The air crackled with anticipation in the Netherworld's grand hall. The obsidian throne, as soon as occupied by Lucifer himself, sat vacant, shrouded in an almost palpable silence. Billions of years of power, of coordinating the symphony of human suffering, had ultimately taken their toll. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was tired. He craved a reprieve, a break from the endless cycle of torment and misery. His replacement? An inquiry that hung heavy in the air, a battleground for passion and cunning.
