Infernal Ascendancy
Chapter 51: What Makes one a God

Chapter 51: What Makes one a God

Final Gate of Hell — Sealed Room

The air was still. Heavy. Like even time refused to move.

Azreal walked slowly through the long corridor, Hulk by his side. The red glow of hellfire illuminated the walls, casting flickering shadows. They stopped before a massive black door — wrapped in chains that pulsed with ancient runes.

Moments later, Xaltheon appeared, stepping into the room. He bowed deeply.

"I called you here," Azreal said calmly, "to reinforce the seal on Y’tharion."

Xaltheon looked up and nodded. "A wise decision."

His eyes drifted to the door. With a snap of Azreal’s fingers, the chains around it burst into flames and vanished. The heavy door creaked open.

Inside... silence.

Scrolls, parchments, and ancient writings covered the walls. At the center of the chamber was a chained coffin, ominous and cold, resting atop a glowing altar.

"So this is where Y’tharion was sealed," Hulk muttered.

"Yes," Azreal replied.

Xaltheon stepped forward, raising both hands. His eyes began to glow, and dark flames danced across his palms.

"Ten Thousand Seal Formation."

From the ground, black chains burst forth — twisting and climbing — lifting the coffin high into the air. They wrapped around it tighter and tighter until the entire casket was encased in a massive demonic face made of chains.

The room darkened, the chains glowed with eerie black light, and then gently lowered the sealed coffin back to the ground.

Xaltheon lowered his hands. "It’s done."

Azreal gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Now that’s taken care of... let’s move."

As they stepped out of the room, the massive doors closed behind them, sealing the chamber once again.

Outside, Xaltheon said, "Now we can rest easy. Y’tharion won’t be breaking free anytime soon."

"I hope so..." Azreal replied.

Suddenly—a flash of light. Arian appeared in front of them, panting, his expression pale with panic.

"My Lord!" he gasped, bowing quickly.

Azreal stepped forward. "Arian? What’s wrong?"

"It’s Aria. She’s missing."

"What?!"

Xaltheon tensed. "She was in her room. What do you mean she’s missing?"

Arian shook his head. "We’ve lost connection with her. The link between me, Atia, and Aria—Azreal’s divine connection—it’s gone. That only happens if one of us is... unconscious or—dead."

Azreal’s expression darkened.

"Search the Third Gate. She might’ve wandered off."

"Yes, my lord, that’s possible," Arian said. "But the link... it was broken instantly."

Azreal clenched his fist. "Xaltheon! Go to your gate. Find her. No matter what."

He turned to Hulk. "Gather the palace guards. Head for the Third Gate. Aria must be found."

They all split in different directions.

Azreal stood alone now, his eyes full of regret.

"Maybe I pressured her too much. Maybe she wasn’t ready... Aria... where are you?"

---

Somewhere in Hell...

The world was blurry. Aria opened her eyes slowly, a dull pain throbbing in her head.

She tried to move but couldn’t — her hands were chained to the bed.

"What the..." she muttered, looking around.

Strange markings covered the walls — carvings of a hooded man kneeling before a sun.

"Where am I?! Who’s there?!"

The door opened with a loud creak. A man walked in, followed by two cloaked figures. Without saying a word, they removed the bed from under her and carried her away.

"Hey! Let me go!" Aria shouted. "Do you know who I am?! Azreal will destroy every single one of you if you hurt me!"

One of them tried to speak, but the other stopped him.

"Huh?! You’re all so annoying!" Aria yelled. "Don’t give me the silent treatment!"

They entered a massive chamber. Dozens of hooded figures bowed in silence. The room was dark—except for one blinding column of light in the center.

They placed her in the light.

Her eyes squinted. "Tch... so bright..."

Her chains rattled as she tried to move. Her body flared with divine flame—but the chains didn’t burn.

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the shadows.

"The holy flames of the one chosen by the Gods... It is truly an honor to meet you."

Aria’s eyes darted around. "Who’s there?! Show yourself, coward!"

A chuckle echoed.

"Apologies for how you were brought here. I told them to be gentle with the God’s Chosen. But... hatred got the better of them."

"Hatred?" Aria scoffed. "So what? You all hate the Gods? What does that have to do with me?!"

The voice replied softly, "Everything."

Aria’s eyes narrowed. Selmora... are they like her? Can I remove their hatred too...?

But the figure responded as if reading her mind.

"No... don’t compare us to her. You may have healed her hatred... but ours is eternal."

"We are the Evolutionalists."

"Our king will erase this broken world. And in its place, we’ll build something better. A world without sin or virtue... without heaven, or hell... just balance."

"A new world. A sin-free world."

He paused, then said gently, "Join us, Aria. Together, we’ll correct the mistakes of the Gods. We’ll become the new Gods."

Aria looked down for a moment.

Then—she smirked.

"No thanks."

The silence was deafening.

"When I was alive," she said, "I always wondered... if humans were Gods, would the world be better?"

"But I never found the answer."

The figure leaned closer. "Then join us. Find that answer."

Aria’s eyes burned with resolve.

"No. Azreal’s goal is to rebuild Hell... and help me reach Heaven’s Gate."

The figure laughed. "And yet here you are — the God’s Chosen — trapped in Hell. Unjustly judged. Don’t you hate this place?"

Aria’s expression softened.

"Hate it?" she whispered.

"I used to. But that changed when I met Azreal."

A soft smile touched her lips.

"He made this cursed place feel like paradise. I had adventures... I made friends... I found a sister. A mother. A family. Something I never had when I was alive."

She looked up.

"Azreal gave me that. He completed my world. And if that’s not divine... I don’t know what is."

She glared at the cloaked figures now.

"I don’t know how Gods are supposed to be. But Azreal... he feels more like a God than any of them. And if he’s not the standard — then the rest don’t deserve the title."

She pulled against her chains. "And neither do you."

"You talk about creating a perfect world—but you’re no different than the Gods you claim to hate."

"You’re all the same."

The figure chuckles, slowly rising to his feet. His face becomes visible as the light reflects on him, eyes shimmering with ancient light—like that of a god.

He speaks, his voice echoing through the room:

"What makes one a god? Is it power? Worship? The fear in the eyes of mortals? Or is it merely a title dressed in divinity to justify one’s cruelty? What qualifies you to be a god? What makes you call yourself a god, or what makes others bow down and worship you as one? Is ’god’ a title? Is it an honor? How does one become a god? How do you ascend to godhood?"

"They call themselves gods , but why? Because they told you so? Because they had wings and bathed in light? They stand above mortals, yet you know nothing of what it means to rise."

He took a step forward. The chains rattled behind him like whispers of the past.

"Let me tell you what a god is... A god is a lie fed to the masses. A crown carved from fear, worn by those too cowardly to bleed. True gods do not ask for worship. They take. They rise from pain, from rejection, from wrath. They do not descend from the heavens—they claw their way up from the depths."

His voice darkened.

"You shine like the sun, little Aria... but stars are born from fire. I was born from hatred. Forged in betrayal. I have no throne, no worshippers, and no choir singing my name."

He smiled.

"And yet, when I speak... the world listens."

"So, tell me again—who is the god?"

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