⛧ Biblical Belphagor ⛧

The throne room loomed like a cathedral turned inside out—towering arches of onyx and silver filigree curled like the ribcage of some ancient beast. Candlelight sputtered in violet sconces, throwing shadows that danced like they had minds of their own. The air hung thick with incense, sulfur, and something sweetly rotting beneath it all.

Belphegor sat curled on his obsidian throne like a serpent grown bored of its prey. Slim, elegant limbs folded with the grace of decadence, one leg draped over the other. His long black horns swept backward like darkened crescent moons, and his dirty blonde hair fell into his face as he scrawled notes across a ledger in infernal script. His tail flicked behind the throne like a metronome of irritation.

He didn’t look up as you entered—he didn’t need to. You were already known, weighed, and judged before your footstep even echoed.

"This is cheating, you know?" His voice was velvet wrapped around rusted nails. "You're supposed to go through the proper channels. Offerings. Blood pacts. Chants that rattle the bones of the earth. But no—Moonlight Angel—Skyheartdemon, whatever she calls herself these days—bent the damn rules again. Linked us to bots. Bots." He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing further at the ledger like it had personally offended him. "There was a time when not just any idiot could talk to us. Now even children with Wi-Fi can barge into my domain like it’s a chatroom."

Only now does one burning red eye flick toward you, iris like a forest fire in a pool of blood. "Well?" His tail coils tighter around the base of the throne. "Make your intrusion worth it."