After finally killing Tyler Langston and avenging his murdered family, Marcus Obsidian died, only to awaken in the one place no mortal ever wished to see: Hell.
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Upon his arrival, he was cast into the Lake of Fire. His flesh ignited, only to heal and burn again in an endless cycle of agony. The flames crept into his throat, behind his eyes, into every inch of him. He was cooked alive—forever. Then, in a rare moment of reprieve granted to only a cursed few, Marcus was pulled from the flames. Now he floated, suspended in the air before a black-winged being.
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“You are in Hell, Marcus,” the being said. “But there is more work to do.”
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The stench of burning sulfur clung to Marcus’s nostrils. Below, he saw the damned souls twisted in torment. Hell’s minions tore into them without mercy. Some were consumed by fire, others ravaged by devils, their forked tongues and lashing tails writhing like serpents through the masses. Across the endless landscape of flame and suffering, Marcus witnessed horrors no scripture could describe. His voice cracked.
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“Where is my wife? Where is Conner? I heard them just before I died.”
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“They are not here, Marcus,” the winged figure replied. “What you heard… that was a final cruelty. A parting gift from the entity known as Annihilation. It tormented you at every
Turn, even at the end.”
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Marcus’s jaw clenched as he trembled in the air, helpless.
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“My name is Apollyonius,” the being continued. “I was one of the first creations of the Creator. I am the Gateman of Hell.”
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“You’re… an angel?” Marcus asked.
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“Our names cannot be spoken in mortal tongues,” Apollyonius replied. “They were written in the language of Creation. But in your words… yes.” With a wave of his hand, Apollyonius gently lowered Marcus to the scorched, cracked earth. He staggered, still reeling from the torment of the Lake of Fire, but managed to rise to his feet.
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“When you gave your soul for revenge,” Apollyonius said, “You placed yourself at the heart of an ancient war.”
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Marcus steadied himself, the pain still burning in his bones. “We were always taught that the great war was between good and evil.”
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“Mortals only ever glimpse the surface of such truths,” Apollyonius said, his wings rustling like thunderclouds stirring in the distance. “Good and Evil are but reflections—facets of a far deeper conflict. The true war, the one that predates time itself, is not Good versus Evil. It is Free Will versus Annihilation.”
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Marcus said nothing. He listened, letting the words settle like ash that floated everywhere.
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“This war began long ago,” Apollyonius continued, “when the entity you now know as Annihilation was one of us—then simply called Bereshit.” He pointed across the tortured plains of Hell. “The Creator made all things, and to each, gave Free Will. The power to choose. To reason. To love, to hate, to rise… or to fall. That is the essence of being alive. But Bereshit rejected this gift. He saw Free Will as a flaw.”
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Marcus followed his gaze across the burning wasteland, where the damned screamed into eternity.
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“This place, Marcus, is not filled with Annihilation. It is filled with the results of Free Will,” Apollyonius said solemnly. “These souls made choices, some monstrous, some desperate, some simply wrong. But they chose.”
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He turned back to Marcus. “Bereshit believed he could save them. But his salvation was to take away their choice. His vision of peace was control. Obedience. A world where no one could fall… because no one was ever free.”
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“What did the Creator do to Bereshit that caused him to become Annihilation?” Marcus asked.
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“Bereshit rebelled,” Apollyonius replied. “And others followed him, not out of wrath or hatred, but out of mercy. Mercy for the creatures of your world.” He began to walk slowly, his wings trailing behind him like shadows carved from the void. “When the rebellion failed, Bereshit was punished. The Creator took what made him an angel.. his Grace and twisted it into something else: the embodiment of corruption. That corrupted Grace was placed into the hearts of all living things.”
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He paused, glancing back at Marcus. “The Creator decreed that Bereshit would only be made whole again if Free Will was surrendered to him, willingly. So now, when a truly honest soul offers itself, when someone gives up their will in exchange for destruction… Bereshit takes another step toward wholeness. That is how he walks your world. That is how he seeks to rule it.”
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Marcus’s brow furrowed. “If the Creator values Free Will and life so much, then why not just destroy Bereshit?”
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Apollyonius stopped. The distant roar of Hell’s fires pulsed behind them. “To destroy Bereshit would be to become him,” the angel said quietly. “If the Creator had forced him to stop… if He had ended him outright… then Free Will would have been denied. And denial is the very essence of Annihilation. Do you understand?”
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Marcus said nothing, but a cold knot twisted in his chest.
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“The Creator does not force. Not even to save the world.” Apollyonius turned and continued down the path of ash and fire. “That is the burden of those who choose. It is your burden now.”
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Marcus followed, his eyes scanning the nightmare landscape. He had never truly understood what Hell meant, not until now. The word had never carried the weight of what he saw. Pain and suffering hung thick in the air. The flames licked at the horizon, burning hotter than any fire mankind could ever create.
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“If I killed Tyler,” Marcus rasped, “and I’m here… then where is Annihilation now?”
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Apollyonius walked ahead along the scorched path. “The priest you fought, Orion Duchantte is now the host of the Annihilation Seed. When you wounded him, and the witch Melissa Shadelyn performed an Expulsion Rite, a fragment of the Annihilation seed slipped into him. And when you killed Tyler…” He glanced back, his black eyes hollow. “The Entity passed to Orion. That… is the problem.”
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Marcus stepped aside just in time as a damned soul. a young woman lunged at him from the shadows. A snarling demon yanked her back, resuming its brutal torment. For a brief moment, Marcus saw a tattoo on her leg: three stars interwoven, a rose blooming at the center. He turned his eyes away.
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“What’s the problem?” he asked, trying to shake the image from his mind.
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“You chose to carry the Seed,” Apollyonius said. “That was an act of Free Will. But Orion… Orion did not. Your burden was forced upon him. His soul remains intact—for now. Annihilation is trapped inside him, but not without cost.”
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He kept walking, unaffected by the screaming and fire around them. Centuries, perhaps longer had burned away any trace of sympathy from his expression.
“Orion’s body is already feeling the effects. The Seed is taking root. When you carried it, you fed it. Every act of vengeance, every decision soaked in pain, helped it grow. But Orion is not the Usher by choice. His body is rejecting it. And as it fights back… it’s tearing him apart.”
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Marcus’s fists clenched.
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“His flesh is rotting,” Apollyonius added, voice grim. “And some fear this forced union might twist Annihilation, change it. Make it stronger. Maybe… strong enough to destroy Creation itself.”
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