Devil Slave (Satan system)

**The Abyssal Chamber**

The entrance to the Abyssal Chamber laid hidden deep within the roots of a cursed forest, only accessible by those of the bloodline.

Yet, one could only be invited. Today, one has been invited to partake of its mysteries.

For Loki, this was a first. he had never had the honors of seeing this place. Only tales, here and there of its abode and the enigma it represented.

After all, Principalities and Powers were on another Level, far greater than Elders of the Royal Abaddon family. They were the Anchors of the Will of the First Progenitor of the family.

Their existence itself was said to be a curse, a stain to the cosmos. As such, they were revered above all.

Rumors have it that during the war with the Morningstar, they were responsible for the destruction of whole stars. Such was the extent of their power.

Loki, being an half born, would have never made it into such a place, but his dedication and cunny, striking when the iron was hot has brought him the opportunity.

After all, Primary Planes were very special and he had just given the Abaddon royal family the possibility of making yet another one, their own.

Even them, as destructively annoying as they could be, had to acknowledge his efforts.

This place was shrouded in eternal twilight.

The path leading there twisted unnaturally, the gnarled trees whispering secrets to those who dared to approach.

But Loki, ever wanting to come, dared to move forward.

As he stepped closer, the very air grew thick with an oppressive presence, the scent of decay clinging to each breath he took.

Guiding him, just ahead were the Pale Ones, a group of demons draped in tattered white robes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

Their faces were hidden beneath featureless masks, smooth and devoid of any human semblance, only the faintest outlines of where eyes and mouths should be.

They moved silently, their feet not touching the ground, gliding over the bloody earth that made a sickening squelch with every step Loki took.

The blood, a viscous crimson pool, coated the ground like a second skin but somehow didn’t stain his gold sandals, leaving them clean yet leaving him with the unsettling feeling of walking on the insides of some gruesome beast in pain.

The walls of the chamber were made of a dark, pulsing substance, as if the darkness itself had solidified.

The surface was uneven, bulging in places like the diseased flesh of a rotting corpse, and covered in a thin layer of slime that shimmered in the dim, flickering light.

Occasionally, the walls seemed to ripple, a grotesque mimicry of breathing. A sight that would have easily sent shivers down anyone’s spine.

However, Loki moved steadily. He was a still a god, and having the Abaddon bloodline in him, he was practically like fish in water.

As the Pale Ones led him deeper, the temperature dropped, and this time around, a chill seeped into his bones.

The air was thick with a cloying humidity, carrying the stench of blood, rot, and something acrid that burned the back of his throat.

Strange, guttural whispers echoed through the chamber, an incomprehensible language that seemed to gnaw at the edges of his sanity.

Finally, he reached the heart of the sanctuary: a vast, cavernous hall where the ceiling disappeared into darkness. Here, the walls were adorned with grotesque, shifting patterns, as if living shadows danced just beyond the surface. The floor sloped gently towards a central pit, filled with a swirling, crimson vortex that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own.

Above the pit hovered a demon, a towering figure cloaked in darkness, its form barely discernible. It had no face, just a void where a head should be, and from this emptiness emanated a deep, resonant voice that reverberated through Loki’s very soul.

Even without words, Loki knew that this was one of them. A Principality.

The Pale Ones formed a circle around Loki, their presence a silent, oppressive weight as he stood before the demon.

Loki had been briefed before hand. He knew what he must do.

As he began the ritual to conjure communication, the ground beneath his feet seemed to quiver, the bloody surface forming tiny ripples that spread outwards.

The Principality suddenly spoke. Its voice growing louder, the words incomprehensible but filled with a malevolent power that made your Loki’s skin crawl.

Of course, this language was the one known as Bellysbabble. Only those of the Royal Bloodline could speak it, but even amongst them, it was a talent cut above all.

Loki, though half demon, was not so fortunate to be blessed with such a rare gift. All he could do was observe in silence.

And then it happened.

The shadows on the walls twisted and writhed, formed nightmarish shapes that seemed to reach out towards him.

The Voice of the Principality echoed in a wide expanse, as the shadows on the wall, tentacles suddenly rushed into Loki’s body. The first Tentacle, with sawed blades for suckers wrapped around him like bread to a sausage.

"You will now be gifted!" The Principality spoke in the common tongue.

The process began as the saw blades jarred into his flesh, tearing and scarring. Loki’s SCREAMS echoed in the expanse of the twilight forest.

Every sense was assaulted in this place—every breath, every sound, every sight an unending torment.

The Abyssal Chamber was a sanctuary in name only, a place where the boundaries between dimensions blurred and the demonic forces of the other side could reach through, their touch cold and corrupting.

Here, in this horrific sanctum, one could commune with such a demon, but the price of such an audience was a piece of your very soul. But don’t worry, the gifts are... quite generous...

(Authors Note: Hey Guys, thanks for all the Encouragement. We Back in business, so please, send then nice Golden tickets and Gifts are appreacieted too. Thank you for all the love and patience yeah. Also, what did you think happened to Loki?)