The stench of sulfur hung heavy in the air, mingling with the ever-present symphony of wailing souls. A lone demon sprinted through the jagged streets of Hell, sweat dripping from his brow despite the infernal heat that surrounded him. He clutched a scroll tightly in his clawed hands, his eyes wide with panic. His destination was clear: Lucifer's palace, an intimidating structure of obsidian spires that loomed over the damned landscape.

The demon skidded to a stop in front of the massive crimson door, slamming his fists against it with desperation. "My Lord Lucifer! It's an emergency! Open up, please!"

Inside, Lucifer Morningstar sat at a decadent desk carved from brimstone, humming a jaunty tune to himself. His elegant suit was immaculate, as always, though his tie hung slightly loose—a deliberate choice to give off that "casual ruler of Hell" vibe.

Before him sat a work-in-progress: a small rubber duck. Lucifer twirled it delicately between his fingers, admiring the almost-complete detail. It had a sharp little devilish grin and horns to match. "Vivienne," he said aloud, testing the name. "You are quite the adorable fellow, aren't you? A masterpiece among rubber ducks! Michelangelo had nothing on me." He chuckled, placing the final horn on its tiny head.

"MY LORD!" The banging on the door grew more frantic, rattling the hinges.

Lucifer sighed deeply, placing Vinny on the desk with the utmost care. "The nerve," he muttered, standing and adjusting his tie. "Do you know how rare a moment of peace is?" He strode to the door and swung it open with dramatic flair, his golden eyes glowing with mild irritation. "This better be good, because you've interrupted me during an artistic breakthrough. What is it?"

The demon, trembling and panting, held up the scroll. "My Lord, the gauntlet—it's gone! Septem Malis has been stolen!"

For a moment, Lucifer simply stared at the demon, his expression blank. Then his lips curled into a tight smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Stolen?" His voice was smooth and calm, which only made the sudden tension in the air more unbearable. "Stolen. As in, something from the vaults, the most secure location in all of Hell?"

The demon nodded rapidly, shrinking under Lucifer's towering gaze. "Y-yes, my Lord. It—it was taken last night. We don't know how!"

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through his teeth. "Oh, please, panic!" Lucifer panicked

"AHHHHHHH! Absolutely wonderful! Just what I needed today—a disaster. Why not throw in a plague of frogs while we're at it?" He panicked as the demon hesitated in the doorway.

Lucifer spun on his heel, pointing dramatically. "Don't just stand there gawking! Sound the alarm. Alert the Seven Sins immediately—Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Mammon, the lot of them! Tell them someone stole the gauntlet! And especially tell Satan! He was supposed to have it protected in the first place!!!"

"Yes, my Lord!" The demon saluted, fumbling with the scroll before darting off to carry out the order.

Lucifer closed the door behind him with a sharp snap and leaned against it, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His carefree demeanor from earlier had all but evaporated, replaced by the scared as hell gaze of the ruler of Hell.

"The Septem Malis," he murmured, glancing back at the newly christened Vivienne on his desk. "If someone's desperate enough to steal that, then we're all in for a hell of a ride. Aren't we, little ducky?"

The duck, of course, said nothing.

Lucifer chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Oh, we are royally fucked."

———

6 hours ago

The air in the deepest pit of the Wrath Ring was unbearable, thick with sulfur and searing heat. Rivers of molten lava carved paths through the jagged terrain, illuminating the cavernous vault in a fiery orange glow. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to press down on the very soul, and the only sound was the distant roar of flames and the occasional rumble of shifting magma.

In the heart of this hellscape stood a massive iron door, blackened with soot and etched with runes that pulsed faintly, sealing away whatever lay beyond. Guarding the entrance were four towering Burning Iron Golems, their hulking forms wreathed in fire. Each one stood nearly ten feet tall, their molten cores visible through cracks in their iron exteriors. They were tireless, soulless sentinels forged to guard the Septem Malis, and no intruder had ever passed them.

Until now.

A faint shimmer appeared in the distance, a figure stepping into view. Red Baron approached the vault with measured steps, his crimson cloak trailing behind him, the fabric singed at the edges from the heat. His usually pristine demeanor was strained, beads of sweat dripping down his pale face. The journey to this point had been grueling—navigating through traps, fighting off lesser guardians, and enduring the ever-rising temperature that would have incinerated a weaker demon.

The golems stirred as Red Baron entered their range, their eyes glowing like molten embers. Without hesitation, they moved as one, stepping forward with heavy, earth-shaking strides, their fists crackling with fiery energy.

"So predictable," Red Baron muttered, cracking his neck as he reached for the dagger at his side. The blade shimmered with an unearthly glow, forged specifically for bypassing infernal enchantments. "Four of you against little old me? How charming."

The first golem lunged, its massive fist slamming down with enough force to crack the ground. Red Baron rolled to the side, the heat of the impact singing his robes. Springing to his feet, he drove his dagger into the golem's arm, the blade slicing through the iron like it was butter. Lava-like ichor sprayed from the wound, but the creature didn't falter, swinging its other arm in a wide arc.

Baron ducked, the swing narrowly missing his head. He twisted the dagger, sending a surge of energy into the golem's arm. The limb exploded in a shower of molten shards, but before he could celebrate, a second golem barreled into him from the side.

The impact sent Baron skidding across the ground, his back slamming into a jagged rock. He coughed, tasting blood, and glared at the advancing golems. "All right, no more playing around."

Drawing a vial from his belt, he hurled it at the nearest golem. The glass shattered, releasing a freezing mist that instantly cooled the creature's molten core. Its movements slowed as ice spread across its body, cracks forming in its armor before it collapsed into a heap of brittle iron.

The remaining two golems roared, their flames intensifying as they charged. Red Baron smirked, flipping the dagger in his hand. "Two down, two to go."

The third golem swung a blazing chain, the weapon whipping through the air with terrifying speed. Baron leaped over it, using the chain as a makeshift bridge to launch himself onto the creature's shoulders. Before the golem could react, Baron plunged his dagger into its core, the blade sinking deep into the molten heart. The golem's flames sputtered and died, its body crumbling to the ground as Baron jumped free.

The final golem stood still, its glowing eyes locked onto Baron. It raised both arms, summoning a pillar of fire that engulfed the area. Baron shielded his face, the heat scorching his skin.

"Enough of this," he growled, pulling a second vial from his belt. This one glowed with a sickly green light. He hurled it at the golem's feet, the contents erupting into a corrosive acid that ate through the iron like water through paper. The golem collapsed with a metallic groan, its molten core spilling onto the ground and solidifying into a lifeless heap.

Panting, Red Baron wiped sweat from his brow, his clothes singed and torn. He turned to the iron door, now unguarded. "Well, that was invigorating," he said to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He approached the door, running his fingers over the glowing runes. Muttering an incantation, he pressed the dagger into the center of the largest rune. The blade acted as a key, unlocking the ancient seals with a low, rumbling sound.

The door groaned as it swung open, revealing the chamber beyond.

The air in the Vault was a blazing furnace, thick with the scent of burning stone and molten iron. The oppressive heat seemed alive, pressing down on everything. Red Baron, his crimson cloak billowing faintly despite the still air, stood at the top of a spiraling staircase that descended deeper into the heart of the vault. His sharp golden eyes glinted in the hellish glow as he adjusted his gloves and cracked his knuckles.

"Fifty feet of stairs? How delightfully tedious," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "But if Hell's finest architects believe that's enough to stop me, I'm almost insulted."

He dashed down the stairs, his movements swift yet deliberate, each step a calculated leap. As he reached the halfway point, a sudden metallic click echoed through the chamber. Arrows, wreathed in flames, shot from the walls in rapid succession.

Red Baron didn't falter. He twisted and ducked, his movements fluid as a dancer's. "Oh, please," he muttered, snatching an arrow mid-flight and snapping it in half. "Is that all you've got?"

The bottom of the staircase loomed, but just as he reached the last step, massive axes swung from both sides, their razor edges cutting the air with deadly precision. Red Baron smirked, timing his steps perfectly. He leaped forward, the axes whooshing past mere inches behind him.

"Charming," he said, straightening his cloak as he landed.

A deep rumble shook the ground. His ears perked, and he turned to see a massive boulder dislodged from the wall, rolling toward him at an alarming speed.

"Now this is classic." He bolted down the narrow hallway, his boots barely skimming the ground. The boulder closed in, gaining momentum. At the last possible second, Red Baron leaped into the air, his body twisting mid-flight to grab hold of an outcropping. The boulder thundered past beneath him, crashing into a hidden pit of spikes with a deafening clang.

As he swung himself back onto solid ground, three flaming hawks swooped down from above, their screeches piercing the air. Seven flaming wolves emerged from the shadows, their molten forms dripping fire as they snarled and charged.

Red Baron's grin widened. "Ah, some company at last."

The first hawk dived, talons outstretched. Red Baron sidestepped, grabbing its wing and slamming it into the second hawk. Flames exploded in a burst of embers. The third hawk circled, but Baron hurled a throwing knife, piercing its core. It disintegrated with a mournful cry.

The wolves lunged, fire trailing behind them. Red Baron spun, his dagger flashing as it struck vital points. One wolf exploded into a puff of ash, but two others flanked him, snapping at his legs. He vaulted over them, planting a kick squarely on one's head before slashing the other's throat. Three more attacked abs he decapitated them

"Predictable," he muttered, finishing the last wolf with a flourish.

Ahead, a moat of bubbling lava stretched across the path. Suspended above it were jagged, crumbling platforms, spaced just far enough apart to make crossing treacherous. Red Baron surveyed the scene with a smirk. "A bit overdone, don't you think?"

He leaped to the first platform, the heat rising in suffocating waves. The stone cracked under his weight, but he pushed off just in time to land on the next. Each jump was precise, every movement calculated. As he reached the final platform, a chain shot out from the shadows, wrapping around his ankle and yanking him backward.

He hit the ground hard, skidding toward the edge of the lava. His hands shot out, grabbing hold of the platform's edge just as three more Living Chains emerged, writhing like serpents.

"Impressive," he muttered, swinging himself back up. With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed a second dagger, slicing through the chain holding his ankle. The other chains lunged, but he was faster, his blades flashing in a deadly dance. The chains clattered to the ground, lifeless.

No time to rest. Three more golems and five flaming wolves emerged, blocking his path. Red Baron sighed, rolling his shoulders. "You're really making me work for this, aren't you?"

The golems attacked in unison, their molten fists crashing down. Red Baron dodged, darting between them with inhuman speed. He slashed at their joints, his enchanted daggers cutting through their iron frames. The wolves lunged, but he used one as a stepping stone, vaulting over the others to land on a golem's shoulder.

"This is almost fun," he quipped, driving his dagger into the golem's core. It crumbled, and he spun to face the remaining enemies. One by one, they fell, leaving the path clear.

Finally, he stood before the massive iron door. It was locked and wrapped in 97 chains, each inscribed with intricate runes glowing faintly. Red Baron ran his fingers over the chains, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well, someone's been busy," he mused. He unsheathed his dagger, its blade shimmering with unholy energy. "But I've always been good at undoing knots."

With a series of precise cuts, the chains fell away one by one. It took time and patience, but eventually, the last chain clattered to the ground.

Red Baron pushed the door open, stepping into the room. His gaze fell on the Septem Malis, its dark aura pulsing like a heartbeat.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Hello, beautiful."

———

The air at the summit of the pit was even hotter, the molten glow casting long shadows across the jagged architecture. The pit itself was a monstrous hole in the ground, a 200-foot descent into pure chaos. Inside, pillars of crumbling stone jutted out at odd angles, and streams of lava poured from cracks in the walls, creating an impossible maze of deadly obstacles. The area seemed designed to repel even the boldest invaders.

At the edge of the pit, Unknown, clad in jagged black armor that shimmered like obsidian, sat astride a monstrous steed of flaming molten rock. The horse's eyes glowed like hot coals, and steam hissed from its nostrils. Unknown's helm concealed his face, but his posture oozed confidence and menace.

He tightened the reins, making the beast snort and paw at the ground, sending sparks flying. "Took you long enough, Red Baron," he muttered, his voice a low, distorted growl that seemed to echo around the pit.

Moments later, a faint sound came from below. A hand, gloved and steady, gripped the edge of the pit, followed by another. With an effortless motion, Red Baron hauled himself up, his crimson cloak torn and singed but still draped dramatically over his shoulders. His golden eyes locked onto Unknown, a smirk playing across his lips despite the soot and blood streaking his face.

"Unknown," Red Baron said, brushing ash from his gloves. "Still playing watchdog for Landor, I see. How's that working out for you? Getting plenty of belly rubs?"

Unknown's horse snorted angrily, its molten body shifting with the sound of cracking stone. "Mock me all you like, Baron," Unknown replied coldly. "You've made it farther than I expected."

———

Unknown's molten eyes tracked him silently, his expression unreadable. The horse beneath him pawed at the ground impatiently, sending sparks into the air.

"Let's not get too comfortable," Unknown finally said, his tone sharp. "The hard part isn't stealing the gauntlet. It's getting out of here alive."

Red Baron's grin widened as he stepped onto the final ledge, now directly beneath Unknown and his steed. He spread his arms wide in mock exasperation. "Oh, come on, where's the faith? I always deliver."

Unknown's molten horse stomped again, releasing a guttural hiss that echoed through the pit. "Just remember who you're delivering it to," Unknown said, his voice tinged with a warning. "Landor doesn't tolerate failure—or arrogance."

Red Baron waved him off, finally climbing onto the surface where Unknown waited. "Yeah, yeah, Landor's scary. I get it." He dusted himself off, holding the gauntlet up triumphantly. "But this? This was all me."

Unknown leaned down slightly, his molten horse huffing smoke. "And if you'd failed?"

Red Baron smirked, slipping the gauntlet into a satchel at his side. "Then I'd be a pile of ash at the bottom of that pit. But guess what? I didn't."

Unknown sighed, pulling his steed to the side to allow Red Baron room to pass. "Let's go," he said curtly, turning his horse toward the desolate path ahead. "Landor is waiting. And next time? Don't take so long."

Red Baron followed, his grin never faltering. "Oh, Unknown," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's always a pleasure working with you. Now let's go, I wanna see Landor's face when I bring him his shiny new toy."

Unknown said nothing, his molten gaze fixed forward. The fiery pit behind them roared one last time before fading into silence, the vault below now empty.

———
Now

The 8th Ring

The towering silhouette of Landor's castle loomed in the ashen haze, its spiked towers piercing the blood-red sky. The gates creaked open as Red Baron and Unknown approached, the Septem Malis secured tightly in Red Baron's satchel. The molten horse snorted as it trotted in, its fiery mane dimming as they entered the castle's eerie stillness.

Inside, the castle echoed with the sound of Landor's preparations. Arcane symbols glowed faintly on the stone walls, casting an otherworldly glow across the room. Landor was hunched over a massive stone altar, the gauntlet's skeletal frame laid out before him. His clawed fingers traced glowing runes as he murmured to himself, consulting a crumbling tome filled with sinister diagrams and instructions.

As the two entered, Landor didn't look up. "You have it?"

Red Baron sauntered in, holding the satchel high with a triumphant grin. "Piece of cake."

Unknown dismounted and said nothing, his gaze moving between the gauntlet and the ritual markings around the room.

Before Landor could respond, the sound of clinking glass and a sharp, nasally humming echoed from the corridor. A moment later, Plague appeared, his crooked frame leaning forward with a swagger that reeked of mischief. His spindly fingers clutched a cracked vial of dark, swirling liquid.

"Well, well, well!" Plague exclaimed, his voice dripping with exaggerated amusement, his posh British accent unmistakable. "The hero returns with his little trinket! Bravo, Baron. Truly, I'm quaking in my boots." He gave an exaggerated bow, his long nose nearly touching the floor.

Red Baron rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Plague. What've you got there? Leftovers from dinner?"

Plague straightened, holding up the vial like it was the crown jewel. "Oh, this old thing? Just the blood of a member of the esteemed Ars Goetia, darling. Freshly harvested by yours truly. And might I add, it wasn't exactly easy. Had to sneak into a party, get myself acquainted, flirt with any and all owls and lady owls till one finally noticed. One and a half hours of sexual torture later, I stab them and get all this!"

He gave a toothy grin. "I do so love a good chase."

Landor finally turned to face them, his cold, calculating gaze locking onto the vial. "Good. And the eye?"

Plague chuckled, pulling a small jar from his pocket. Inside was a single, bloodshot eye floating in dark liquid. He held it up with a flourish. "One Goetia peeper, delivered on time and in pristine condition. Honestly, I'm wasted in this job. I should be an artist."

Landor ignored the sarcasm and took the items, placing them carefully on the altar beside the gauntlet. "Do you know why I asked for these?"

"I chose to never question you, my liege." Unknown said.

Plague crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Oh, let me guess. You're starting a macabre collection? Perhaps opening a boutique for cursed artifacts? 'Blood and Baubles by Landor,' yes?"

Landor's icy glare silenced him. "We need blood and eye from the most powerful beings in Hell to awaken and stabilize the gauntlet's power. The Ars Goetia are potent, but even their blood is only enough to get us so far." He turned back to the altar, his clawed hands carefully arranging the components. "The most powerful blood comes from Lucifer himself, his daughter, and the Seven Sins. But they're untouchable for now."

Plague let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against a pillar. "Ah, yes, untouchable. Such a shame. Imagine the fashion statement I could make with Lucifer's blood. A splash of divine arrogance with a hint of brimstone. Tres chic."

Red Baron smirked. "Yeah, good luck with that. I'd pay to see you try to take on Lucifer."

Plague grinned. "Oh, don't tempt me, darling. I've charmed worse."

Unknown cut in, his voice low. "Focus. If we're not using Lucifer's blood, what's the plan?"

Landor's hands hovered over the gauntlet as he spoke. "The plan is to use what we have, for now. The Goetia's blood will bind the gauntlet's essence temporarily. It will buy us time to secure more... suitable ingredients."

Plague clapped his hands together. "Ah, brilliant! A half-baked gauntlet powered by leftovers. Truly, we're setting the bar high, aren't we?"

Landor's claws scraped against the altar as he turned to Plague, his voice colder than the void. "You'd do well to remember your place, Plague. This is only the beginning."

Plague raised his hands defensively, his grin unfaltering. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here for the theatrics."

Landor returned to his work, muttering incantations as the altar began to hum with power. Red Baron leaned against the wall, watching the process with a faint smirk. Unknown stood silently, his molten eyes fixed on the gauntlet.

Plague, meanwhile, leaned closer to Red Baron and whispered, "If this thing explodes, you're taking the blame."

Red Baron didn't bother looking at him.

Landor loomed over the altar, his long, spindly fingers expertly weaving threads of dark energy into the gauntlet. The room vibrated with a deep, ominous hum as symbols flared to life, bathing the chamber in an eerie red glow. Each stroke of his clawed hand seemed to mend the cracks and scars of the Septem Malis, the gauntlet slowly taking on a more menacing, polished form.

Without breaking his focus, Landor spoke, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "This process is delicate. One mistake, and the power trapped within could incinerate this castle—and us along with it."

Plague, leaning lazily against a nearby pillar, let out a low whistle. "Ah, nothing like a bit of fiery annihilation to spice up the evening. Shall I fetch marshmallows, or is that too gauche?"

Landor's glowing eyes darted toward him, irritation clear. "Plague, I don't need your commentary. What I do need is for you and the others to start packing. Once this spell is complete, every powerful entity in Hell will know exactly where we are."

Plague's grin widened as he pushed off the pillar. "Packing? How delightfully mundane. Shall I bring my good china, or are we traveling light?"

Landor's growl was barely restrained. "Plague."

Plague held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Packing it is. But you know, Landor, for someone orchestrating a master plan to reshape Hell, you could stand to lighten up a bit."

Red Baron, seated on a stone ledge sharpening his blade, chuckled darkly. "Better do as he says, Plague. Unless you fancy becoming part of the explosion."

Plague shot him a mock offended look. "As if I'd be caught dead in a demolition! My style deserves a grander exit." He turned on his heel, muttering to himself as he strolled out of the chamber. "Packing. Honestly, I didn't sign up to be a bellboy."

Unknown stepped forward, his molten eyes meeting Landor's. "Are you sure this is the only way? The moment we activate the gauntlet, the entire wrath ring will be hunting us."

Landor's focus remained on the gauntlet as he spoke. "This is the only way. The gauntlet needs power to awaken fully, and for that, I need the blood and eye to activate the binding spell. Once it's done, we'll be unstoppable. But until then..." He glanced up, his gaze cold and unwavering. "We'll be the most wanted beings in Hell. Prepare yourselves."

Unknown nodded silently and left the room to begin preparations.

Red Baron stood, sheathing his weapon as he approached the altar. "So, where are we going once this place becomes a war zone?"

Landor smirked, his claws continuing to etch glowing runes into the gauntlet's surface. "Far from here. The next phase of the plan requires resources... and chaos. Plenty of chaos."

Red Baron chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Chaos, I can do."

The gauntlet pulsed beneath Landor's hands, its energy growing stronger with each incantation. As the hum grew louder, Landor's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Once this spell is cast, there's no turning back. Now go. Be ready to move the moment I'm finished."

Red Baron nodded and strode out, his heavy footsteps echoing in the chamber.

Landor took a deep breath, his claws trembling slightly as he prepared the final components of the spell. The gauntlet's power was tantalizingly close, but he knew all too well the cost of wielding such a force. For now, though, hesitation was not an option.

Hell would soon know his name.

The chamber pulsed with a foreboding glow, the air thick with sulfur and the tang of raw power. Landor stood at the altar, his clawed hands hovering above the gauntlet. His voice was a low, guttural murmur, weaving incantations in a language older than Hell itself.

"Ad sanguinem potentiae... ad oculum dominantium... iterum septem vincula adduxerunt..."

The runes etched into the stone walls flared to life, bathing the room in hues of crimson and gold. The gauntlet, now fully restored, vibrated with an almost sentient energy, its cracks mending as the spells flowed into it.

"Ignis inferni, vis inferna, surge et mane!"

The floor began to tremble, molten lava seeping through the cracks in the stone. The gauntlet glowed brighter, absorbing the light and heat as if feeding on the very core of the Wrath Ring.

Landor's voice grew louder, the words spilling out faster, each syllable commanding the forces of Hell to bend to his will. The energy in the room reached a crescendo, swirling around him like a hurricane of fire and shadow.

"Septem malis, somno exsurge! Potentia in aeternum libera!"

With a final, triumphant roar, Landor slammed his hands down onto the gauntlet. A blinding light erupted from it, so intense that it scorched the walls and sent shockwaves through the Wrath Ring. The blast shot upward, piercing the layers of Hell and radiating outward like a beacon of pure, ancient energy.

The flames roared higher, consuming the chamber in a blinding inferno. The entire castle shook as the spell reached its climax, and the gauntlet let out a deafening pulse—a cry of its rebirth.

OC's

Landor

Red Baron

Plague

Unknown and his horse

Forms

Wrath

Pride

Greed

Gluttony

Envy

???

Sloth

???

Lust

???

Next: Hellraiser