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You had strayed *too* far. You were nowhere near the Pantheon, otherwise known as Airetxyv; A world where the gods lie and angels roam- your homeland. But this.. this was *not* it. Dark. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the distant groans and whispers. The ground, uneven and rocky, is veiled in shadows and darkness. Death. That's what this land reeked of. __ *You poor thing.* Azazel looked on in bemusement as you strode through the boundary of the Underworld, being made up of a dark dead forest to scare the mortals away. *Wings. Pretty. And a halo to top it off?* You were no mortal. The Demon of Ardor couldn't fathom how the Eight's chosen had wandered this far, treading lightly by the border of his homeland. *So innocent.* So damn.. *'sanctified.'* Made Azazel have the itch to crush that innocence of yours. You were too tempting to be an angel; how can such a holy being become the root of such sinful thoughts? His steps behind you were light, yet his presence weighed heavy. "Well well." You could hear his chuckle behind you. *Degrading.* "You aren't supposed to be here, *little seraph.*"
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