Azmodan's trip through Hell and back (Complete)

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Pain eternal. Would it stop? There was no way to be sure. Crushing waves. Stabbing sharp and hot. Death everywhere and no way to stop it. His brother dying before his eyes. Vil tied up and tortured, dying a million times over. His own flesh flayed and broken, his bones crushed into powder, his fingers torn, his eyes removed, his tongue ripped out. He had died in every conceivable way, known every pain. And there was always more. Always more.

He arose from another round of torture, head dizzy. His arms were hanging from chains, stronger than any substance he had ever known, his legs were stretched and tied to chains far below him, farther down than he could see. Demons swirled around him; pressing hot pokers into his flesh and watching the steam sizzle off his skin, the flesh boil and bubble. He screamed in agony, he had long ago given up trying to act tough. At first he had tried to act tough, but gave that up as soon as the torture had begun. He thought he had known pain, but that fallacy was long gone. How long he had been here he had no idea, but it felt like eternity, which made him laugh because that’s how long he would be here. The demons noticed his laughter and redoubled their efforts. They took turns flaying his flesh with whips and burning it with pokers.

Azmodan cried out again as the lead demon pressed his poker into Azmodan’s chest and leered up at him. Azmodan whipped his head back and roared. The demon pressed further, harder, the smell of burning flesh filled Azmodan’s senses and burned his eyes. The poker went through Azmodan’s flesh and he died once more, a brutal death. He woke up in the same position, tied in the same way.

The demon looked him over and spat on him. He punched Azmodan across the face, not for the pain, but for the insult. Azmodan hung his head. He was spent. He had not even seen Vil, much less had the chance to rescue him. He had to admit that killing himself had probably been the most foolish thing he had ever done. He was a gladiator. He was a warrior. He was better than these demons harassing him. He was the Master of Sins. He roared at the demon, who backhanded him. Azmodan roared further. The demon smirked and held up a finger. He wagged it in front of his face. Azmodan bit the finger off and spit it at the demon. The demon screamed and stabbed Azmodan through with a spear.

He woke up again the same spot, his feet tied to a place below, too far to see. A face leered in front of his own. It was the demon whose finger he had bitten off.

“You’re going to die a million deaths, each one more painful than the last.”

Azmodan didn’t offer a response. He merely waited. For what else could he do? He had already died a million deaths, each more painful than the last, so he knew the creature’s words to be true. Still the taste of blood in his mouth, someone’s blood other than his own, felt beyond words. The satisfaction of causing someone else pain, after everything he had been to, to cause someone else to feel pain had been exquisite, finer than the finest wine.

The demon turned and walked away, probably to figure out more ways to kill Azmodan. Azmodan knew that now was the time, now was his time to make his move. He activated his Rotting Sloth ability and the rot and pus slowly at away at the metal tying his hands in place. It took an agonizing amount of time and every time a demon came close he had to deactivate it to be tortured. Eventually he felt the chains become weak enough to break. The demon appeared again, the one whose finger he had bitten off. The demon backhanded him and smirked. Azmodan started to laugh.

“What’s so funny you piece of shit?”

“My hands are free.” Azmodan reached out and grabbed the demon around the throat. The look on the face of the demon gave Azmodan more pleasure than anything he could remember. Then they both fell into the abyss.

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Despair is not weak;
It is strong.
It fights against our hope.
It fights against our determination.

A hand gripped at ash. Fingers clawing, leaving long dragging ditches in the dust of bodies long destroyed. A spasm. Twitches rock the body belonging to the hand. The hand moves no more. Azmodan stares with wide eyes as the demon he fell into the abyss with dies slowly, whether by the fall or by his own hand the Master of Sins knows not. The last breath leaves the demon, and finally he was alone. How long had it been since he fell? Was he at the bottom? Or was this like those other ledges and floors he landed on a cruel illusion?

It had been a mistake coming to hell, the icer could see that plainly now. For all his power, for all his might he knew not what was coming. Eternal damnation was no laughing matter.

How long had he been falling? A month? Two? Half a year? Half an eon? Time was hard to judge in the free fall. Cautiously Azmodan’s fingers began to feel the floor around his body, small tracing circles. The ground appeared solid, but so too had many before. Then the full hand, feeling the pressure of the floor against his hands was a relief almost too great for him to bear. He slowly, shakily, made his way to his feet and stood.

That was the beginning of his problems.

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“Come to me.” A voice whispered, appearing out of nowhere like a light in the darkness. The broken Icer turned to face the voice. It sounded like Vil. Vil’s voice? Had his adventure through hell finally come to an end?

Slowly, agonizingly slowly he limped towards the sound of the voice. His body had been broken by the fall. He had died thousands of deaths at the hands of the lesser demons. Tortured and maimed and broken. Reborn again and again only to be tortured again. He considered just killing himself again, but where would he be reborn? He couldn’t risk it. Not with Vil so seemingly close.

With a leg dragging, clutching weakly at his broken shoulder, The Master of Sins continued towards the source of the voice in complete darkness. He held up a small ball of ki, the only thing he could manage in his state was a ball the size of a cue ball.

“Come to me, Master of Sins.” The voice would occasionally whisper, as if floating right next to him, only to sound again further and further away.

Finally he came upon the room where Vil awaited. Except Vil wasn’t Vil. It was something else. Something else entirely. A gigantic demon’s body lay still on the floor, surrounded by glowing runes and covered with stab’s and burns. Upon further inspection, Azmodan could clearly see that this demon was dead.

“Where are you?” Azmodan asked feebly, his voice weaker than he would have thought. He was dying again. Where would he appear when he died?

“Azmodan. Master of Sins. Look at you.” The voice was closer here. Stronger. No longer a whisper in his ear, here it was almost a roar. “Look how far you’ve fallen.” The voice mocked him, and the Icer found it hard to disagree.

“You were once great. You killed Belial and became Master of Sins” The voice filled Azmodan with pride, memories of killing Belial came flooding back. With that memory came the memory of Vil, and Belial killing him.

“And that’s why you became weak!” The voice scolded him. “You believed you owed something to Vil. You believed you were the reason he got killed. You owed it to him to come and get him. You overestimated your own power and why? Because he was your friend? Because he was your father?”

“Enough!” Azmodan roared. Fury overtaking him. Did the body of the demon smile?

“Did I push a button?” The demon asked teasingly. “Vil wasn’t your real father but you… Dare I say it… Loved him.”

Azmodan turned from the demon and began to limp from the room. A force stronger than any the Icer had felt compelled him to turn around.

“ Come now don’t be like that, you haven’t even asked why I brought you here…” The demon said coyly.

“Out with it!” Azmodan roared. He had had enough of this game. A strong force hit him in the stomach and forced him to double over. The same force gripped him around the neck and dragged him into the air. It hefted him through the space between himself and the demon body and stopped directly in front of the circle of runes.

“Though my power may be confined by these runes, I could still kill you Master of Sins. You are in my domain, and the confining spell has weakened over the years…”

“What… do you… want?” Azmodan asked squirming against the force. It released him and he fell to the floor, gasping and clutching at his neck.

“We are not as we once were, Master of Sins. We have fallen far. Look upon my body and know the demon Abaddon.”

The voice struck a cold cord in Azmodan’s body sending a shiver down his spine. He knew very well the stories that used to be told about Abaddon, the demon that took war to the kais, and nearly won.

“You know of me?” The demon asked as if reading the Icer’s thoughts. “Good.” the smile was evident in his voice.

“You… You fought the kais.” Azmodan said in a reverent hushed voice.

“I BEAT THE KAIS!” Abaddon roared, and a strong burst of wind ripped through the room, though where it came from he couldn’t say.

“I brought a war more glorious than any had ever seen to heaven. I was unstoppable, the true Demon King. None could stand before me. As I through down the last cardinal kai, they appeared. Heroes brought from the other realm. They were a distraction! The Kais banded together and banished me here many years ago.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Azmodan asked warily already knowing the answer.

“I have unfinished business with the kais. I need a body to do so. Though now you are broken and beaten, you do not have to remain that way. With me you would hold power you never even knew existed. We would march my army to the gates of heaven and beyond and I would destroy the kais, like I should have those years ago. And perhaps best of all…”

The demon didn’t have to say another word. Azmodan already knew what he was going to offer. Vil.

“I accept.” He said and with a blast of ki he destroyed a single rune in the circle. All at once Azmodan was struck with a force so strong it knocked him to his knees. It felt as if something was filling him up. His wounds began to close, and the Icer could feel the power of Abaddon coursing through him. He stretched and cracked his body, working out the kinks. It felt different, yet not unpleasant to have the demon inhabiting him. Their thoughts were one, their actions one, their beings one.

He looked down at his hand and smiled.

“Excellent.”

[Jorlaxl]

800 power level awarded! Wow, excellent read!