Infernal Ascendancy

The Second Gate of Hell

Veymar sat slumped over his desk, forehead pressed to wood, boredom carved into the set of his shoulders.

"You're in a bad state, my lord," Blight said from behind him, voice even but worried.

Veymar didn't lift his head. "Of course I am. Aria and the rest get to go on that important mission—and I don't."

Blight frowned. "But my lord, I thought you told Lord Azreal you'd grow bored easily. I thought that's why you didn't push him to invite you into the group."

Veymar barked out a short laugh without mirth. "Yes, I told him that—but it wasn't the truth. I just didn't want Lord Azreal to know how desperate I was to go. Just thinking about the strong enemies they'll face… "

Blight attempted reassurance. "If you're worried about the Six, don't be. Lord Azreal can handle everything."

Veymar snapped his head up, eyes bright with hunger—not worry. "Who said I'm worried about them? It's the enemies they're going to meet. The thought of crushing something worthy—of tearing through strength—makes me want to go even more."

Since the infernal war, there had been nothing to sharpen the edge. Nothing that made his blood sing.

Blight, flustered, offered a suggestion. "My lord, then why not fight someone? It could keep you busy for a while."

Veymar let the idea sit a beat. "I thought of that already. But who is there to fight here?"

"If you don't mind," Blight said, stepping forward too quickly, "I could fight you—"

Veymar turned, cold amusement curving his lips. "You? You'd bore me to death. I'd have to call on my soul weapon to finish you."

Blight froze, back rigid. "Forgive the—silky suggestion, my lord."

"The idea's sound," Veymar allowed, rising from the desk with languid purpose, "but not with you." He paced toward the window as if plotting a hunt. "I'll go spar with the other Pillars. They're probably just as starved for action as I am—besides, they likely don't know about Lord Azreal's mission with the Six."

"That's a good idea, my lord," Blight said quickly. "But which Pillar will you seek first?"

"Selmora."

"Lady Selmora?" Blight blinked. "Why her, my lord?"

"Of all the Pillars, she and I are alike," Veymar said plainly. "I'm sure she's as bored—and as thirsty for a true fight."

Blight thought on it, then conceded. "Now that you mention it... yes."

"Then it's decided. To the Fourth Gate." Veymar snapped his fingers; a gate flared open, hungry and precise. He turned, face unreadable. "Stay here and keep watch, Blight. I will return soon."

"Yes, my lord." The portal swallowed him whole and sealed behind him.

Alone, Blight muttered, unsettled. "I hope Lord Veymar doesn't cause trouble in the Fourth Gate." He left the chamber, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by silence.

---

Fourth Gate of Hell — The Serpentine

Selmora sat on the obsidian floor, knees folded, watching worms the size of twisted pillars lash and snarl around her. Hooks glinted along their armored mouths; viscous green fluid dripped and hissed, eating at stone with slow, chemical laughter.

She smiled—an obsession in the set of it. "How cute," she whispered, eyes fixed. The worms twisted and snapped, agitated by her attention. She leaned forward, voice soft and hungry. "I wonder… can you make someone scream?"

One of the beasts responded with a spray of green acid. A nearby rock bubbled and sighed, then collapsed into molten ruin as if to answer her curiosity.

Selmora's smile widened. "Cute worms," she said, admiration in the cadence.

A voice interrupted—soft, apologetic. "My lady, forgive the intrusion—"

Selmora barely registered Nyssara's bow; her gaze was still on the worms, hungry and curious.

Nyssara pushed on, quieter, "Lord Veymar is here to see you."

At last Selmora's attention snapped back. "Veymar is here?"

"Yes, my lady."

She rose at once, glancing down once at the snaking bodies. "Where did he wait?" she asked.

"In the hall. I left him there."

"I will return." Selmora moved with feline grace, trailing Nyssara behind her. As they vanished the worm-pit closed—only the obsidian floor remained, a serpent sigil etched in black.

---

At the Hall

Selmora appeared in the hall like a storm gathered into form. When she saw Veymar, she cut him off with sharp curiosity. "Veymar—what brings you here? What made you pay me a visit?"

Veymar's smile was casual, practiced. "Come now, Selmora. Can't I simply decide to see you? I wanted to check how you're doing."

Selmora arched an eyebrow. "Why not go bother Orvath instead?" She started to turn away, irritation fluttering at the edges.

Veymar stepped forward, his tone low and steady. "Did you know Lord Azreal has been assigned a mission—to the World of the Living?"

Selmora stopped mid-stride, the words detonating in her. "A mission? To the world of the living?"

"Yes." Veymar's voice sharpened. "Hermes delivered word: humans are transforming into infernals and dying in the process. Lord Azreal goes to investigate."

Selmora's face stayed unreadable. "And how is that supposed to interest me?"

"Because we're not invited," Veymar replied, eyes cutting to hers with a dangerous light. "He's taking the Six. Think about it—there could be real enemies out there. We can't let the Six take everything. When the war began, I was sorely disappointed in the human infernals. This might be a kind of liberation, Selmora." He leaned in, intentions blazing. "So—what do you say?"

Selmora considered him, cool and calculating. "Go on. Tell me your plan."

Veymar's grin was a promise and a blade. "Here's my proposition: we go together, and we convince Lord Azreal to take us along. I want to fight something stronger. Knowing you, you want a proper fight, too. What do you think, Selmora?"

Nyssara watched them both and thought to herself, knowing Lady Selmora she would agree—Lady Selmora and Lord Veymar are the same breed when it comes to battle.

"Lord Azreal didn't want to take us," Selmora said bluntly, "he's taking the Six, and the mission was assigned by the Gods."

Veymar snorted. "Yes—I already said that."

"Not interested," Selmora cut in flatly.

Nyssara and Veymar blinked, stunned. Veymar repeated, incredulous, "Not interested?"

"Yes. Not interested." Selmora's tone left no room for argument.

Nyssara stepped forward, worry pulling at her voice. "Lady Selmora, is everything all right? I can hold the Fourth Gate if that's what you're worried about."

Selmora shook her head. "That's not why I'm not going. I don't want to go."

"But why?" Veymar demanded.

Selmora's eyes narrowed like blades. "One: the mission was assigned by the Gods. Any mission handed down by those fools is not one I'll waste my time on. Two: Lord Azreal choosing the Six instead of us means the enemies out there aren't worth his full strength—they're not strong enough to threaten him. And besides— the key is still missing here in Hell, which means a stronger threat is already present."

"Veymar, go back to your gate. Don't bother me with proposals that fail to stir me." Selmora turned away, every word a cold rebuke.

Veymar smiled, lips curving like a promise of violence. "Failure to stir you, is it? Then how about this—do you want to fight me instead?"

Nyssara froze, panic etching her features. "What are you saying, Lord Veymar? I don't think you both should fight here."

"Lady Selmora, please—don't listen to Lord Veymar. There should be no reason for the Pillars to fight."

Selmora wheeled on Veymar. Her smile was wicked, eyes glowing a venomous green. The room seemed to lean in. "Can you scream… Veymar?"