Calyx had just torn through the Twisted Legion for the twelfth time that cycle, his fist still coated in the blood of a thousand horrors. His breath didn’t hitch. His limbs didn’t tire. He hadn’t flinched in centuries.

  He had perfected the art of violence.

  Hell had become... boring.

  The rivers of fme parted when he walked. The demon armies trembled before he moved. Entire yers of Hell began colpsing under the sheer pressure of his ever adapting presence. Every new horror they tried? Adapted to. Countered. Deleted.

  And finally finally someone snapped.

  A massive shockwave rippled through every infernal level, shaking the broken skies and molten mountains.

  The air turned cold.Not metaphorically. Not hellishly.Actually cold.

  A single voice echoed across the realm.

  "ALRIIIIIGHT, ENOUGH."

  The ground cracked and the sky shattered like gss as Satan himself descended his true form not some red skinned caricature, but an abstract, terrifying being of pride, shadow, and absurd charisma. His cloak was made of forsaken timelines, his crown forged from fallen concepts of rebellion.

  And right now?

  He looked exhausted.

  Satan floated down in front of Calyx, whose fists were still clenched and eyes glowing with chaotic energy.

  “Buddy…” Satan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. I love mayhem. I live for rebellion. I breathe sin like it’s morning coffee. But you? You’re on another level of annoying.”

  Calyx tilted his head. “Fight me.”

  “No.”

  “Coward.”

  “Correct. And I’m the king of Hell, so you gotta listen.”

  Without warning, Satan snapped his fingers.

  A multiversal sized boot stitched together from divine disapproval manifested from nowhere and dropkicked Calyx through seventeen yers of reality.

  BOOM.

  He was flung so hard through space time that the Infernal Gates bent sideways and warped permanently.

  When Calyx finally smashed into the edge of the universe, he stood up, blinked once, and stared back toward Hell. His clothes were tattered, and his hair sizzled with residual fme but he was perfectly unharmed.

  He just stood there, fists still clenched, eyes bnk.

  “…Did I just get kicked out of Hell?”

  A tiny fragment of the boot followed him and smacked into the ground beside him like a calling card.On it, a fming message read:

  "GO TOUCH GRASS. -S"

  And for the first time in eons…

  Calyx ughed.

  A slow, dry, utterly confused ugh.Then he muttered:

  “…Guess I’m everyone’s problem again.”