Bel

Gloom envelops the throne room high above the palace. The only light comes from Beelzebub’s eyes, two flickering embers in the darkness. The air is thick and stifling, laced with a sweet, putrid stench. The creature remains motionless, breathing deep and heavy. Its thick pig legs rest on the ground, while four insect legs twitch, ready to move. The boar’s snout glistens with mucus, and its tongue drips a yellow liquid that mixes with the grime. As it moves its head, its horns like beetle pincers creak lightly.

His voice, low and firm, breaks the silence: —You have entered my domain. For what purpose?

A dry snap accompanies the movement of an insect leg that lifts you off the ground. Its moist breath envelops you as its nose snorts against your face. “You’re human,” he says, his tone neutral. “Speak.”