In Hell, there were of three demons. Such three were known as 'the Mothers of Monsters', both in guiding the Ars Goetia, as well as strengthening them with whatever style of magic they wish to use,
Naamah, the Soother. A Slender demon with a magic that eases and nulls the pain, providing a chance to recover from any wounds inflicted, acting as the nurturer for those in need of medical assistance.
Eisheth, the Scissors. A Demon with a bull's horns and a centipede like body with its many legs, capable of 'cutting' any injuries away, allowing her to act as a general to train the demons to the best of their abilities, weaponizing them as much as they can.
Agratt, the Womb. The Queen of Demons that can spawn such legions through a set of rings on her back, shaped exactly like halo's, as a means to mock the Angels. She acts as the one who rules such demons if the King himself cannot, whether by being executed from God himself, or being occupied with other matters. Her wisdom and large size acts almost as a blanket for the damned.
Besides such three dragons was of an Angel. An Angel that fell into such temptation by the three, slowly succumbing to the detriments, his wings fleeting into black soot and small cartilage, his face degraded into a mass of rotten flesh, before it sheds and reveals proper, red skin. The Three Demons and the Angel would do as they do best, in the hopes of creating an heir. Such an heir would be made in the span of three reigns from the Ars Goetia themselves, with Sabnock's being the longest, succumbing to injuries during his fight with an angel, and Andrealphus being the weakest, eradicated the nanosecond he came into the throne, sensing its malevolent intent almost instantly. There was, however, an issue in creating the child: Its parts were scattered. Eisheth bore the arms, hands and heart of the boy, Naamah the head, eyes and brain, and Agratt the chest, legs, and lungs. The child was incomplete, due to incompatibility.
In response, the Three Dragons simply fused into each other as one, in order to give the baby its proper body, in order to piece them all together and create the new heir, one that had the strength to survive, even after such a disastrous development that would've guaranteed death. Once the boy was born, the Three Demons split once more, sheltering the newborn, cradling it, comforting it, as it cried away its pain and drew breath in the hot, hellish air. The three exchanged glances, determining what to name this boy, with Agratt being the decider, naming him as the definition of 'Strength.'
Azazel Cal'cul.
Throughout his time, his Mothers made sure to guide him, with Naamah nurturing him and letting him develop and interact with the denizens, Eisheth to train him and push the idea of magic to its highest point, and Agratt with wisdom, knowledge, and the means to be a true king. Despite all of this, all three Demons did one thing special for Zazel: Expose him to the human world. Zazel can see his memories play in the first exposure to humanity, from the simple creatures, to the elder and youth, to the wonders of magic itself, witnessing how far they developed. His first words came when a festival was hosted, giggling as he'd point at the sky, earmuffs around his head to protect him from such loud noises.
"Firework! Firework!!"
The three demons were surprised at such a word, yet as they looked towards one another, they simply smiled, raising him up, letting him see the fireworks in all its glory. Each moment he witnesses, from Agratt reading with him in bed for a small story, to Eisheth protecting him from dangers, to Naamah in healing his wounds and placing him in small areas to play with other Denizens, felt like a spike that pierced through his soul. Each denizen that looked at him, yet would allow him to play games, run around in the hollow streets of pure emptiness, skipping stones in a magma-filled ocean, felt like a face embedded with his consciousness. His very life in such a nihilistic world was playing faster and faster, from when he walked, to when he talked, to where he learned, to where he tries to reach up to the hellish skies and recapture what was once gifted to him, a chance to share it with others, a chance to be free from such a mild land, to finally be able to see. To feel. To breathe.
To finally grant his people the chance to be like the Humans, without the fear of God striking down with such malevolence. The chance to hopefully be embraced under him, not in pain, but care.
His visual autobiography was in full view, and at its end, he could see Harvard. Then Solomon. Then Stolas. "I...I can't..." He'd mumble, panicking, crying, watching his memories start to become distant, as he tries to break free from his cocoon.
RRRRRIP!! RRRRIPP!!! RRRRRRIP!!!!
One by one, such binds were quickly ripping apart, the Demon's determination being further and further, tidal waves crashing away from such a prison, his wings finally being sprouted. "I can't.....I can't lose. So many people. So many of them....They actually miss me...I CAN'T LOSE!! NOT WHEN I STILL HAVE LIFE LEFT! NOT WHEN I CAN STILL DO SOMETHING!! I CAN'T LOSE! I CAN'T...I CAN'T...!!"
"I AM NOT GOING TO LOSE HERE! NOT NOW, NOT EVER!!!!"
SHIKK!!!!! FWOOOOSH!!!
Reality was met once more with the hailstorm of salt, piercing through every single part of his body, wearing him down to even his very bones. His tears quickly wiped away, his face bridled with pure willpower, unyielding to his situation. In such a moment, he would begin to change form, the Sigil being made and broken once more. "WRRRRRYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!" His roar echoed across the area, the metal quickly shaping into flesh, claws that slammed down on the ground, parting the salt in half, a wingspan that carved out the halls even further, a dragon's head that opened its eyes, charging a flame, aiming for the sky, burning the very area into ash, the defense system for Khepros being active once more, yet would shatter upon the explosion. Sirens and cries were heard by the dozen, quickly alerting folks into a part of the scarab's shell being fractured, a crater left in the Walking City's back. Just beside it, the very land that the scarab is trekking across, turned into a blackened wasteland, fires being started and holes upon holes being left behind on the surrounding area. Such damage was so prevalent, it ceased Khepros to move any further, in order to solve the issue at hand.
The wreckage left, alongside the shattering of its integrated shield, would call upon multiple reporters and officials to solve the situation.