Chamber of Abyssal Flame — Ritual Circle
The final sigil ignited.
A blinding flare of red and gold erupted from the center of the altar. The six-pointed summoning circle screamed with energy as the ritual's climax surged across the underworld. The crystal heart cracked—bleeding light and fire.
Lucifer hovered above the circle, arms outstretched, wings spread wide in anticipation. His grin was cruel, victorious.
> "Come, Nameless One," he whispered. "Rise and claim this world."
But the flames shifted.
The energy twisted.
The sigil fractured—not broken, but... redirected.
A second presence entered the chamber. Older. Hotter. Hungrier.
From the shattered heart, a silhouette emerged—tall, horned, cloaked in solar fire. His skin shimmered with molten gold, and his hair blazed like living embers. When his eyes opened, the chamber bowed to their heat.
Lucifer's smile faltered.
> "You… You're not—"
> "No," the figure said, stepping onto solid ground. "The Nameless One is... otherwise occupied in the divine realm."
His voice dripped with disdain. Each word cracked the stones beneath him.
> "So I came instead."
Lucifer dropped to one knee, more from instinct than reverence. His heart pounded.
> "Lord Ifrit… the Betrayer of Solari…"
> "God of Flame, now," Ifrit corrected, gaze sharp as ash-forged blades. "Why the hesitation, King of Demon?"
Lucifer clenched his fists, bowing deeper.
> "I didn't expect... you. The ritual was meant—"
> "For a god," Ifrit interrupted. "And I answered."
He stepped forward. The obelisks dimmed at his approach.
> "Why? Am I not welcome here?"
His voice dropped, quiet but suffocating. Lucifer flinched.
> "Forgive me, Lord Ifrit. I… I wasn't aware—curse this unforeseen power shift. But the Nameless One… he is still my ultimate goal."
> This is merely a temporary setback, he told himself. Let him rule for now. But I am no servant. Not forever.
Ifrit turned his back on Lucifer and raised his hand. The circle widened, flames lashing outward.
> "I care not for your ambitions. My goal is clear—conquer this planet before the Nameless One descends."
> "Two days," he added, smiling without warmth. "That's all the time we have before the gods truly begin to watch."
---
Outside — The Black Plains
Ifrit raised his hand, his fingers wreathed in writhing flame, and said:
> "Summon your armies, Demon King. I want this world trembling before nightfall."
Lucifer bowed deeply, but his crimson eyes flickered with veiled malice. He turned toward the obsidian altar, where the runes still glowed with dying embers, and drew a long breath.
> "By the Pact of Flame and Shadow, I summon the clans of the Abyss."
He plunged his clawed hand into the ritual circle. Blood and flame surged from the contact point. The ground cracked open in a radial pattern, splitting the chamber like the spokes of a wheel.
The air screamed.
The sky outside turned crimson as the summoning began.
---
The Demon Clans Arrive
From beneath the chamber, ancient conduits burst open like arteries, channeling hellfire in all directions. Giant stone gates carved with demonic scripture cracked open across the continent.
From the east, through the canyons of Skarath:
The Orc Horde emerged. Ten thousand war drums pounded in unison as towering, armor-plated orcs marched forward. Each bore tribal war paint in obsidian and ash. Leading them was Warchief Drogmarr, a mountain of muscle with twin axes carved from dragon bone, his roar shaking the skies.
From the swamps of Venmire:
The Lizardmen slithered into formation—silent, cold-blooded killers with spears laced in alchemical venom. Their chieftess, Ssivakra the Scaleblessed, rode a giant basilisk with eyes like molten jade. Her tongue flicked as she hissed in reverence to Lucifer and Ifrit.
From the deep chasms below the Cradle Peaks:
The Goblin Swarms spilled like a living tide—thousands of green-skinned fiends armed with crude bombs, jagged knives, and endless cackles. Their general, Grink the Flame-Eater, sat on a throne of broken mage skulls atop a siege beast, eyes gleaming with manic hunger.
From the Webbed Ruins of Tyverra:
The Human-Spiders descended—horrific hybrids of man and arachnid, their limbs twitching unnaturally as they skittered across walls and ceilings. Their queen, Sil'sha of the Webvoid, wore a crown of bones, and whispered lullabies that drove weaker demons mad.
From the Ashened Vale:
The Demonic Beasts rampaged into the open—fiery wolves, horned titans, and flying serpents of molten rock. These were raw chaos given form, bound only by Lucifer's curse-marked chains.
And from the sunless forests of Duskspire:
The Black Elves emerged. Elegant and deadly, they marched in perfect formation—cloaks of shadow trailing behind. Their leader, Velrith Duskthorn, a former moon elf corrupted by void magic, saluted Ifrit with a wicked grin.
---
The Assembly of the End
All of them converged on the Scorched Plateau before the Abyssal Tower—millions of creatures, hundreds of banners, dozens of clans. The sky darkened with their presence. Thunder rolled, not from nature, but from the synchronized beat of a billion feet and wings.
Lucifer rose into the air, his wings spanning the entire width of the sky behind him. His voice boomed:
> "Lords of the Underworld! The time has come. No longer do we hide in shadow. A god walks among us."
He gestured toward Ifrit, who stood atop the black dais, arms folded, flames coiling around him like serpents.
> "The Nameless One will come, but until then—we burn this world in his name!"
Ifrit's voice followed—quieter, colder, more terrifying:
> "No. You burn it in mine."
With a single motion, he split the sky with a pillar of solar flame. Its light scorched the clouds, casting an eerie golden hue over the entire continent.
Every creature knelt.
The orcs slammed their axes.
The goblins shrieked in twisted joy.
The lizardmen hissed their vows.
The elves whispered blood oaths in the Old Tongue.
The demons howled at the sky.
The beasts roared until the mountains echoed back.
---
Lucifer descended beside Ifrit, expression unreadable.
> He commands them like they were born for this…
> No, Lucifer thought. He stole my war. But I will take it back. When the time is right.
As the armies began to march, Ifrit gazed into the sky—his expression distant.
> "Rael… Solari child… I wonder if you'll remember me."
Then, like a spark hitting dry grass, the War of Flame truly began.
The sky cracked.
A column of flame surged from the ritual site, visible for hundreds of miles. Across Eldoria, mages and sages felt the shift—an ancient force not divine, but something worse: fallen divinity.
In the south's, armies stirred.