
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Just Wanted to write a book for a long time.
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The grand hall of Hell loomed ominously, its obsidian walls pulsating with faint, red veins of fire that seemed alive.

The air was thick with smoke, ash, and despair, and the low murmurs of restless creatures echoed through the space.

At the far end of the hall, a throne forged from molten lava and blackened bones towered over everything.

Sitting atop it was the Hell King, a figure cloaked in the void itself. His face was obscured in darkness, a sinister shadow that defied light, but his towering frame radiated an aura so terrifying it made the lower-class demons cower in their places.

Even the floor beneath his throne glowed with cracks of molten fire, as though Hell itself trembled in his presence.

Before him, chained in glowing Hell Cuffs that pulsed with binding magic, stood Daman.

His lean, powerful frame was marked by scars, evidence of his countless battles and merciless deeds. His crimson eyes glowed like embers, defiant despite the oppressive energy pressing down on him.

“You have committed a grave sin,” the Hell King thundered, his voice reverberating through the hall like a volcanic eruption.

Daman barely flinched. His smirk was sharp and mocking as he met the shadowed figure’s gaze.

“I don’t care what punishment you think I deserve,” he said coolly, his voice steady

“Do your worst. It doesn’t scare me.”

The...