Pandaemonium

As they approached, the fortress appeared larger than it had earlier in the distance. Gilles slowed down his pace and carefully landed on the ground of the tower's wall.

"We're here," Gilles said as he folded his wings and began to walk, leading the way.

Ars struggled to stand up, his body started to feel pain once again. Ahead of him lay another dark, foreboding hallway, seemingly endless in its length.

"Pandaemonium."

"..."

As they made their way through the dark hallway, a sense of unease settled over him. The cries and weeps of the voices wasn't heard no more as they entered the hallway. It was complete silence.

Although half-way through their walk, the silence was occasionally broken by the sudden whispers and knocks that seemed to come from somewhere around the dark edges.

Looking around, the walls appeared to be adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of demons torturing one another: split in half, tied in cogs with limbs cut off, skin flayed, burnt for eternity, and other gruesome methods unknown to humans.

The stone statues of winged demons loomed ominously from the shadows. The flickering torches lining the walls gave off a glow to the surroundings.

After some time, they arrived at a narrower hallway which led to an entrance to a room at the end of it. The sound of their footsteps are much distinct.

The large wooden door creaked as it opened and dust scattered around. It seems like the door hasn't been opened in a long time.

Upon entering, Ars was immediately struck by the bright and spacious interior, reminiscent of a cathedral. The walls towered high and the ceilings were filled with chandeliers, casting a warm glow across the room.

The floor was made of polished black quartz, and the air was thick with the scent of burning incense. As they walked further inside, their footsteps echoed loudly against the floor. The room was vast and filled with enormous statues of demonic creatures lining the walls.

As Gilles and Ars walked further inside, their eyes fell upon a massive stairs with red carpet, leading up to a throne made of twisted black iron at the center of the room. And there, standing in front of the throne, was a figure of what appears to be a man. But as he turned to face them, Ars was left petrified. His eyes were hollow and dripping with black blood, and his unblemished skin was deathly pale, as if drained of all life and color.

Clothed in a black robe that flows down to the floor, covering his entire body. The robe is made of a soft, silky material that seems to absorb all light, making it appear as if he is shrouded in deep darkness. His hair is long and flowing, pure white in color, and cascading down his back like a waterfall of snow, contrasts starkly against the blackness of his clothes.

Gilles suddenly fell to his knees and lowered his head to the ground, while Ars observed and thought that the man in front of them must be of great importance for Gilles to display such of reverence. However, Ars himself was unsure of how to react as he remained standing still.

The figure's deep and resonant voice reverberated across the room as he spoke, "Welcome," with a piercing gaze.

"..."

"I am Demiurge, the Prince of Tartarus."

Ars could feel the weight of his gaze upon him. he knew that this being before him held great power. Demiurge continued, "Gilles has spoken highly of you. It is rare to find a mortal who can withstand the rigors of this realm."

Confused, Ars finally spoke, "What?"

Demiurge's lips curled into a sly smile as he pointed his elongated fingers at Gilles, to which Ars eventually realized that the he was not kneeling as he had assumed. Rather, he was trying to withstand the overwhelming pressure of Demiurge's aura.

"What do you want?"

Demiurge's chuckled, Ars' uneasiness growing. "Cutting to the chase, aren't we? Fear not, but I only wish to know your name," the prince spoke.

Ars hesitated for a moment before responding. "Ars. Ars Goetia," he said, his voice slightly trembling.

Demiurge's lips twisted into a smile as he repeated Ars' name under his breath. He then took a seat on the throne, crossing his legs and leaning forward, his eyes locked onto Ars'.

"What is it that you desire?" he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Ars was unsure of what to say. The look in Demiurge's eyes made him feel as if he was anticipating a pleasing answer. He looked to Gilles for guidance, but he remained silent, his head still bowed low on the floor. The silence in the room was almost deafening as Ars struggled to find the right words.

Demiurge's eyes narrowed, sensing Ars' nervousness. "We have yet an abundance of chances to meet once again. But alas, for now, this conversation must end," he stood up and walked towards, heading to the wooden door that they've entered ealier.

As he passed by, he took another fleeting glance at Ars' eyes, his gaze piercing and unsettling.

"..."

"I eagerly await your response. Until we meet again," he said as he vanished into the shadows.

The echoes of his footsteps faded into the darkness, leaving Ars and Gilles alone in the vast room.

Ars broke the silence, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked Gilles.

Ars extended his hand to help Gilles stand, but his offer was met with rejection as Gilles pushed him away and got up on his own. As he raised his head, his eyes had become hollow and his face appeared to be melting away as well.

...

Hours earlier...

At the gate of Nyxiana's fortress.

'Ah. Her eyes... It felt lonely,' he thought to himself as he took a quick glance of the woman's eyes.

Ars tried to move, but he couldn't. He was completely paralyzed, trapped in his own broken body. In his mind, he laughed bitterly at himself, knowing that this was just the beginning of his hellish torment.

With a single motion of her hand, a powerful force of wind blasted his body, sweeping him away into the darkness in a blink of an eye.

Splat!

Only was the scattered remains of his blood was left to be seen. Minerva cried out desperately, "Mister!" but Ars had already vanished without a trace, leaving her in grief.

Vanished into nothingness.

Orthus watched helplessly as Minerva wept, feeling a sense of responsibility for Ars' disappearance but unable to offer any comfort. His anger surged through him, causing the scars that were concealed by his thick black fur to glow and release steam.

He stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Minerva with a seething expression.

However, the woman's face remained expressionless, unaffected by the situation.

A small black cloud started to form near the woman's leg, and soon after, black wolves emerged from it. Despite being a mythical beast of the underworld, the wolves were not scared from Orthrus' angry stare and gritting teeth.

"Foolish woman!" Orthus growled before getting into a fighting stance, preparing for a powerful attack. The heat emanating from their mouths caused the wolves to burn and wither away. A bright red light then started to form from both of their mouths.

In an instant, a massive beam of flame erupted towards the woman, but she was unscathed. The attack was completely blocked, and the place remained intact. Despite both of them putting all their strength on that attack alone, it was not enough.

"Who are you?"

"..."

The woman then raised her arms, and two glowing spirits appeared from her back.

Orthrus readied himself for another attack, but the woman quickly raised her hands, and a thundering bolt shot out from her palms and headed straight towards Orthos' mouth.

BOOM!

Orthos' head exploded into ashes, causing Orthus to scream in horror.

"Brother!!"

"You...!" His low-pitched snarl then became a rumble as the surface shook. The atmosphere became heavier and the murder of crows began to fly through the sky.

Orthus raised his head, looking at the sky. He closed his eyes and the rumbling gradually became weaker. He managed to control his anger from taking over.

Orthus turned his back and ran, taking Minerva away. Overwhelmed by a sense of devastation as he suppressed his pride and ego, accepting that retreat was the best choice.

!

A jolt of fear shot through Ars' body as he suddenly woke up, realizing it was all just another nightmare which felt so real. His head throbbed as he tried to move, only to find himself shackled by metal cuffs and chains on the wall inside a dimly-lit room which seemed like a dungeon.

The only source of light was a single torch that emitted blue flame, attached on the wall besides him. The torch was held by a skull, which served as a torch holder. The flickering blue light cast shadows on the rough stone walls.

More importantly, he felt devoid of physical feeling once more.

'This again?' he thought to himself while struggling against his restraints. He tried to force his arms to break the chain, but the lock won't budge.

After several hours of struggling against his restraints, Ars began to feel as though the effort was taking a toll on him, despite the lack of any physical sensations of exhaustion or pain.

The surrounding was enveloped in complete darkness. The dim glow of the torch was inadequate to light up the entire space. As Ars gazed at his body, he remembered how he was killed by a woman. A large scar on his stomach was visible.

"Hahh..."

...

The metallic clanging of chains reverberated throughout the dark room as Ars desperately struggled against his restraints. His wrists, already blackened and bruised, strained against the unyielding shackles that bound both. His left arm hung limply by his side for its bones was shattered and broken, basically useless. But despite all this, Ars felt no pain. Not even a bead of sweat in his face.

But only his arms was chained, to which gave Ars a hope.

Using the walls to his advantage, he braced himself against the rough walls with his feet. Quickly, he flipped forward with the support of the walls and chains that held his arms, using the momentum to kick the torch behind him.

'Phew... My right can still go.'

The meager blue flame flickered to life, casting a dim glow on the ominous surroundings.

As the light dimly illuminates the room, seeing piles of bones littered the floor, Ars finally realized where he was.

A torture chamber.

Ironically, the situation wasn't as intimidating as it would have been for him who couldn't feel pain anyways. With his mind set straight, he pushed through the discomfort of his broken bones.

The shackles that bound him were strong, leaving him with no other option but to use every ounce of his strength to break free. He pulled with all his might, his flesh tear and bones crack as he strained against the metal.

Crack!

His broken left arm had finally slipped away from the metal cuffs. Lifting his arm, he then proceeds to rip off the flesh of his arm by using his teeth. As soon as the bone was visible, he broke it by using his head and knees, hammering his forehead against his knees where his left arm is placed onto.

Ars relentlessly pounded his forehead against the bone until it cracked on half, its edge was sharp and jagged. He clamped his teeth down on the bone and ripped it from his arm, using it as a makeshift lockpick to open the metal cuff on his right arm.

Hours turned into days and days turned almost into a week as he attempted to pick the cuff, using his mouth.

At last, with a satisfying click, the metal cuff gave way.

"Fuck. Finally..."

Ars slowly made his way towards the wooden torch lying on the ground. Its blue flame hasn't fade yet despite being on the floor for days.

The room had foul stench but Ars had grown accustomed to the smell now. As he walked further into the room, piles of bones had obstructed the path. Some of the bones had sharp horns, while others had elongated fangs, and colossal skulls littered the floor. It was no ordinary torture chamber.

Upon reaching the end of the room, Ars spent minutes more trying to make sense of the surroundings, ultimately finding a small metal door. He tried opening it, but it was locked.

"..."