Malrion — First Person
The Echo Ring didn't stop moving.
Even after a full night of rest — if time could be trusted here — it kept turning with that same quiet rhythm inside my chest. It pulsed warm, then cool, then warm again, like a heartbeat that hadn't decided what species it belonged to.
I sat on a broken slab of stone in the Silent Maw.Arms resting on my knees.Breathing slow.Listening.
Not meditating.Just… existing with it.
Alastor drifted at the edge of my mind, calmer than usual.
"It's still spinning."
"Yes."
"And you're not dying. That's promising."
"I wasn't planning to die."
"No one ever does. That's what makes it funny."
I exhaled through my nose, steady. The ring answered with a soft pulse.
"…This feels like something," I said finally. "Not random. Not chaotic."
"Well, congratulations."A beat."You invented feelings in your ribcage."
"Alastor."
"Fine, fine. It's… orderly. Disturbingly so."
That was the strange part.
Hell didn't do "orderly."Hell didn't do "calm."Hell definitely didn't do "consistent."
But the Echo Ring?
It did.
Maybe that was why it scared me a little.
Not because it hurt — it didn't.Not because it corrupted — it didn't.Because it was new.
Hell killed new things fast.
I placed two fingers on my chest.
"It reacts to emotions," I said.
"It reacts to your emotions."
"And to those sin threads."
"Yes. Like it… filters them."
"Or processes them."
"Processes what?"
"The weight. The memory. The heat."
"Like digestion?"
"…That's a terrible metaphor."
"And yet accurate."
I sighed.
"Maybe it's a stabilizer. Something that… keeps me balanced."
"Or it's a cage."
"For what?"
"For me."
I froze.
"…Do you believe that?"
"I believe everything until proven false."
Fair.
"And what do you think it grows into?" I asked.
He went silent for a moment.
Then:
"A structure."
"What kind?"
"No idea."
I nodded slowly.
"Maybe more rings form later."
"Perhaps."
"A sequence?"
"Levels."
"A system?"
"…If it is a system, it isn't Hell's."
That hit harder than expected.
Hell's systems were simple:
power
violence
sin
corruption
This did not belong to that list.
"This is the result of us merging," I whispered.
"Yes."
"So it's something unique."
"Or a mistake."
"…You really enjoy ruining the mood."
"It's my job."
I looked inward again.The ring turned.Slow, steady, a patient circle of white and red light.
"If this is a system," I said, "there must be stages. Or… levels."
"Then name them."
"I don't know them."
"Guess."
That was fair.
I forced myself to think the way the ring felt, not the way cultivation stories were written.
"…Maybe the first level is simply stability. The ring being solid."
"Reasonable."
"And the second…"
I hesitated.
"The second might be… understanding emotions?"
"Why?"
"Because the ring reacts to them. And Hell is made of them."
He hummed.
"Not bad."
"And then… maybe being able to control the flow?"
"That would be useful."
"Yes."
"And maybe later… shaping it. Or directing it. Or… making something out of it."
Alastor chuckled.
"You want tricks."
"No. I want structure."
"Same thing."
Maybe he was right.
But these were all guesses.Nothing certain.Nothing real.
Just intuition.
Still — intuition had carried us this far.
"Alastor," I said slowly, "if a system like this exists… where does that put me?"
He considered that question with a seriousness he rarely used.
"Outside the hierarchy."
"That's not a place."
"Exactly."
I waited.
He continued:
"Hell likes labels: sinner, demon, high demon, Overlord, royalty."
"Yes."
"You don't fit any of them."
"…What do I fit?"
"A new problem."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Stop calling me that."
"It's a compliment."
"No it's not."
"In Hell it is."
He wasn't wrong.
Hell respected threats more than promises.
I leaned back.
"Let's map out Hell. Roughly. Just to see how far I am from being noticed."
"Fine. Start at the top."
"Lucifer."
"A figurehead. Powerful, but uninterested."
"Lilith."
"Actual force. Diplomat. Strategist."
"The Goetia."
"Old nobles with old magic and older egos."
I nodded.
"Then Overlords."
Alastor smiled inside my skull.
"The real rulers. The predators."
"Where do YOU stand among them?"
"Wherever I decide to."
"Not helpful."
"I haven't chosen yet. You haven't chosen yet."
That made me pause.
"…Right."
Because his rise depended on me.And mine depended on him.
Two bodies.One soul.One destiny with two steps.
"Then demons," I said, continuing.
"Thousands. Stronger than sinners. But weaker than us."
"And sinners at the bottom."
"The flood that keeps Hell from collapsing under boredom."
"And below that?" I asked.
He shifted.
"Things we don't talk about."
Meaning:
ancient beings
failed experiments
forgotten gods
creatures with no names
The lowest rings were wild Hell — untouched and unpredictable.
Places like Silent Maw.
My home.For now.
I exhaled.
"Where does that put me?"
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"Below demons."
I blinked.
"…Below demons?"
"Yes."
"Even with the ring?"
"Especially with the ring."
That… stung.
But it was honest.
"You have no physical power. No sin-density. No territory. No influence. No name."
"Well… thanks?"
"BUT."
He leaned forward inside my mind — like leaning over a table.
"You have something Hell has never seen."
"The ring."
"Yes."
"And that gives you potential. Dangerous potential."A beat."Not yet strength. But potential."
"And potential is… where in the hierarchy?"
Alastor smiled.
I felt it.
Sharp.Satisfied.Hungry.
"Potential doesn't fit in the hierarchy. Potential breaks it."
I stared into the darkness of the Maw.
Letting that sink in.
Letting the truth of it twist inside me.
Finally, I whispered:
"…Then we move slowly."
"Very slowly."
"And quietly."
"Especially quietly."
"And when we grow?"
His voice sharpened with pleasure:
"We grow into something Hell won't understand until it's far too late."
The Echo Ring warmed.
Agreeing.
Or hungry.
Or simply alive.
I couldn't tell.
And that uncertainty felt strangely perfect.