Author✨
The air in the throne room of the underworld was thick with smoke and ash, curling like restless spirits around the shattered pillars. The King of Hell, once a being of unimaginable power, lay slumped upon his obsidian throne. His crown, jagged and black as midnight, had slipped askew, revealing a face etched with pain, betrayal, and regret. The flames around him flickered weakly, as if even the fires of the underworld mourned his fading life.
Betrayed by the one he had trusted most, his body trembled with the last vestiges of strength. Every heartbeat dragged him closer to oblivion, and his soul—immense, ancient, and fearsome—began to unravel like threads of smoke, slipping from the mortal coil into the void. He had conquered realms, struck fear into the bravest of hearts, and yet now, in these final moments, he was utterly alone.
In the depths of his fading consciousness, one memory clung to him—a single soul who had loved him unconditionally, who had trusted him with everything, only to be betrayed by his own hands. That love, pure and unwavering, now haunted him more than any ghost or demon ever could. He remembered the warmth of it, the devotion, the unspoken promises he had shattered, and each recollection pierced him sharper than any sword.
Around him, the shadows whispered secrets of the abyss, but he could hear nothing beyond the echo of his own failures. His breaths came shallow, ragged, each one a struggle against the inevitability that even kings of Hell must face: the final, cold embrace of death. His throne felt empty, his realm silent, and the weight of his sins pressed down harder than the chains of Hell itself.
As his vision blurred and darkness encroached, he could feel the last spark of his soul flickering, trembling between existence and nothingness. The king who once ruled all now faced the end alone, betrayed, and tormented by the memory of a love he had forsaken—a love that had perhaps been the only salvation he would ever know.
