Book 2

High on a throne, dripping with more power than anywhere - more than the riches of Ormus or the East - Satan sat. He’s been elevated to this awful position, a consequence of his despair. But from this fall, he aims higher, fueled by an insatiable desire for war with Heaven.

He thinks, Seriously, look at us! No abyss can contain our strength, even after this defeat. Celestial spirits will shine brighter, more terrifying, after falling. They’ll trust themselves and fear no second fate!

"Yeah, I’m the OG - I created you all. Free choice, battles... I earned my place. But this loss? I’m recovering, securing my throne with full consent. Being top dog in Heaven brings envy; here, nobody envies anyone. Who wants to be the first to face the Thunderer’s wrath?"

Who wants the biggest share of endless pain? There’s no good to strive for in Hell, so there's no factionalism. Nobody here wants more than they already have.

"So, let’s unite, be firm, and agree. We’re stronger than anything Heaven can offer. Now, let’s figure out how to reclaim what’s rightfully ours - through open war or sneaky tactics. Who’s got ideas?"

He stopped, and Moloch, the fiercest and strongest spirit who fought in Heaven, rose. He’s even fiercer now, fueled by despair. Moloch trusted the Eternal to be his equal, and rather than be less, he’s willing to cease existing entirely. Without that concern, there's no fear.

He doesn’t care about God, Hell, or anything worse.

"My vote is for open war," Moloch declared.

"I’m not a master of deception; let those who need it handle that. While they’re scheming, what are the millions of warriors going to do? Sit here, fugitives from Heaven, and accept this dark, shameful prison? Accept his tyranny because of our delay? No way!"

Let's charge Heaven’s towers with Hell-fire and fury! Turn our torture into weapons against the Torturer! When he hears the thunder of Hell, he’s going to see black fire and horror shot with equal rage among his angels!

His throne will mix with sulfur and strange fire, his own inventions turned against him.

"But maybe the climb seems difficult, the path steep against a stronger foe! Let those who remember - if the forgetful lake hasn’t dulled their minds - that ascending to our native seat is our natural motion. Descent and fall are against us."

Who hasn't felt it lately? When the enemy was all up in our faces, messing with us, chasing us through the Deep? What made us sink so low? Climbing back up is the easy part. The outcome is what’s scary! Should we push our luck and provoke him again?

He might find an even worse way to destroy us, if there's anything worse than being destroyed in Hell! What could be worse than being here, kicked out of paradise, stuck in this awful place, suffering forever? Where we’re tortured by endless fire, with no hope of escape.

We're his angry servants, forced to pay the price when the punishment - the agonizing hours - call us to penance. Being completely wiped out, ceasing to exist, would be worse. What are we so afraid of then? What’s making us doubt our ability to completely enrage him?

He’s gonna explode with fury, and that will either destroy us completely, reducing us to nothing. Honestly, that’s better than this miserable, eternal existence! Or, if we are truly divine, and can’t just disappear, then at worst we’re nothing, right? And we can feel our power.

We can shake his Heaven and constantly threaten his throne - even though it's untouchable. If we can’t win, then we can at least get revenge.

"He stopped, glaring, his look screaming for desperate revenge, a battle too risky even for gods."

Then Belial rose, his movements more graceful, more human. A fairer person wouldn’t have lost Heaven; he seemed dignified, built for greatness. But it was all fake, all hollow. His words were like honey, twisting things to make the bad seem good, confusing even the wisest.

"His thoughts were shallow - industrious in pursuing vice, but terrified of doing anything noble. Yet, he sounded convincing, and he began to speak: "I’m totally down for open war, my peers. I’m just as angry as the rest of you.

But the main reason I’m hesitant to start a war is because it feels like a bad sign. The one who’s the best at fighting, the one who's advising us, is basing his courage on complete despair and destruction. Seriously, what's the point of revenge?

Heaven is packed with armed guards, making any attack impossible. They’re always camped out near the Deep, or scouting the realm of Night with their shadowy wings, totally ignoring the possibility of surprise.

Even if we somehow broke through, all of Hell would rise up to challenge Heaven’s light, but our great Enemy - completely pure - would just sit on his throne, untouched. The heavenly material would instantly reject our evil, purging us with victorious fire.

So, our only hope is to make the Almighty spend all his rage...and that’s what will destroy us. That’s our solution - to cease to exist. A sad solution! Who would want to lose this intelligent being? These thoughts that wander through eternity?

To just disappear into the vast emptiness of uncreated Night, devoid of feeling and movement? And who knows if our angry foe will even grant us that?

How he can do it is anyone's guess; that he won’t is a done deal. Will he, so smart, just explode with rage, maybe because he’s powerless or clueless, and give our enemies exactly what they want, ending us while his anger supposedly saves us from endless torture?

"So why are we even here?" they ask, pushing for war.

"We’re doomed, reserved for eternal suffering. No matter what we do, what could possibly be worse?"

Is this the worst - just sitting here, arguing, armed and ready? Remember when we ran, chased and struck by lightning from Heaven, begging the ocean to protect us? That Hell felt like a safe haven. Or when we were chained on that burning lake? That was definitely worse.

What if the force that started those fires woke up and blew them into a sevenfold inferno, plunging us into flames? Or if Heaven unleashed its fury again, with its hand raining fire down on our heads?

While we’re here, planning some epic war, we could get caught in a fiery storm, hurled onto rocks, becoming sport for wild winds or forever sinking beneath that boiling ocean, chained and groaning, unheeded, unpitied, for ages with no hope of an end? That would be worse.

So, war - whether open or hidden - I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea. What can force or trickery do against him? Who can fool a mind that sees everything at once? From up there in Heaven, he’s laughing at our pointless movements, no more able to resist our might than he is to thwart our plans.

Are we just going to live like this - the descendants of Heaven, trampled, expelled, suffering chains and torture? Better this than worse, if you ask me. Fate is unavoidable, and the Victor’s will is absolute.

To suffer, as to act, we’re equally capable, and the law isn’t unfair just because it ordains it. We should have realized this, if we were smart, facing such a powerful foe and unsure of what might happen.

I can’t even deal with those who are brave with their spears, but then shrink back in fear when they fail - terrified of what’s coming: exile, shame, chains, pain, the Conqueror’s sentence. That’s our fate now.

If we can endure it, our Supreme Foe might eventually cool down, and from this distance, he might just forget we ever offended him, satisfied that we’re being punished. Then these raging fires will die down, if he doesn't stir them up again.

Our pure essence will rise above the toxic fumes, or we’ll get used to it, or we’ll change, adapting to the heat and becoming one with this place, feeling no pain. This horror will become mild, this darkness will turn to light.

And who knows what the endless days ahead might bring - what chance, what change is worth waiting for? Our current situation isn't great, but it's not the absolute worst, if we don't make things worse for ourselves.

That's what Belial said, cloaking his words in reason, advising us to just chill and be lazy, not even peace. And then Mammon chimed in: "Either we overthrow the King of Heaven, if war is the best option, or we reclaim what’s rightfully ours."

"Maybe we can dethrone him, right? If Fate just, like, lets Chaos win. It’s a long shot, though. What’s even the point? We can't just hope for a spot in Heaven if we haven’t taken down the big guy. What if he just, like, chills out and offers grace?"

Would we just bow down and sing his praises while he’s sitting on his throne, smelling all good? Ugh, no way.

Worshipping someone we hate forever? So boring. Let’s not try to force a win, or even beg for it. Let's just build our own thing, on our own terms, in this huge space. We’d be free, accountable to no one. That’s way better than being a glorified servant.

Our greatness will really shine when we create something amazing out of nothing, turn bad into good, and thrive even in the worst situations. This dark world? Not even scared. Heaven’s boss hangs out in clouds and darkness all the time, rocking his throne. He can roar and make it look like Hell.

If he can do that, why can't we bring our own light?

This place has hidden treasures - gems, gold, you name it. And we're not lacking in skill or creativity. What can Heaven offer that’s better? Even our suffering can be a strength, these fires softening, changing, making us stronger.

It’s time for calm, for planning. How can we fix things, given where we are? Let’s forget about war. You heard it here first.

He barely finished talking when a buzz filled the room - like when wind echoes off rocks all night, lulling sailors after a storm. Everyone loved it. They were so done with another battle - they’d rather face anything than another round with Michael and his thunderbolts.

They were totally hyped to build their own empire, a rival to Heaven, built over time, through smart moves.

Then Beelzebub spoke - second only to Satan. He rose up, a pillar of power. You could see he was deep in thought, really caring about the public good. He looked majestic, even in ruins. He stood tall, like he could carry the weight of any kingdom.

People were instantly drawn to him, like it was midnight or the hottest summer day.

‘Thrones and Imperial Powers,’ he began, ‘Children of Heaven, Ethereal Virtues! Are we really ditching these titles to become Princes of Hell? The people want to stay, to build something here. But are we really fooling ourselves? Does the King of Heaven have other plans?

Is this a trap, a prison, not a safe haven? Are we just dreaming, thinking we can escape his power, banding together against his throne? We’ll just be captives, even this far away, under his control, waiting for his wrath.

"He's got a whole army of us, you know.’"

He still reigns, obviously. The ultimate boss, top to bottom. He won't lose a single piece of his kingdom, not even because of our little rebellion. Instead, his power stretches over Hell, and he’s ruling us here, just like he rules those angels in Heaven, with an iron fist.

So, what are we even doing, planning for peace or war? War already crushed us, leaving us with irreparable losses. No peace has been offered, and honestly, why would it? What kind of peace could they give us except harsh imprisonment, beatings, and random punishments?

And what peace could we offer them but hostility and hate? Stubborn resistance and revenge, slow maybe, but always scheming how to make the Conqueror regret his victory, how to steal away his joy.

And we don’t even need to launch a full-scale assault on Heaven. Those walls are impenetrable. What if we found something easier? There’s a place - if the ancient prophecies in Heaven are wrong - another world, a happy place, about to be created. It's inhabited by a new race called Man.

They’re like us, but less powerful and less perfect, yet favored by the one who rules above. That's what the Gods declared, and confirmed with an oath that shook Heaven itself.

Let’s focus our minds on learning about these creatures. What are they like? What are they made of? What are their strengths and weaknesses? How can we best attack them - with force or trickery?

Heaven may be locked down, and the ultimate power is secure, but this place could be exposed, the very edge of his kingdom, left to be defended by whoever holds it. Here, we might achieve something big.

We could unleash Hell-fire and destroy everything, or take it all as our own, just like they drove us out. Or, if direct force fails, we could seduce them, turn their God into our enemy, and watch him tear down his own creation.

That would be way more satisfying than just getting revenge. It would mess with his head, and our joy would rise with his turmoil. His beloved sons, cast out to join us, would curse their fragile beginnings and fleeting happiness - gone so fast! So, what do you think?

Is this worth attempting, or should we just sit here, hatching useless plans?

That’s what Beelzebub argued, offering his devilish advice - an idea first conceived by Satan and then proposed. Where else could such deep malice come from but the source of all evil? To corrupt humanity at the root, to mix Earth and Hell, all just to spite the Creator?

But, ironically, their spite only serves to amplify his glory.

The bold plan thrilled the infernal States, and a spark of joy lit up their eyes. They voted unanimously, and then he renewed his speech:

"You’ve judged well. The long debate is over. Synod of Gods, you’re as great as your decisions. We’re resolving something huge that will lift us from the deepest abyss, defying fate itself. Perhaps we'll even glimpse those bright confines of Heaven, and with a coordinated attack, we might re-enter."

"Or maybe we’ll settle in a milder zone, still touched by Heaven’s light, secure and cleansed by the brightening rays. The soft, sweet air will heal the scars of these corrosive fires, breathing balm into our souls."

But, like, who do we send into this new world? Who’s actually up for it? Who’s brave enough to wander into the dark, endless Abyss, and somehow find their way through the thick, confusing shadows, and soar through the vast, sudden emptiness, to reach the happy Isle?

What strength, what skill, could even get them there? Or how could they dodge the vigilant Angels guarding the way? We need to be super careful in our choice; because our last hope rests on whoever we send.

He sat there, and everyone was waiting, holding their breath, wondering who would step up, either to support or to stop it, or to take on this crazy mission. But everyone just sat there, totally freaking out, lost in their own thoughts; and in each other’s faces, they saw their own shock.

Not even the strongest, most powerful warriors could be found willing to risk it alone; until, finally, Satan spoke. He was radiating confidence, feeling his own incredible power.

"Oh, Empyreal Thrones, rulers of Heaven! Why are we all so quiet? It’s a long and hard journey from Hell to the light. Our prison is a huge ball of fire, built to destroy us. Nine layers of burning metal bars block our way. If anyone escapes that, they’re swallowed by the empty void, lost forever."

If they somehow get past that, then what dangers await them in some unknown world?

But it would be embarrassing for me, the king, to back down now, wouldn't it? I’m in charge, and I’m powerful. Why would I let a little danger stop me from doing what’s best for everyone? I’m taking on this risk, and I’m expecting you to do the same.

So, mighty Angels, even though you’ve fallen, focus on making Hell a little more bearable for us. If there’s anything we can do to ease the pain of this awful place, do it. But don’t let your guard down against our enemy, while I go searching for a way out for us all.

"No one will join me on this mission."

Saying this, Satan stood up, stopping anyone from responding. He didn’t want anyone else to offer to go, knowing he’s going to shut them down. He’s earned his position through danger; he’s not letting anyone else try to steal his glory.

But they were even more scared of defying him than they were of the mission itself. And so, they all stood up with him, like a thunderclap echoing in the distance.

They bowed before him, showing their awe and respect, treating him like a god, equal to the highest Angels in Heaven.

They totally hyped up how much they appreciated that he put everyone’s safety above his own. Seriously, even the damned Spirits don't lose all their good qualities. Otherwise, what’s to stop people on Earth from bragging about their awesome deeds, all for glory or fake zeal? That’s the vibe.

So, their super intense meeting wrapped up, and they were all stoked about their legendary leader.

It was like when dark clouds roll in from the mountains while the wind’s chilling out, and suddenly the sky’s gloomy. Then, if the sun peeks out with a sweet goodbye, the fields come alive, the birds start chirping, and the animals are all happy - the whole place just vibes.

Ugh, it’s embarrassing for humans! The devils are totally united, but people - rational beings, supposedly - are always fighting. Even though God is offering peace, they’re full of hate and endless wars, destroying everything. It’s like, do they really need extra hellish enemies on top of that?

They’re already waiting to destroy us!

Okay, the meeting in the underworld was done. The top devils started filing out, led by their big boss. He looked like the ultimate showdown against Heaven - basically Hell's emperor, dripping with power. He was surrounded by a circle of fiery angels, all decked out with weapons and emblems.

They blasted a trumpet call to announce the results! Four speedy angels took blasts of magical sound to their mouths. The announcement echoed across the abyss, and the whole army of Hell roared their approval.

Feeling a little more chill - and maybe a little too confident - the devils dispersed. They wandered off in different directions, following their own whims or whatever felt right. Some raced across the sky like it was the Olympics. Others held back their fiery steeds or formed battle lines.

It was like a war appearing in the clouds, with knights charging and armies clashing - the whole sky was on fire.

Others, super angry, tore up rocks and hills, riding the wind in a crazy whirlwind. Hell barely contained the chaos! It was like when Hercules, after winning a big battle, was poisoned and ripped up Thessalian pine trees by the roots, then tossed Lichas into the sea.

Some of them just retreated to a quiet valley, playing angelic music and singing about their own heroic deeds and their tragic falls. They complained that even virtuous people get trapped by fate. Their song was biased, but the harmony was so intense it silenced even the underworld.

The words flowed so sweetly - like poetry hitting different. Eloquence feeds the soul, and music grabs your senses, period. Elsewhere, a group chilled on a hill, totally lost in thought. They were debating big stuff: destiny, what we know ahead of time, free will, and fate itself.

They went down rabbit holes, honestly.

They argued about good versus evil, happiness versus endless misery, passion versus apathy, glory versus shame. It was all just...extra. A bunch of pointless, fake wisdom, tbh. Still, it had a weird charm, like a spell.

It could distract you from pain for a minute, spark false hope, or give you the strength to just...deal with it. Like armor made of steel.

Other groups were on a mission - a whole squad, really - trying to find a better place to live in this messed-up world. Four groups split up, marching along the banks of four rivers that dumped into the burning lake. First, the Styx, a river of pure hate. Then Acheron, black and deep with sorrow.

Cocytus, where you could hear the loudest cries of despair. And Phlegeton, a river of fire that made you rage.

Far away, a slow, quiet river called Lethe flowed. It was a maze of water where, if you drank from it, you’d forget everything - joy, grief, pleasure, pain - everything.

Beyond that river, a frozen continent stretched out - dark, wild, and constantly battered by storms, blizzards, and hail. It didn't thaw on land, just piled up, creating a landscape of ruins. Everything was snow and ice, deeper than the Serbonian bog between Damiata and Mount Casius.

Armies had vanished in that bog, and the air burned with cold, like fire.

The Furies - creepy, winged monsters - dragged the damned there, forcing them to experience the worst of everything, switching back and forth between raging fire and freezing ice. They’d freeze solid, stuck in place, for what felt like forever, then get thrown back into the fire.

They crossed the Lethean river, both ways, to make their suffering even worse. They’d desperately try to reach the river, hoping for just one drop to erase all their pain and misery, all at once, and it was so close. But Fate wouldn't let them. Medusa, with her terrifying gaze, guarded the river.

The water itself rejected any living thing, just like it rejected Tantalus’s lips.

The groups wandered on, in a confused, hopeless march. They stared at their terrible fate and found no peace. They trudged through dark, dreary valleys, over frozen and fiery mountains, past rocks, caves, lakes, swamps, bogs, and shadows of death.

It was a universe of death, cursed by God to create only evil. All life died there, death thrived, and Nature produced only monstrous, hideous things - things more horrifying than any story ever told. Gorgons, Hydras, Chimeras - things too awful to even imagine.

Meanwhile, Satan, the Adversary of God and Man, fueled by his ambition, spread his wings and headed for the gates of...

He flew solo, sometimes hugging the right coast, sometimes the left. One moment, he skimmed the ocean, level as can be; the next, he shot up, soaring high into the fiery sky.

Like a distant fleet at sea, spotted way out there - hanging in the clouds, driven by those equinox winds. Sailing from Bengal, or the islands of Ternate and Tidore, where merchants haul their spicy goods.

They cross the vast Ethiopian Sea, all the way to the Cape, pushing forward each night toward the pole. That's how he looked, far off.

Finally, he saw Hell-bounds - towering gates reaching the awful roof. Three sets of gates, each with three layers. Brass, iron, and adamantine rock - impenetrable, circled with fire that never went out.

Before the gates, on either side, sat monstrous figures. One looked like a woman from the waist up, beautiful, but below that...scales, endless folds, huge and reptilian - a serpent armed with a deadly sting.

A pack of hellhounds barked around her, a never-ending chorus, their mouths wide and Cerberus-like. If something disturbed their noise, they'd vanish into her belly and kennel there, still barking and howling within.

Less awful than these was Scylla, bathing in the sea that separates Calabria from the rough shores of Trinacria.

Even uglier was the night-hag, when, summoned in secret, she rides through the air, lured by the smell of infant blood, to dance with Lapland witches while the moon goes dark at their spells.

The other figure...if you could even call it a shape. It had no recognizable limbs, joints, or features. It wasn't substance, more like a shadow. Sometimes black as night, fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell itself. It shook a dreadful dart.

What looked like its head wore the likeness of a kingly crown.

Satan was now close, moving from his seat as fast as the monster could stride. Hell trembled as he walked.

The fearless Fiend gazed at what this thing might be - admired it, not feared it (except for God and his Son; he valued nothing created and shunned nothing). With a look of disdain, he spoke first:

"Who are you, execrable Shape, daring to advance your miscreated front across my way to those gates? I mean to pass through them, and I will, without asking your permission. Step aside, or learn through experience the price of challenging Spirits of Heaven, Hell-born."

To which the Goblin, full of rage, replied:

"Are you that traitor Angel? Are you he who first broke peace in Heaven and faith - faith that had been unbroken until then? Did you raise your arms in proud rebellion, drawing a third of Heaven’s sons against the Highest?"

For which, both you and they are here condemned to waste eternal days in woe and pain! And do you think you, a Spirit of Heaven, are Hell-doomed, defying and mocking me here? I am your king and lord! To enrage you further, go back to your punishment!

"Add wings to your speed, or I will pursue you with a whip of scorpions, or with one stroke of this dart, seize you with a horror and pangs you’ve never felt."

The Terror, all grim, spoke, and as he did, he shifted, growing ten times more terrifying, more messed up. On the other side, Satan, fueled by pure rage, stood his ground, totally unbothered. He blazed like a comet, burning across the vastness of Ophiuchus in the arctic sky.

Pestilence and war crackled from his wild hair.

Each leveled a deadly aim, ready to strike. No second chances. The frowns they threw at each other? Like two black storm clouds, loaded with lightning, barreling across the Caspian Sea - then just stopping, hovering, waiting for the wind to signal their final clash in the air.

Their frowns were so intense that Hell itself grew darker. They matched each other perfectly. No one had ever faced a foe like that... except once.

Great deeds had been accomplished, shaking all of Hell. But then, the snaky Sorceress, who sat guarding Hell-gate and held the fatal key, jumped up with a horrible scream, rushing between them.

"Father, what are you doing with that hand?" she cried.

"Against your only son? What fury, son, possesses you to aim that mortal dart at your father’s head? And do you even know who you’re doing this for? For the one above, who’s laughing at you, ordering you to do his bidding - his ‘justice,’ which will destroy you both one day!"

Her words stunned the hellish horde. Then, she turned to Satan:

"So strange your outburst, your words so weird! You interrupt, preventing my swift hand from telling you... by actions... what it intends. First, tell me who you are, this strange double form, and why you’re meeting me here, in this infernal valley."

"Why do you call me ‘father,’ and that phantasm ‘son’?"

To which the Portress of Hell-gate replied:

"Have you forgotten me? Do I seem so awful to you now? Once, I was considered beautiful - in Heaven, when we were at the assembly, in sight of all the Seraphim, plotting together. Suddenly, excruciating pain struck you, blurring your eyes, leaving you dizzy."

Flames erupted from your head, thick and fast, until, on the left side, opening wide, a figure shone - bright, heavenly fair, a goddess armed. Out of your head, I sprung!

Amazement seized the host of Heaven. They recoiled, afraid. At first, they called me Sin, a portentous sign. But, growing familiar, I won them over - especially you. You often gazed into me, seeing your perfect image, and became enamored.

You took such secret joy in me that my womb conceived a growing burden.

Meanwhile, war erupted in Heaven. And (what else could have happened? Almighty Foe secured a clear victory; we suffered loss and rout throughout the Empyrean. Down we fell, driven headlong from the heights of Heaven, down into this Deep. And during that general fall, I also fell.

"It was then that this powerful key was given into my hands, with the charge to keep these gates forever shut - which no one can pass without my opening."

Pensive, I sat alone. But I didn’t stay that way for long. My womb, pregnant by you, now huge and overflowing, pulsed with awful motion and throbbing pain. Finally, this horrible child - your own - burst through my insides. It was a violent, terrifying birth.

My body twisted and changed, transforming before my eyes. But he, my sworn enemy, emerged, brandishing his deadly dart, made to destroy.

I ran, screaming, "Death!" Hell shuddered at the name, a mournful sigh echoing from its depths. I fled, but he pursued - driven more by lust than rage - and quickly caught up.

My mother, utterly devastated, embraced me with a forceful, disgusting passion, and from that violation, these screaming monsters were born. They surround me, conceived and born hourly, bringing endless sorrow.

Because whenever they please, they return to the womb that birthed them, howling and gnawing at my insides - their gruesome feast. Then, bursting forth again with conscious terror, they torment me, offering no rest.

Before my eyes sits Grim Death, my son and my enemy, the one who set them on me. He’s eager to devour me, his parent, but he knows his end is tied to mine. He knows I’d be a bitter morsel, his bane. That’s Fate’s decree. But you, my father, listen closely: avoid his deadly arrow.

Don’t foolishly believe you’re invincible, protected by those shimmering, heavenly arms. That mortal blow can’t be resisted by anyone - except the one who reigns above. She finished.

The subtle Fiend absorbed her words, now calmer and smooth in his response: - "Dear daughter - since you claim me as your father, and show me your beautiful son - the precious reminder of our sweet dalliances in Heaven, joys now turned to sorrow because of this awful change - know that I come not as an enemy, but to free both him and you, and all the heavenly host of Spirits who, armed with just cause, fell with us from on high."

I undertake this strange errand alone, exposing myself to the void immense. I’ll search for a place foretold - a vast, round place of bliss, located near Heaven. It's meant to be created by signs already in place. And there, I’ll place a race of upstart creatures - perhaps to replace us.

Heaven, with its potent multitude, might spark new conflicts if it becomes too crowded.

Whether this - or something more secret - is the plan, I’m eager to know. Once I do, I’ll return and bring you to a place where you and Death will dwell in peace, silently gliding through the air, surrounded by sweet scents.

"There, you’ll be fed and filled beyond measure; all things will be your prey."

"He paused; both seemed highly pleased. Death grinned a horrifying, ghastly smile, thrilled that his hunger would be satisfied, blessing the hour destined for him. His mother rejoiced as well, and addressed her sire: - "I keep the key to this infernal Pit, by Heaven’s all-powerful King’s decree.

"I’m forbidden to unlock these adamantine gates. Death stands ready to interpose his dart, fearless of living might."

But what do I even owe him, my dad? He hates me, seriously, and just yeeted me down here. Into this super gloomy, deep-level Tartarus. I’m stuck doing this lame job, basically a prisoner of Heaven, born into all this. Forever in agony and pain, surrounded by terror and noise.

My own kids are feeding off me, can you even imagine?

"You’re my dad, you made me. Who else am I supposed to listen to? Who else should I follow? You're gonna get me out of here soon, right? To that new world of light and chill vibes, where the gods just lounge around and I’m gonna reign beside you, like your fave daughter, forever."

Saying that, she grabbed the key - a seriously messed-up thing, like the source of all our problems - and started rolling her beastly crew towards the gate. Suddenly, the giant portcullis started rising. No one but her could have even budged it.

She twisted the complicated lock, and every bolt and bar of solid iron or rock just popped open with ease.

The infernal doors swung open with a crash, the hinges screaming a deafening thunder that shook the very bottom of Erebus. She opened them, but closing them? Forget about it. They stood wide open, like a giant furnace mouth, spewing out smoke and red flames.

Before their eyes appeared the secrets of the deep - a dark, endless ocean. No boundaries, no limits. Where length, width, height, time, and space just vanish. Where the oldest Night and Chaos, the ancestors of Nature, hold eternal chaos, surrounded by constant war.

Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry - four fierce champions - fight for dominance, bringing their tiny building blocks to battle. They swarm around their flags, light-armed or heavy, sharp or smooth, fast or slow, unnumbered like the sands of Barca or Cyrene. Whoever they cling to rules for a moment.

Chaos is the umpire, making the fight even wilder. Chance is the ultimate arbiter.

Into this wild abyss - Nature’s womb, and maybe her grave - a place with no sea, shore, air, or fire, but all these mixed together in their rawest forms - the wary Fiend stood on the edge of Hell and stared. He wasn't crossing a simple river here.

The noise was insane - louder than when Bellona goes full war mode, tearing down a city. Like if Heaven itself was falling apart, and the elements were ripping themselves from the Earth.

Finally, he unfurled his massive wings and launched himself into the swirling smoke, rising like he was riding a cloudy throne. But that ride quickly failed, and he found himself in a vast emptiness.

Suddenly, his flags drooped, and he plummeted - straight down, like a stone. Ten thousand fathoms deep, he kept falling, and would still be falling now if not for a crazy, fiery storm cloud that shoved him miles upward.

That storm calmed - swallowed by a swampy, lifeless bog - and he pressed on, half-sinking, half-flying. Now he needed both oars and sails, no joke.

It was like a gryphon hunting an Arimaspian, chasing him through the wilderness across hills and moors. The Arimaspian had stolen guarded gold, sneaky!

So the Fiend, with wings, hands, feet, whatever worked, raced through bogs, over cliffs, through dense thickets - swimming, sinking, wading, crawling, flying.

Then, a massive, chaotic roar hit his ears - a wild jumble of sounds and voices echoing through the darkness. Undeterred, he charged toward it, ready to face whatever power or spirit lurked in the abyss. He needed to know the way to the nearest coast of darkness, the edge of the light.

And then, bam - the throne of Chaos! A dark pavilion spread out across the endless, empty sea. Seated on the throne was sable-vested Night, the oldest being of all, Chaos’s partner. Orcus and Ades stood beside them, alongside the dreaded Demogorgon.

Rumor, Chance, Tumult, and Confusion swirled around them, all tangled up in discord - a thousand voices shouting at once.

Satan turned to them, bold as ever: "You Powers and Spirits of this deepest abyss, Chaos and ancient Night, I’m no spy. I’m not here to uncover your secrets or cause trouble. I’m just wandering through this dark wasteland, trying to get back to the light."

Lost and without a guide, I need to know the quickest path out of your realm. Or, if another power has taken over, I need directions to get there. Just point me in the right direction, and I'll repay you.

"I’m on a mission to reclaim that lost region, kick out all the usurpers, and return it to your darkness and control - that’s my whole purpose. You’re getting all the benefits, and I’m getting my revenge!"

Chaos, ancient and weary, answered with a shaky voice and a face full of doubt: "I know you, stranger - that mighty leading Angel, who recently challenged Heaven’s King, but was overthrown. I saw it all. I heard it all."

A massive army fled through the frightened Deep, a disaster upon disaster, confusion beyond belief. Heaven's gates poured out millions of victorious soldiers, chasing them. I keep watch on my frontiers here.

I’ll do whatever I can to defend what little is left, even though we're constantly fighting each other - weakening the ancient power of Night. First, there’s Hell, your dungeon, stretching far and wide below.

"And recently, another world - Heaven and Earth - hung over my realm, linked by a golden chain to the side of Heaven from where your legions fell!"

"If that’s the path you’re taking, you’re not far," he said. " The danger’s closer than you think. Go, and hurry up! Havoc, ruin, and destruction - that's all I want." He stopped.

Satan didn’t even bother replying. He was just stoked that his sea was finally hitting land.

With renewed energy, he surged upward, like a giant fireball, blasting into the wild expanse. He fought against the elements on every side, pushing his way through. It was harder, more dangerous, than when Argo sailed through the narrow strait between the rocks.

Or when Ulysses dodged Charybdis, steering clear of the whirlpools.

Satan struggled, working hard to move forward. But once he was through, things changed. When humans fell, Sin and Death suddenly appeared, following his trail - it was Heaven’s will.

They paved a wide, well-worn path over the dark abyss, whose boiling depths patiently held a bridge of incredible length. It stretched from Hell to the edge of this fragile world.

This bridge allowed the evil spirits to travel easily, tempting or punishing humans - unless they were protected by God and the good angels.

But now, finally, a glimmer of light appeared. It shot from the walls of Heaven, piercing the dimness of the night. Here, Nature began to take shape. Chaos started to retreat, like a defeated enemy, with less noise and less hostility.

Satan, with less effort now, floated along the calmer waters, guided by a hazy light. He was like a boat that’s seen better days, its sails and ropes torn, but still making it to shore.

Or like air, he spread his wings, taking his time to look out at the heavenly realm, stretching out endlessly - not quite square, not quite round.

Opal towers and sapphire battlements decorated it - once his home. And close by, hanging on a golden chain, was this world, as big as a tiny star, not far from the moon.

Full of malicious revenge, he hurried towards it, cursed and arriving at a cursed hour.