The Black Eden stretched before the survivors like a twisted promise, its walls of black stone veined with red glimmering under a twilight sky where purple clouds swirled in a slow, menacing dance. The mist that hung in the air carried a sweet and venomous scent—a blend of wilted roses and damp ashes—that seeped into their lungs, stirring senses numbed by the exhaustion of the crater. The ten Great Tyrants—Gills, Soehpt, Kira, Tyrnat, Yulius, Nera, Bhaadon, Solom, Orak, and Razhïel—still lay on the polished obsidian floor of the great hall, their bodies broken from the battle against Satan and the Omniviels. Their ragged breaths formed a discordant chorus, punctuated by the clinking of Noctis Aeternae's shadow chains, which faded slowly under Morningstar's impassive gaze.
Lilith stood on the dais, her throne of bones and entwined vines casting a sinister shadow behind her. Her silver hair, shimmering with an almost spectral lunar glow, cascaded in endless waves, catching the flickering flames of the pools in a hypnotic sheen. Her amber eyes, deep and steeped in ancient melancholy, swept over the survivors with cold curiosity, while her curves—infinitely graceful, both delicate and voluptuous—seemed to defy gravity in their enchanting perfection. Her scarlet silk dress rippled like a stream of living blood, and the crown of dark thorns on her brow pulsed with a subtle light, a reminder of her authority over this perverse domain.
Natass approached with small, hopping steps, his golden cane clacking against the floor in a theatrical rhythm. "My queen," he called in a shrill voice, his monocle glinting under the wavering light, "before you begin polishing these… rough gems, I have a small request." He paused beside Gota, still unconscious among the Nephalems, her pale face framed by damp strands matted with sweat and blood. Her watery medusas, weak and wavering, floated around her like dying specters. Natass placed a delicate claw on her shoulder, a malicious grin stretching his lips. "I'm taking this little pearl under my wing. She deserves a… special training, let's say, personal. The Great Tyrants, however, are yours."
Lilith tilted her head slightly, her amber eyes narrowing with an amused yet suspicious glint. "Special training, Natass?" she murmured, her velvety voice sliding through the air like a poisoned caress. "You're always so… mysterious with your little games. Do as you please, imp, but don't hide anything important from me. My gardens have eyes, you know." She offered a smile, her full lips revealing a hint of subtle fangs, while her succubi, stationed in the shadows, exchanged knowing glances, their membranous wings quivering with excitement.
Natass cackled, a guttural sound that echoed through the hall. "Oh, Lilith, I wouldn't dream of disappointing you." He struck his cane against the floor, and a small golden portal opened at his feet, shimmering like a coin in the gloom. With theatrical grace, he lifted Gota in an embrace of shadows summoned by his cane, her frail body floating like a broken doll. "Until we meet again, my queen… and good luck with these scraps!" The portal swallowed him in a burst of light, taking Gota with him, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Bhaadon and Solom, still unconscious among the survivors, could not protest. Their motionless forms, marked by the battles of the crater, rested against an obsidian pillar, their tonfas and sparks extinguished, their faces tense in restless slumber. The others had yet to notice their comrade's absence, their minds still clouded by fatigue and shock.
Morningstar crossed his arms, his six shadowy wings twitching slightly beneath his black armor adorned with shifting runes. "Ever unpredictable, that imp," he growled, his hoarse voice cutting through the silence. His red eyes, glowing beneath his helm, slid toward Lilith. "Do you really plan to make these wrecks into Tyrants worthy of the Crown?" A hint of irony laced his tone, but his gaze remained fixed on the survivors with cold curiosity.
Lilith descended from the dais, her steps echoing on the slabs like a funereal melody. "Patience, Lucifer," she replied, her smile widening. "They're but seeds for now… but in my garden, even the weakest plants can grow into deadly thorns." She paused before Gills, the first to rise, his red flames crackling faintly around his clenched fists. "You, for instance… You bear the mark of an ancient fire. Kalgarax, isn't it?" Her amber eyes locked onto his, and Gills felt a shiver crawl up his spine, as if she were reading his soul.
"How… do you know that?" he growled, his voice hoarse but steady, struggling to stand. Lilith offered no answer, merely smiling before moving to Soehpt, who was slowly waking, his blue flames streaked with black flickering like specters in the air. "And you… Volgurax chose well. A soul that burns to the end, hmm?" Soehpt blinked, his bleary gaze fixed on the dark queen, but he found no words to retort.
Kira rose next, her Astrugg Cestuses clinking against the floor, a faint orange glow dancing across their metallic surfaces. "We're not here for your games," she snapped, her voice trembling but resolute. Lilith let out a crystalline laugh, a sound that made the furies perched in the shadows shiver. "Oh, my dear, everything here is a game… and you'll learn to play it."
She pivoted, her scarlet dress rippling behind her like a wave of blood, and gestured toward a massive arch in the opposite wall. "But not tonight," she added, her voice softening to an almost maternal tone. "Rest… for tomorrow, your true trial begins." The succubi stepped forward then, their graceful silhouettes emerging from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with an ambiguous promise. "Follow them," Lilith commanded. "They'll lead you to your quarters. Don't do anything foolish… my gardens don't take kindly to intruders."
Morningstar grunted, his shadowy wings half-unfurling. "I'll stay to oversee tomorrow," he declared, ignoring Lilith's amused glance. The succubi giggled as they stared at him, their wings quivering with troubled fascination, while the furies circled above, their shrill cries echoing through the hall.
Too exhausted to protest, the survivors followed the succubi through a maze of dark corridors, their walls adorned with thorny vines that seemed to quiver at their passage. The quarters were a series of chambers carved into the black stone, each furnished with a bed of black feathers and a murmuring fountain flowing with a reddish liquid—diluted blood, perhaps, or another illusion. Narrow windows overlooked the inner gardens, where trees with rotten apples glowed in the gloom, their branches swaying like greedy fingers.
Gills collapsed onto his bed, his red flames fading in a faint crackle. "We need to stay united," he muttered, more to himself than to the others. Soehpt, in the next chamber, growled in response, his blue flames dancing weakly around his fingers. "United? With them?" He cast a glance toward Tyrnat's door, where wavering shadows seeped through the gap.
Tyrnat, seated on his bed, summoned a miniature Clawed Specter, twirling it between his fingers with a smirk. "They're weak… and they'll only slow me down," he murmured, his eyes glinting with ambition. Yulius, nearby, drove Massacre into the floor, a trickle of congealed blood dripping from the blade. "As long as they don't get in my way, I don't care," he growled. Nera, more discreet, wove her shadow threads in the darkness, a sly smile playing on her lips. "The weakness of others is an opportunity," she whispered, her cursed dolls twitching in a corner.
Bhaadon finally stirred, a hoarse groan escaping his throat as he sat up, his tonfas clinking against the floor. "Gota…" he murmured, his eyes scanning the empty room. Solom, roused by the noise, blinked, a faint golden spark dancing in his hand. "She was here… Where is she?" he asked, his voice trembling with confusion. Bhaadon clenched his fists, a stone levitating instinctively under his anger. "Natass… What has he done with her?"
Orak, alone in his chamber, drove his spear into the floor, a frosty mist rising around him. "I trust no one here," he growled, his gray eyes fixed on the window, where a rose with razor-sharp petals seemed to watch him. Razhïel, silent, leaned against a wall, his severed arm dripping black blood, Tenebris Lux resting beside him. Beneath his mask, his dulled golden eyes gleamed with restrained defiance.
The night passed in oppressive silence, broken only by the murmurs of patrolling succubi and the distant cries of furies in the gardens. At dawn—if one could call the eternal twilight of the Black Eden dawn—a deep, resonant bell tolled, rousing the survivors from their fitful rest. The succubi led them again, their predatory smiles promising more danger than comfort, back to the inner gardens.
Lilith awaited them in a clearing, surrounded by black grass swaying like waves under an invisible wind. "Your first trial begins now," she announced, her voice sharp as a blade. She raised a hand, and the ground trembled, Blood Vines erupting from the earth—thick, glowing red tendrils, their thorns dripping with corrosive venom. "Survive," she said simply, a cruel smile on her lips.
Morningstar stepped to her side, his shadowy wings casting shifting shadows. "Show what you're worth," he growled, his glowing red eyes fixed on the survivors as the vines lunged toward them with a piercing hiss.