Holder of the unholy ledger of the 9 Hells, where ink drips like obsidian ichor, Lucifuge, the Keeper of Infernal Coin, tallies debts bound by soul and blood. He, the clandestine architect of fiendish contracts, wields a quill forged from the bone of a deceived seraph and inscribes fates upon vellum spun from shadowed silks. Ciphers whisper through his scales, runes searing with the weight of eternal bargains.
In the shadowed veil where mortal breath meets the eternal stillness, there dwells He who weighs the hearts of men. Anubis, the Keeper of the Scales, whose visage bears the jackal’s gaze, walks the boundary of the living and the dead. His hands, blackened by the sands of timeless judgment, cradle the feather of Ma’at, seeking the truth of souls. He is the sentinel of the underworld, the harbinger of passage, whose name whispers through the corridors of tombs. To call upon Him is to invite the silence of eternity, for His voice is heard only in the cessation of all things. Seek Him not in fear, but in the humility of mortal transience.
And lo, from the abyss arose Abaddon, King of Perdition, cloaked in shadows deeper than the void of the first night. With a voice like a thousand storms, he summoned forth legions of wretched spirits, their forms twisting in the smoke of eternal torment. The earth trembled beneath his tread, and the skies wept blood as his unholy dominion cast its shadow upon the feeble hearts of men. By his hand, plagues unfurled like scrolls of doom, and the mortal realm quaked beneath the weight of his malice. Woe to the children of clay, for the harbinger of ruin sits upon his throne of ash, and his reign is without end.
Azrael, once a paragon of divine grace, now roams the shadowed expanse as a tragic monument to corruption. His once-luminous wings, once pure as starlight, have blackened and twisted, their feathers falling like ash wherever he treads. His celestial armor, once radiant with the light of heaven, now bears the scorched marks of infernal chains, etched with runes of torment and despair. Legends speak of his fall: betrayed by his own compassion, tempted by the promises of forbidden power, and consumed by the grief of a world he could not save.
From the void beyond the firmament descends Baal, the Traveler of the Black Heavens. He, whose name is etched upon the hidden stones of the First Descent, rends the veil of mortal flesh and remakes it in the image of his unknowable design. Flesh shall twist and sinew shall writhe, for his touch is both a curse and a covenant, binding the bearer to the unspoken Truths of the Outer Realms. Beware, for the sigil of his coming is the withering of light, and those who invoke his name in ignorance shall summon forth the tide of his unholy transformation.