The legend of hell

In the depths of history, long before kingdoms rose and fell, before men and magic walked side by side, there existed a god who stood alone against the world. The legend whispered of him in hushed tones, a figure of eternal torment and rage, born from betrayal and driven by vengeance. His name had long been forgotten, erased from the tongues of men, but the story of his wrath endured.

The god had not always been this way. He had once known peace, had once been revered among the pantheon of higher beings, ruling over a domain untouched by mortal strife. But even gods were not immune to the cruelty of betrayal. His kin, envious of his power, conspired against him, tearing his kingdom apart and casting him into the Abyss—a place of endless darkness where even light dared not tread.

For eons, he wandered the Abyss, lost and forsaken, until the weight of his grief twisted into something far darker. His heart, once filled with compassion, hardened into a stone of fury. He swore vengeance, not just on those who had wronged him but on the entire world that had turned its back on him. In the Abyss, he learned hatred, and with it, he became the God of Hell—fighting the world, alone and unrelenting.

The god's wrath was unlike any other. His power, unchecked and without equal, scorched the heavens and shattered the earth. He laid waste to kingdoms, gods, and men alike, his rage a wildfire that consumed all in its path. The world trembled beneath his might, and even the stars seemed to dim in his presence. Nothing could stop him. Nothing could quell his thirst for revenge.

But in his rage, he was blind. The world, though battered and broken, did not fall. As powerful as he was, he was still just one being, fighting against the countless forces that opposed him. And eventually, even the God of Hell began to wane. His strength, mighty as it was, could not sustain him forever. His enemies, gods and mortals alike, banded together, and slowly, they began to drive him back.

The battle raged for centuries, neither side willing to relent. But in the end, the God of Hell, alone as he was, could no longer bear the weight of his vengeance. With his body weakened and his powers diminished, he faced the truth that even gods could fall. And so, as the world united against him one final time, he stood at the brink of destruction, not with fear but with defiance.

He knew his end was near. But the god's will—his unbreakable, undying will—could not be extinguished. Before the final blow was struck, before his essence was scattered to the winds, he made one last vow: his spirit would endure. His fight would continue, even if he no longer walked the world himself.

And so, with his last breath, the God of Hell cast his will into the mortal realm, seeking a vessel worthy of carrying his legacy. For centuries, his essence drifted across the land, searching, waiting for the one who would inherit his rage. His will could not be passed to just anyone. It needed someone who had known pain, who had tasted betrayal, and who burned with the same desire for revenge that had fueled the god himself.

It was said that when the god's will found its vessel, the world would tremble once more. The fires of Hell would reignite, and the one who carried the god's spirit would walk the earth with the same unyielding fury, bringing destruction to all those who stood in his way.

For generations, the legend remained just that—a story, a myth told to frighten children and ward off travelers. But the god's will was real, and it had finally found its host.

Reimer stood by the fire that night, listening to the words of an old storyteller in the village they had passed through. The man's voice was raspy, his body hunched with age, but his eyes gleamed with the fervor of belief as he recounted the ancient legend.

Lila sat close to the fire, her wide eyes fixed on the old man, captivated by the tale. Reimer, however, remained silent, his thoughts far from the flames. The story should have felt distant, like all the other myths and legends he had heard during his travels. But this one... this one struck a chord within him.

The God of Hell's story felt familiar, far too familiar.

"Do you think it's true?" Lila asked, her voice soft as the story came to an end. "Do you think there really was a god like that?"

The old man chuckled, though the sound was dry and without humor. "Who knows? Stories like that are as old as the world itself. Whether or not the god was real, what matters is the message it carries."

Lila frowned, confused. "Message?"

The old man nodded slowly. "The legend of Hell isn't just about a god's wrath. It's about the danger of holding onto anger for too long. Rage can give you strength, but it can also destroy you. The god fought the world alone, and in the end, he lost everything. Revenge consumed him."

Reimer's fists clenched at his sides, the words stinging more than he expected. He knew the dangers of rage. He had felt it. Lived it. His entire journey was driven by it. And yet, even knowing how destructive it was, he couldn't let it go. He couldn't forget the betrayal, the pain.

"The legend says his will is still out there," Lila said quietly, almost to herself. "That someone could still carry it."

The old man's eyes gleamed as he looked at her, but he didn't answer.

Reimer stood abruptly, his mind swirling with the weight of the story. He could feel something stirring inside him, something he had tried to bury deep. Was it possible that the God of Hell's will... could it have found its way to him?

As the fire crackled and the wind picked up, Reimer's thoughts turned inward. The path of vengeance he walked, the endless fighting, the loss—everything seemed to align with the god's tale.

But he wasn't just any man. He wasn't the God of Hell. And yet... that unshakable, furious will burned within him.

Maybe, just maybe, the legend wasn't as far-fetched as it seemed.