Pit Fiend

Souls were the primary currency of Baator, and the mortal souls dragged down into the Nine Hells were called petitioners, or soul shells. When a boat laden with petitioners arrived in the lands of torment, an amnizu—a devil bureaucrat—would read the markings etched into each soul and record the name of the devil responsible for harvesting it into a massive ledger. Under the provisions of the Pact Primeval struck between Asmodeus and the gods, as every last scrap of a petitioner's lingering persona was systematically peeled away, magical energy was released and funneled upward to the lord of that layer. The pain devils tasked with torture showed no mercy. They terrorized and mutilated the fallen spirits, subjecting them to a battery of gruesome torments until every extractable drop of magical power was wrung from their frames. Once the final vestige of humanity was violently torn from a soul shell's vessel, the ceaselessly shuddering husk was cast into an abyss—such as the dreaded Maggot Pit within the borders of Avernus. There, they would swiftly die, rot away, and be reborn as mindless lemures. Archdevils like Zariel and Mephistopheles stood at the apex of the soul harvest for their respective layers, gorging themselves on the supply drawn from across their domains. And as the Master of the Nine Hells, Asmodeus reigned above all of Baator; ultimately, the souls of every layer flowed back to him. Yet as treacherous, cunning, and thoroughly selfish creatures, the devils were naturally unwilling to surrender every last soul to their superiors. They routinely danced along the edges of the rules, exploiting any loophole to enrich themselves—such as by smuggling souls. Uriel's Modin Casino served the high-ranking devil Valerius, smuggling countless souls for him over the decades. In exchange, Uriel enjoyed immense privileges, turning his establishment into the most thriving gambling den in the East District of Ring Twelve. Deep beneath the Modin Casino lay a subterranean river of lava known as the River of Sins, which wound all the way to Valerius's manor in the inner rings of the Bronze Citadel. At that moment, the frantic sound of footsteps echoed through the casino's secret underground chamber. The aged torches along the walls flared to life one by one, their flickering flames casting eerie light over the broken skeletons scattered across the corners, lending the gloom a suffocating chill. *Creak, creak...* The dry scraping of bone joints rattled through the darkness. Several hideous visages poked out from the shifting shadows, bearing fawning grins stretched tight over withered, leathery hides that seemed melted directly onto bone. Four bone devil sickle-guards stood watch over the entrance to the River of Sins. When no smuggling operation was underway, any intruder would be ruthlessly butchered—with the sole exception of their master, Uriel. Now, Uriel stood cloaked, followed by a procession of humanoid figures draped in aura-concealing mantles. From them drifted the intoxicating scent of raw souls, their identities immediately obvious: petitioners. To the bone devils, it looked as though Uriel was merely escorting a fresh batch of petitioners into the inner rings on another smuggling run for that mysterious grandee. Still, if they could somehow secure even half a petitioner for themselves, they would be ecstatic. The foremost bone devil licked its lips, bowing its head and asking deferentially, "Master, you've finally arrived. Is there an assignment from that side?" Beneath his black cowl, Uriel's face looked exceptionally grim, his tone sharp with impatience. "Out of the way! If you delay that high devil's vital business, you'll all pay with your lives!" "Yes, Master, understood..." Uriel snarled, "If you understand, then get lost! Do you want me to throw you out myself?" Shuddering, the bone devils backed away with a chorus of clattering joints and faded into the shadows, waiting for the true intruders to show themselves. Uriel led the hooded figures through the stone doorway and boarded a bronze vessel, which set off across the scalding river of molten rock. "How much longer until we reach the inner rings?" a voice asked from the stern. Uriel instantly dropped his haughty demeanor, replying with evident trepidation, "Only a single day, my lords." "A whole day?" Langlibaitiao ripped off his mantle, strode forward, and clamped a hand onto Uriel's shoulder, his tone dripping with suspicion. "From Ring Twelve to the center of the Bronze Citadel is ten li at most. Why in the world would it take that long? "Could it be... you're stalling to rally your allies and gather underlings to wipe us out in one fell swoop?" Feeling the grip tighten on his shoulder, Uriel seemed to recall the agonizing torture he had endured. He broke into a violent shiver and stammered, "L-Lord Langlibaitiao, you've got it all wrong! "Just as you said, since signing that contract, we're all ants bound to the same boat! If Zariel—no, if that madwoman's underlings ever spot my mark, they'll cast me straight into the lands of torment to suffer a thousand years of agony!" With that, the devil yanked his robe open, revealing a torso crisscrossed with ghastly lacerations—as well as the fiery, glowing crest of Bel etched into his chest. Langlibaitiao glanced at the emblem, rubbing his chin, though his expression remained dubious. "Then why does it take so long?" Uriel kept his voice down. "Twelve warding arrays pierce the bedrock of the Bronze Citadel. Anyone attempting to smuggle contraband risks triggering them and alerting the guards. "Because of that, the River of Sins has to wind and loop through the thinnest vulnerabilities of each barrier. That's the only way to slip into the inner rings undetected." From inside a cage, the little imp grumbled under its breath, "Why do I have to go too?" Langlibaitiao smiled warmly at it. "You're welcome to choose getting thrown into the lava river instead." "Is that one of the warding arrays?" Anyezhilang spoke up from behind, pointing at a translucent barrier shimmering with red light in the distance. Uriel nodded fervently. "Yes, that's it! Put on your Weave-resonant cloaks at once. Even when passing through the weakest points, you'll still be detected without them." "Got it." And so the bronze vessel glided through the subterranean river of molten stone, slipping past several defensive barriers one after another before finally reaching Ring Four of the Bronze Citadel. Along the journey, they ran into wandering hell bats, magma brutes, and other monsters, but Tiansheng Zhankuang obliterated them with a punch each. A Level 12 dragon bloodline berserker was far from weak, even in the depths of Baator; he was more than qualified to lead a small devil legion. "My lords, we have arrived," Uriel pointed toward a crude stone entrance in the distance, whispering, "This passage leads directly into Lord Valerius's estate. He maintains a dedicated inner sanctum specifically for gorging on smuggled petitioners." "Why aren't you moving?" "My lords, please go ahead and carry out Lord Bel's task. I will wait right here to provide backup... Ah, no, wait! I'll come, I'll come!" The long-time casino proprietor wanted to weep. He glared at the little imp, his eyes filled with sheer malice, wishing he could flay the creature alive and swallow it whole. To fall from an arrogant casino master to a helpless captive—no comedown in the world was more brutal. Tiansheng Zhankuang's face hardened, though his draconic golden eyes gleamed with wild exhilaration. "Everyone, I sense powerful presences ahead—stronger than anything we've faced before! "Our target this time has a Challenge Rating of at least 15! It might even be a legendary entity!" In any plane across the multiverse, a legendary entity was a genuine powerhouse—and Baator was no exception. A creature possessing that magnitude of strength was fit to command a major infernal legion, decide the outcome of a skirmish in the Blood War, or serve as a favored general to an Archdevil. Even now, after the level cap had risen to 12, not a single player had managed to solo a legendary boss. Seeing Tiansheng Zhankuang grow increasingly hyped, European Emperor couldn't help but feel nervous. "Brother Zhankuang, don't just charge in recklessly! Going toe-to-toe with a high-tier archfiend like that gives us zero chance of winning... We went through hell to get into the inner rings; we can't throw our lives away like this." Beside him, Langlibaitiao let out a sinister chuckle, reaching a hand into his cloak. "Not bad, not bad at all. Running into a boss of this caliber right off the bat makes the fortune I spent and the favors I pulled to get this thing entirely worth it." Saying so, he pulled a smooth metallic sphere from within his cloak. "What is that?" Uriel and Dick stared at the nondescript metal ball, thoroughly bewildered. Did they honestly intend to challenge a high devil with *that*? Yet the other three players gaped in utter shock, looking as though they had seen a ghost. "Holy shit, you managed to get your hands on *that*?!" "Isn't that the miniature spatial collapse bomb they mentioned at the last Imperial Military Equipment Symposium? That's the Machine Cult's prized baby! Did you sell your ass to them?" Langlibaitiao smirked. "What do you know? That's the perks of being the head of Nocturne! Even a high-ranking devil isn't tanking this point-blank!" "Wait... won't we be caught in the blast and buried with him? We still have a bunch of follow-up quests," Anyezhilang asked quietly. Hearing that, European Emperor seemed to steel his resolve. Gritting his teeth, he retrieved a piece of parchment embroidered with the imperial crest from his robes. "If even the Lang-beast is pulling out his trump card, I won't hold back either. "This is our Magic Coin Guild's heirloom—a Fiery Portal Scroll crafted by Emperor Kai himself... well, with his own claws. "It ignores any Antimagic Field below the 9th tier and instantly teleports us anywhere within a five-kilometer radius. The ultimate escape tool." European Emperor's hand trembled slightly as he gripped the scroll. This scroll was worth thousands of gold coins, rivaling rare equipment in value. If he burned it here and the mission still failed, Charlotte would beat him half to death when he got back. "In that case, then we..." The four exchanged glances, their minds finally made up. In unison, they declared: "Let's gamble!" *** In the East District of the Bronze Citadel's Fourth Ring stood a towering, brutalist castle. This was the estate of Valerius, Count of Hell and Commander of the Thirteenth Legion under Zariel. The entire fortress was carved from cooled, solidified lava, its surface bristling with spikes, demonic bas-reliefs, and burning runes, while wretched wails drifted up from the subterranean depths. Deep within the castle's grand hall, a monstrous fiend bathed in a pool of scalding magma. Holding a silver chalice, he savored aged vintage brewed from the agony of mortal souls. With a pair of colossal, flame-red wings and eyes that smoldered like dying embers, the towering devil radiated paralyzing dread. This was a pit fiend, a high-ranking devil born in the lowest depths of the Nine Hells: Nessus. Immense power, relentless resilience, and terrifying intellect. As the ruling caste of Hell, whether they served the Archdevils, enforced their own edicts across infernal fiefs, or ran rampant in the mortal realm, pit fiends wielded an extraordinary degree of autonomy. A horned devil flapped its wings and knelt deferentially beside the magma pool, speaking in a low rumble. "Legion Commander, your servant—that pitiful smuggler—has arrived." Valerius swirled the wine in his chalice, relishing the scent of terror and the screams of the souls trapped within before answering casually, "Hmm... Uriel, is it? He's done passable work these past decades, bringing in seven or eight petitioners every year. "However... Lady Zariel is orchestrating a grand endeavor lately and is cracking down fiercely on smuggling. Uriel knows too much, and his casino has far too many ties to us. It's time to dispose of him. "Once he hands over the goods, obliterate him completely. Clear out that casino while you're at it. We cannot leave a single trace for the other legions to discover; they're all circling like vultures." "Understood, Commander." "By the way, how many petitioners did he bring this time?" "Around twenty. Furthermore, according to him, he brought a rare treasure worth thousands of mortal souls." "What? Bring them in at once!" The pit fiend sat up abruptly, sending sheets of magma splashing across the floor and scorching shallow pits into the stone. "Right away, Commander," the horned devil rumbled, snapping its wings and soaring out of the hall. Valerius tilted his head back, draining the wine amidst the wailing of souls, and laughed boisterously. "Hahahaha! Who would have thought an expendable pawn on the verge of being discarded could deliver such a pleasant surprise!" *** Before long, guided by the horned devil, Uriel entered the grand hall with a retinue of black-cloaked figures. "M-My Lord. "Here is the shipment you requested. I have brought it to you." "Well done, Uriel." Crushed beneath the suffocating aura of the pit fiend, Uriel's legs buckled, his entire body going limp as his voice cracked with terror. Before he could even close within a hundred meters of the pit fiend, Uriel collapsed to his knees, pressing his forehead flat against the flagstones. Even though he had stood before the commander dozens of times, an instinctual, soul-deep dread still seized him. Such was the absolute hierarchy of the upper devils—a testament to the order governing the Hells for tens of millions of years. Uriel forced his head up, his eyes a mix of servile groveling and sheer terror as he looked toward the pit fiend reclining in the pool of magma. "F-Furthermore... I... have also secured an... extraordinarily precious treasure. I hope it pleases you, My Lord." At his words, a golem trailing behind the group received the cue. Bearing an archaic clay pot in its hands, it strode toward the pit fiend with stiff, mechanical steps. "Bring it forward!" Staring at the vessel brimming with an intense soul aura, Valerius made no attempt to conceal his ravenous greed and impatience. His smoldering eyes were fixed entirely on the pot. The golem drew closer to the pit fiend. One hundred meters. Fifty meters. Twenty meters. When the distance closed to under ten meters, the golem suddenly exploded into motion! Reaching into the clay pot, it yanked out a metallic sphere and hurled it straight at the pit fiend! "Didn't see that coming, did you?! Surprise, motherfucker!" "I'll tear you apart!" "Enemy attack!" "Quick, get over here, I'm tearing the scroll!" *BOOM——!* An earth-shattering detonation erupted, mingled with a roar of shock and fury. The entire Bronze Citadel seemed to shudder. Within the lava castle, a catastrophic blast tore through reality, twisting and folding space into a localized void. Space itself collapsed!