The angels descended upon the arena in a blinding burst of light, their golden wings shimmering like celestial flames, their gilded spears piercing the infernal darkness. The survivors, battered and bloodied, instinctively rallied together, their rivalries momentarily forgotten in the face of this new threat. Gills, his arm dripping blood, helped Orak to his feet, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding—they'd need to unite to survive. Soehpt, in his hybrid form, shielded Kira, his blue-and-black flames defying the radiant beams. Bhaadon, levitating despite his wound, supported Solom, his vendetta against the Styx Reapers set aside. Tyrnat, Yulius, and Nera, though fractured, braced for battle, their demonic shadows quivering. The masked warrior, clutching his bleeding stump, stared at the angels with cold intensity, murmuring, "You're too late…"
The 10 survivors, now bearers of the Ring of the Tyrant, felt a new power surge through their veins. Their title of Grand Tyran, nearly equal to an Infernal Monarch, granted them dire authority over infernal creatures. As the angels swooped down, Gills raised his ring, and an ash hound, poised to charge an angel, froze mid-step, bowing its head in submission. "We're lords now…" Gills whispered, a determined glint in his eyes. Soehpt, in hybrid form, roared, and a horde of clawed specters aligned behind him, obeying his command. Even Tyrnat, despite his injuries, used his ring to summon Nidhoss back to its feet, the demonic serpent coiling to strike the angels.
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From his floating platform, Natass Magna XIII surveyed the escalating chaos, his monocle dangling from its chain, his eyes narrowed in disgust. The angels, with their luminous wings and radiant auras, were an affront to his infernal domain. But as he watched, his grimace of disdain slowly twisted into a Machiavellian smirk, his lips stretching into a wicked grin. In the imp's cunning mind, dark schemes took shape: a war between hell and the heavens could be his chance to shine, to prove his worth to the lords of the underworld, and perhaps rise beyond his role as a mere master of ceremonies.
Suddenly, a familiar presence made him turn, and his face instantly soured with disgust. A towering figure stood behind him, six shadowy wings unfurled like a veil of darkness, his black armor etched with ancient runes faintly glowing. Morningstar, the Fallen Seraph, fixed Natass with piercing crimson eyes, an aura of ethereal power radiating from him.
"…Morningstar…" Natass muttered, his tone dripping with irritation. He crossed his arms, his onyx horns glinting in the firelight. "I don't need you to roast these disco chickens…" he growled, then sighed, a grimace of frustration twisting his features. "But if you're here, it means this mess is big enough for the hellish bigwigs to show up… Pfft…"
Morningstar, stoic, folded his arms, his voice a rasping, otherworldly echo. "Perceptive as ever, dear Natass…" He paused, his gaze boring into the imp with palpable intensity. "Satan's on his way with the whole crew. You'd best prepare…" He turned his head toward the arena, where angels clashed with the survivors, bolts of light and shadow intertwining in apocalyptic chaos. "I'm heading to the front. We must protect the candidates for the title. You handle the crown."
Natass sized him up, eyes narrowed, a sneer curling his lips. "Satan? …Tch… You've all decided to ruin my day, huh?" He scowled, waving his cane irritably before relenting. "Fine, I'll deal with the crown…" At that, Morningstar spread his six tenebrous wings, their span casting a massive shadow over the arena, and launched into the fray, his shadow blade cleaving an angel with deadly precision, his arrival shaking the ground.
Natass, lingering on his platform, watched for a moment, his Machiavellian smirk returning. "A war, huh…" he murmured, eyes glinting with malice. He raised his cane, and infernal portals ripped open around the arena, unleashing legions of demons—ash hounds, clawed specters, lava titans—ready for battle, their roars echoing the angels' cries. As infernal and celestial forces collided in a blaze of light and darkness, the survivors, caught in the midst, realized their fight for the Black Flames Crown had spiraled into something far greater:
An interdimensional war that would decide the fate of the hells, the heavens, and their own destinies had just erupted.