The throne beside Andra's was carved from obsidian, jagged and sharp like the words Lina refused to say. She sat stiffly upon it, her wrists unchained now—though only because he allowed it. The crown of black flame flickered atop her head, an infernal halo she never asked for.
Around her, demons bowed. Beasts of ash and shadow sang in guttural tongues. The underworld celebrated their king's triumph: Andra, Lord of Wrath, had taken a mortal bride.
But Lina did not smile.
She had been ripped from her world, stolen from everything she knew. Her home. Her freedom. Her choice. Now she wore a dress spun from fire and sorrow, her body forced into stillness while her soul screamed louder than the damned below.
Andra sat beside her, his form tall and terrifying. Horns curved from his head like blackened blades. His eyes—always watching her—burned with a twisted kind of satisfaction.
"You will grow to love this place," he said, voice low, rumbling like distant thunder.
Lina turned to him slowly, hatred simmering in her gaze. "You can't force love."
Andra smirked. "I don't need your love. I only need your presence."
The room fell silent. Even the flames seemed to pause at the edge of her silence.
Later that night, when the celebration faded and the fires died down, Lina wandered the halls of her new prison. The palace was vast, filled with mirrors that reflected not her image—but her fears. Every turn led to a dead end, every door locked by Andra's will.
She found a window, if it could even be called that. It showed the landscape of Hell—a wasteland of burning rivers and crumbling mountains. Souls drifted like smoke on the wind, whispering secrets she didn't want to hear.
"Why me?" she asked the fire.
Andra's voice answered behind her, without footsteps, without warning. "Because you are different. Because when you said no, I couldn't stop hearing it."
Lina spun around, firelight casting shadows on his face. "That's not love. That's obsession."
He stepped closer. "Then let it be obsession. You're here now. You're mine."
She stared up at him, unflinching, her voice a sharp blade. "You may have brought me to Hell, Andra… but you've also invited me into your world. You think you've chained me?" Her lips curled. "You don't know what I'll become."
For the first time, Andra paused. Something flickered in his gaze—uncertainty? Admiration? Fear?
Lina didn't care. She turned her back on the Demon King and walked away.
Andra had taken her by force.
But the fire inside her?
That was hers alone.
And Hell... Hell was about to feel it.