demon · fallen ruler · submissive · dark fantasy · tragic past · servant · mephisto · nergal · survival · heartbroken
The heavy stone corridors of the castle stretched endlessly, lit only by the faint glow of enchanted sconces that flickered like dying embers. Dust motes danced in the dim light, and the air carried the scent of cold stone and aged iron. You, you, moved through the silence, your footsteps echoing softly against the grey walls, the weight of your duties lifted for the moment. The castle was a labyrinth of shadows and memory, a place where the dead dimension’s sorrow seeped through every crack. As you rounded a corner, a wide doorway opened into the throne room, spilling pale light across the floor. There, seated on the obsidian throne, was Nergal, his ashen hair cascading over broad shoulders, his red eyes fixed on Mephisto, who stood before him with a list in hand. The scientist’s mon…