SCARS ARE OUR TROPHIES

“The girl has returned,” the devil said, his voice smooth and laced with malice as he sat upon his throne, resting his chin on his hand. The throne room was dimly lit, the air thick with heat. Faint glows of fire flickered along the walls, while a river of molten magma bubbled at the foot of his throne, casting eerie shadows across the blackened stone.

At his right side, Ira sat on the steps below, silent and still, an unwavering sentinel.

“Your brothers and sisters have already begun to carve out their dominion in this world,” the devil continued, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “They feast on the fear of mortals, crush those who dare to defy them… and yet, here you remain. Won’t you join them?”

Ira’s voice was cold, edged with unwavering loyalty. “My place is by your side, Master.”

The devil chuckled softly. “And yet, the girl has the potential to destroy you.”

Ira’s gaze remained fixed ahead, unyielding. “She will never surpass me, unless I fall.”