Three Years Ago — Final Gate of Hell
The chamber was massive, dark, and alive with flickering fire. Black stone twisted into jagged shapes along the walls, and the throne of Azreal, Lord of the Final Gate, stood like a mountain in the center. Lava flowed in cracks along the floor, casting the room in a red glow.
Aria stood before him, defiant but clearly out of place in her human form—no armor, no weapon, just raw will.
Azreal leaned forward lazily on one hand, his sharp crimson eyes narrowed on her. "So. You're the girl who refuses her place in hell. You say there's been a mistake."
"Obviously!" Aria crossed her arms. "I asked that scale guy to take me to his boss, and I guess that's you."
Her voice echoed slightly in the vast hall.
"I was supposed to be in heaven," she continued. "Not here. Must've been a mix-up... system failure... wrong soul in the wrong gate. I don't know. But it's wrong."
