The flames hadn't stopped since Mirex fell.
They roared across the skies of Hell like a warning, like a declaration written in smoke and blood: the old gods were dead. And what rose in their place no longer feared them.
Lina stood atop the highest tower of her obsidian citadel, wind lashing through her hair, her crown burning like a second sun. The fire within her hadn't dimmed—it had deepened. Refined. Carved by pain, honed by love.
Behind her, Andra approached. No armor. No blade. Just the man she chose in a world that never allowed softness, and loved with a heart carved from brimstone.
"They're calling you She Who Unseated Gods," he said, voice dark with pride.
She didn't turn. "They still whisper. Still fear."
"As they should."
"But not all of them fear me." Her gaze narrowed toward the eastern edges of Hell, where rebellion had stirred before. "Some are waiting. For the right moment. For me to fall."
Andra wrapped his arms around her from behind, breath against her neck, voice a soft growl. "Let them wait. Let them rot in doubt. We built this kingdom with fire and blood, Lina. And if it falls, it'll fall because we set it ablaze."
She turned to him then, slowly, the shadows of Hell curling at her feet like obedient wolves. "And what if I asked for more?"
"More?" His eyes met hers, unblinking.
"Not just to rule this realm. But to invade the next. To storm Heaven. To tear open the gates that turned their backs on me."
He stilled. And in that silence, he saw it—
The girl she once was…
Dead.
What stood before him now was not just a queen.
She was retribution incarnate.
"You want Heaven," he said quietly.
"I want justice," she answered. "I want to remind them that the girl they let suffer is now a goddess who burned their nightmares."
Andra stepped back, just slightly. Not in fear. In awe.
"Then we'll build you a throne from angel bones."
—
That night, they didn't sleep.
There was no room for dreams in their bed anymore—only prophecy.
Andra pressed her into silk and shadow, every kiss a vow, every breath a conquest. She wasn't soft, and he didn't want her to be. She broke under him not like glass—but like fire being fed, devouring every promise he whispered.
"You're not mine," he growled, pinning her hands above her head, lips against her throat.
"I am," she hissed back, arching into him. "But I'll never be tamed."
"Good." His mouth found hers again, hungry. "Because I didn't fall for a queen. I fell for a storm."
And as their flames intertwined, the walls of the underworld trembled.
A new war was coming.
And they would bring it.