The descent into Hell was not marked by fire.It was marked by silence.Lucas did not step through a gate, nor did he summon a portal. Hell recognized him—felt him—and parted.The air shifted first.What little movement existed in that cursed realm stilled, as though the world itself had drawn in a breath it dared not release. Then the ground beneath his feet darkened further, veins of molten crimson receding like blood retreating from a wound.He had not been here in a long time.Not because he feared it.Fear was a language Hell understood—but never dared speak to him.No… he had stayed away because this place remembered.Every scream. Every fall. Every moment of weakness.And worst of all… it remembered his father's humiliation of him.Lucas walked forward, his steps measured, unhurried, yet carrying a weight that pressed against the very bones of Hell. The corridor stretched before him—endless, suffocating, lined with walls that pulsed faintly, as though alive. Shadows clung to th
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