A restless horde stood at the basin's horizon, their bodies cast into monstrous, deformed shadows by the brightening hell's light.
A single, glaring red sun took over today's sky.
Everything was painted a blood-red by its presence, the air sizzled with heat, and the ground ignited into sporadic fire.
Thousands of demons, their misshapen, muscular bodies silhouetted against the bruised crimson sky, shifted and murmured like a living sea of muscles and malice.
The three peak-tier devils, Vorlag, Malgrim, and Kaelgor, stood at the forefront; their imposing figures a glaring, intimidating contrast to the chaotic horde behind them.
They had been waiting, watching, their sharp senses straining to pierce deeper into the shimmering barrier that separated them from the enigmatic devil who held all the basins mystery's.
Adam walked forward, his body stopping two or three meters beyond the wall of demonic mana.
His tall, powerful body radiating the solidified aura of a high-tier lesser devil.
His newfound power solidified at an alarming rate, but the chaotic control of his energy showed that he was new to the tier.
The horns on his temples had darkened, sharpened, curving back from his brow like a crown of obsidian. The runes on his back were now shimmering in a clearly visible dark light. His tail was long and hard; a sleek black whip that swayed strongly behind him as he walked.
His body, still marked with the fading scars of his recent battle, gleamed with a light sheen of sweat, every muscle defined like corded steel.
He moved with the unhurried, confident stride of a conqueror, a king surveying his domain.
Though…
His body, although now taller at 3 meters of height, still seemed to be a bit off of their 4-meter height. It took a fraction of his intimidating form.
It was a difference in paths as he moved towards one of the less confrontational routes: the path of lust.
Tucked at his left side, nestled within the folds of his thick, dark fur cloak, was Lyra. Only her beautiful face, with its ethereal, silver-haired perfection and piercing mercury eyes, peeked out from the furs.
Her expression was cold, prideful, the expression of a queen observing those who dared to stand before her king.
Although not the strongest of those present, his accolades spoke for themselves. That and the fact that he was the most handsome…
Pride for strength, pride for appearance; something normal, right?
Then there was the figure at Adam's right side that mostly drew the attention of the three peak-tier devils.
Adam opened his cloak, completely revealing the figure that they wanted to see.
His right hand was wrapped around the delicate neck of Saphira, his grip firm but not choking.
He held her forward, presenting her to the assembled devils like a hunter displaying a kill.
She was standing, barely, her body battered and broken, but still alive.
And she was wearing a fur cloak; a garment she had not possessed when she had entered the basin, nor after bearing Adam's wrath.
The cloak was Lyra's.
The silver-haired deviless was wrapped in Adam fur, by his side. She had clearly relinquished her own clothing to cover Saphira's shame.
The implication was staggering.
Vorlag and Malgrim saw Adam for the first time, further confirming their own conjecture that Adam was a devil of lust.
Kaelgor, had mostly expected such an outcome, but the disappointment could not be completely washed away. Saphira had been so close to getting rid of Adam, so close, yet so far.
Regardless.
A hint of understanding gleamed across their experienced gazes, understanding that this devil had decided to claim Saphira.
Not only that, as Adam, the lustful, rage-driven devil, had not only subdued Saphira, but also, in some twisted, possessive gesture, chosen to preserve her dignity.
Something within Adam had started to change.
The deeper his realm grew, the closer he drew to the pinnacle of the lesser devil realm, to devil hierarchy, the more he felt a shift in his fundamental nature.
It was subtle at first, a whisper in the back of his mind, but it was growing louder, more insistent with every surge of power, with every increase in tier.
It was an instinctive pride, a tribal respect to those of his own kind, and a subtle, creeping distaste for those who were not.
Not only that, but it was a dividing line, etched into the very soul of every devil, separating them from the demonic masses they commanded.
The feeling was akin to this:
'I am allowed to hurt, insult, or deceive other devils. That is my right, my privilege, born of shared blood and shared nature. But no one else, no demon, no outsider, no lesser being, can do so unless they too are a devil. To allow such a violation is to humiliate us all, to humiliate myself.'
Adam noticed it too, this burgeoning, racial pride.
It was part of the reason he had been able to hold himself back from the raw urge to take Saphira out there in the open, in full view of the assembled armies and watching devils.
At the time, with the rage of nearly being killed, and the desire to vent his pent-up lust, the thought had crossed his mind.
But something deeper, something older and more fundamental to his bloodline had recoiled from the thought.
To display her violated and beaten body, naked, before the leering gazes of demons and the cold, calculating stares of rival devils, it felt… wrong.
It felt like a shaming of not only her, but also of him.
She was his now, his property, something he decided upon.
And one did not display one's property in a manner that invited the disrespect or humiliation to oneself; especially from lesser beings!
Saphira.
Her lower body, hidden beneath the fur, was a mess of various fluids. Crimson skin was covered in bruises, cuts, and the vivid, hand-shaped marks of his forceful groping.
The fist-mark on her chest was still vivid and purple-black. Flame and shadowy demonic energies gave her stinging sparks as they restrained her bodies natural healing. Her arms swayed limply at her sides, her shoulders dislocated or broken, her body held upright only by his grip on her neck.
To show her like this, in such a state of utter, shameful defeat, to reveal her nakedness, would have been a direct, intolerable humiliation.
Well… perhaps it would have been acceptable if the intent had been different.
The sin of lust, a devil's lack of mortal morals, meant that things which would be embarrassing or shameful to a human held far less weight in hell.
A devil showcasing their nude, beautiful, powerful body to their followers was an act of pride for some. It stoked their own ego and reminded their subordinates of the exquisite power they served.
Nudity, in itself, was not the issue.
This was different.
It was the context, the intent, the circumstances!
So he had covered her.
He had taken Lyra's cloak, a gesture that had made his silver-haired beauty's eyes widen with a complex mix of jealousy and subtle approval and understanding, before wrapping it around Saphira.
She, too, understood that shaming a devil, shaming their kind, didn't benefit their prestige and royalty.
Even if she wanted the deviless dead more than anyone present.
The three peak-tier devils stared, their minds racing, a profile of this mysterious, anomalous devil forming in their minds.
Kaelgor, behind his helmet, felt a growing respect for the newborn's cunning, or perhaps, his instinct.
He was a devil who understood, on a fundamental level, the delicate, brutal dance of power, pride, and possession that defined their kind.
A faction that surprisingly relied on social norms; ironic, right?
'This devil sure is growing up fast...'