10 Years before the attack.
Ten thrones circled a pit of molten blood. Their shadows stretched like mountains, each one a dominion of ruin. It had been centuries since the last reset, but humanity still lived. The Sigils gathered to decide when that reprieve would end.
Narration: They were the Ten. The Sigils of Hell. The executioners of eras. Three resets behind them, and now the Fourth on their tongues.
Velythar — The Deathsong (Third Sigil Demon):
Velythar: Humanity's voices grow too loud. Their corruption drains faster than it fills. The Sins Reservoir thins. They must be reset.
Druval — The Butcher (Fifth Sigil Demon):
Druval: HAH! Yes! Reset them! I tire of chewing old marrow. Mawreth hungers for new flesh. I will carve their screams into the walls of creation!
Nyxira — The Silence (Sixth Sigil Demon):
Nyxira: Your hunger blinds you, Butcher. The shadows are not yet fat. If we reset now, the Reservoir cracks half-filled. Wasteful. I say we wait.
Ozyth — The Halo (Eighth Sigil Demon):
Ozyth: Wait? You mistake patience for wisdom. Mortals tremble already. Their Ark rots. One strike, and their corruption spills. Why delay the inevitable?
Kaelvorn — The Annihilation (Seventh Sigil Demon):
Kaelvorn: Inevitability is irrelevant. Humanity is pestilence. Reservoirs, shadows, marrow—it is noise. Only annihilation ends cycles.
Morgath leaned forward, his throne creaking like steel bending under weight.
Morgath — The Slaughter (Second Sigil Demon):
Morgath: We've reset them thrice already. The Flood drowned their arrogance, left a remnant on drifting wood. Still, they crawled back.
Tharion — The Extermination (Fourth Sigil Demon):
Tharion: The Crystal City of Aethel. They mined light itself, forged crystal engines to rival gods. We shattered them. Erased their false glory.
Azrael — The Reaper (First Sigil Demon):
Azrael: And the Sky-Gardens of Aeridor. They severed earth, rose above it, starved those below. We let them fall from their heavens. Humanity burned its wings a third time.
The chamber darkened. Even demons hushed before the Reaper's patience.
Druval: Yet you linger, Reaper. Three resets, and still you count. Have you grown soft?
Nyxira: Yes. You wait when you should end. Perhaps the First has forgotten his dominion.
Azrael's hollow gaze swept the chamber. Centuries bent in his silence before he spoke.
Azrael: Soft? No. I count. That is all. Each reset fattens the Reservoir more. Humanity returns darker, heavier with sin. When the Fourth comes, it will be the last. And when the trumpets sound, they will not herald water, nor crystal, nor gardens. They will herald fire.
Two thrones stirred together. Shadows leaned forward like mirrors. Their voices came layered, one upon the other, impossible to separate.
The Twins (Ninth and Tenth): The vessel cracks. The Reservoir strains. The Fourth Reset bleeds near. When it brims, we rise. Together.
Their words crawled across the chamber, searing themselves into bone. Even Nyxira's silence faltered before them.
Narration: And so the Ten decreed. Not yet—but soon. Humanity's days were numbered. Their sins would fill the vessel, and Hell would rise to collect.
To be continued...