----
Michael's POV
Fire didn't scare him.
Not because he was brave.
But because it was beneath him.
The flames curled around jagged black rocks like snakes trying to intimidate a lion. Sulfur filled the air. Chains rattled somewhere in the distance. Screams — millions of them — echoed like background music on repeat.
Michael opened his eyes slowly.
"This isn't the Underworld," he thought to himself with disgust.
He stood up. The ground beneath him was not soil, but scorched bone. The sky overhead wasn't a sky at all — just endless red mist, writhing like it was alive and angry.
He was naked save for blood-red jeans that felt like they were forged from hatred itself. His skin was crimson. His arms lean, muscular. His hair long and soaked in red, like someone had dipped him headfirst in war.
He raised a hand and looked at his palm.
"Demon," he thought to himself with certainty.
"But not in the right place."
---
[Skill Activated: Absolute Authority]
[Target range: 500 meters]
[Warning: Limited effect on entities stronger than host]
A dull hum thrummed in his ears.
"So... this is my power," Michael thought to himself with interest.
"Authority. Control. Domination."
It fit. It made sense. He was meant to rule. But this place?
This Hell?
It wasn't his kingdom.
It was a dump.
And somehow, he had been tossed in with the rest of the trash.
---
A figure stirred nearby.
A soul — not a demon. Burnt and broken, it crawled across the ground with twitching limbs. Its eyes were hollow, its mouth muttering prayers no one would ever hear.
Michael stepped on its head, not out of cruelty — but boredom.
"What is this pit?" Michael thought to himself with a sneer.
"A prison for the pathetic."
More souls staggered into view, some screaming, others weeping, none fighting. None of them were worth his attention.
But the guards were.
From the far ridge, a massive beast dropped down. Its skin was black steel wrapped in chains. It had the face of a jackal and the voice of ten thousand damned.
"You do not belong here, demon," it snarled. "Return to your cage."
Michael tilted his head.
> "Cage?" he thought to himself with amusement.
"No. This is your cage. I'm just visiting."
He raised one hand.
"Kneel."
The creature stopped.
Its body shook. Muscles tensed. The chains rattled violently — but it resisted. Its level was too high.
Michael's smile didn't fade.
He lowered his hand and walked forward.
"You will obey," he said, not as a threat, but a fact.
The beast lunged.
Michael ducked, drove his elbow into the creature's ribs, and shattered part of its chest plate. In a blink, he was on its back, wrapping a leg around its throat and pulling hard.
It screamed.
Michael didn't.
He just grinned.
---
A few minutes later, the beast lay crushed under his heel.
Its head twisted at the wrong angle. Its body twitching in the last phases of obedience.
Michael stood above it, his own body splattered with burning black blood.
"Even the enforcers here are insects," he thought to himself with cold satisfaction.
"Hell is weak. No kings. Only wardens. And even they kneel."
He looked up at the bleeding sky.
"I'm leaving this place," Michael thought to himself with brutal focus.
"The Underworld waits. That's where demons rule. And I will sit at the top."
----
Meanwhile… in the modern world
Mavel leaned back in his chair, sipping cheap soda and staring at Clone Cam #1 on his laptop screen.
Michael was standing atop a mountain of bones, blood-streaked and laughing like a psycho in an anime finale.
"Okay, what the hell," Mavel thought to himself with surprise.
"Dude's been alive for ten minutes and already broke Hell's first gatekeeper?"
He scratched the back of his head, kinda impressed.
The system popped up a stat card:
> [Clone #1 – Michael]
Location: Hell
Current Objective: Escape
Status: Dominating local enforcers
Threat Level: Rising
Morality Alignment: "Who needs one?"
Mavel whistled.
"I was expecting edgy, not full-on murder king," he thought to himself with amusement.
"Definitely Top 5 material. Might even go Number 1 if he conquers Hell before next week."
Seth walked by behind him, holding a snack in one hand.
"Whatcha watching?"
"Uhh… Demon documentary."
Seth nodded. "Cool. Don't watch creepy stuff when I'm sleeping."
He walked away.
Mavel leaned forward and smiled.
"You do you, Michael. Tear it all down. I'll just be here… enjoying the show." Mavel thought in excitement.
---
Back in Hell
Michael moved through the wasteland like a virus. Every warden he encountered, every demonic hound, every pathetic chain-bound beast — all fell.
Some were killed. Others broken, mentally and physically.
Those who knelt survived. The rest fed the fire.
He wasn't building an army.
He was purging a realm.
---
At the edge of a massive canyon of flame, a black pillar rose — tall, unnatural, and humming with runes. A gate to another level of Hell, perhaps.
A figure stood before it.
Tall. Humanoid. Unlike the beasts.
It wore robes of ash and eyes like black glass.
"You are not one of us," it said calmly.
"You are not meant to climb."
Michael cracked his neck.
"I'm not climbing," he said.
"I'm breaking through."