The main ship of Dano's fleet had already landed with a heavy, earth-shaking thud in the heart of Paras City. Dust and debris rose around it like a dark cloud, mixing with the morning light that now felt cold and wrong. Other ships hovered ominously in the sky above, their shadows stretching across the streets like fingers of impending doom. The once-peaceful city, still recovering from the festival's joy, was now filled with the low hum of alien engines and the distant screams of terrified citizens running for cover.
Dano stepped out first from the open doors of the flagship, his orange-and-black striped fur catching the light as he stood tall and menacing. His red eyes scanned the gathered defenders with cold amusement. Aika followed close behind, her staff lowered but her expression uneasy. Quan cracked his knuckles, shadows already writhing at his feet like living things eager for violence. Esta walked beside them, his head bowed slightly, ice-blue eyes filled with quiet shame and regret.
And then there was Diablo.
He landed from the sky with a soft but heavy thud, his four massive demon wings folding slowly behind him. His neon-crimson eyes were fixed on the ground, his gloved hands clenched so tightly that the leather creaked. The weight of the moment pressed down on him like invisible chains.
Blu stood at the center of the defenders, arms folded, cape fluttering in the wind. His expression was serious, unyielding, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he faced the invaders.
"What do you want from us?" Blu asked, his voice steady and commanding, echoing across the open street.
Dano smiled, the expression slow and cruel, fangs glinting in the morning light.
"A past that I want to return again."
Uraka stepped forward, exhausted but fierce, her voice sharp with anger and confusion.
"A past? What past!? What are you even talking about — speak clearly!"
Yuki's voice trembled beside her, eyes wide with rising fear and disbelief.
"Stay calm, Uraka…"
Honokage's fists tightened, crimson energy flickering around his knuckles as he glared at the group.
Dano's smile widened, his voice dripping with menace as he gestured lazily toward the city around them.
"A past… where Ares, the Inferno Dragon Prince… saw his mother and his entire planet die in front of him. And exactly today… he will see his favorite persons and his new world die… And he won't be able to do anything. History will repeat itself."
Aika lowered her gaze, voice barely audible, filled with quiet discomfort.
"It can't be this cruel… Please…"
Quan snapped at her coldly without even looking.
"Shut up."
Aika fell silent, her shoulders slumping slightly.
Esta lowered his head further, the shame in his eyes deepening as he stood among the invaders, forced to be part of this nightmare.
Diablo remained completely still.
His neon-crimson eyes stared at the ground, but his mind was no longer in Paras City.
It had slipped back.
Far back.
To a past he could never forget — a past that now crashed over him like a tidal wave of fire and blood, drowning him in guilt, shame, and the unbearable realization that he was once again nothing more than a slave.
---
The memory hit him like a blade to the chest, sharp and unforgiving.
Sector Two Hell, many years ago.
The crimson sky had seemed brighter then, almost hopeful. Young Diablo ran through the wide obsidian streets of the capital, his smaller wings flapping excitedly as he clutched a crude carving he had made for his father. The kingdom was alive with laughter and purpose — demons building, trading, living without the constant shadow of tyranny. The air smelled of sulfur and smoke, but there was warmth in it, the warmth of a home, of a people who believed they could build something better.
His father, King Valthor, had been a beacon of hope.
A towering figure with the same neon-crimson eyes, Valthor ruled with a firm but fair hand. He had fought hard to bring peace to Sector Two after centuries of chaos. He taught his son not just how to fight, but how to lead with honor. Nights were spent listening to stories of the old wars, of how the sectors had once been divided by fear and greed, and how Valthor had fought to bring balance.
Diablo was meant to be the next prince.
The heir.
The one who would one day take the throne and continue his father's dream of a hell that could heal.
"Father! Look what I made!" young Diablo had shouted one day, running into the grand throne hall with a small carving in his hands. It was a crude but heartfelt statue of his father — a demon king standing tall with wings spread wide, protecting the realm.
King Valthor had smiled warmly as he knelt down to his son's level. His large hand had ruffled Diablo's black hair gently.
"It's perfect, my son. One day, you will stand even taller than this statue. You will protect this realm better than I ever could."
Diablo had beamed with pride, his small tail wagging happily.
"I will, Father! I promise! I'll make sure no one ever suffers again!"
The king had chuckled, pulling his son into a warm embrace that felt like the safest place in the universe.
"That's my boy."
Those were the days Diablo remembered most fondly — days filled with training under his father's guidance, learning not just how to fight, but how to lead with honor and compassion. Nights spent listening to stories of the old wars, dreaming of a future where Sector Two would be a beacon of hope in hell itself.
But peace in hell was always fragile.
It never lasted.
---
The day Argon came changed everything.
The Demon King Argon was a nightmare made flesh — a being of pure cruelty and overwhelming power who had already conquered Sector One with blood and terror. His army was endless, his methods merciless. Whispers had reached Sector Two for months, but no one truly believed he would dare attack a kingdom that had finally found balance.
They were wrong.
The invasion began at dawn.
The sky turned darker than it had ever been, as if the very light of hell itself was being devoured. Massive black portals ripped open across the crimson horizon, and Argon's forces poured through like a tidal wave of death. Demons with twisted horns and burning red eyes marched under banners of flame and shadow, their roars shaking the ground.
Diablo was still a teenager then — strong, skilled, but not yet the guardian he would become.
He stood beside his father on the palace walls as the first waves crashed against their defenses.
"Father… they are too many," young Diablo had said, voice shaking with a mix of fear and determination. His wings were already spread, ready to fight.
King Valthor had placed a steady hand on his son's shoulder, his voice calm but heavy.
"Stay strong, my boy. We fight not for victory today… but for the future of our people."
The battle was brutal and unrelenting.
Diablo fought with everything he had — his crimson energy clashing against the invaders, his wings carrying him through the chaos as he protected civilians and soldiers alike. He slashed through enemies with raw power, his heart pounding as he watched homes burn and families scream. But Argon's forces were relentless. They slaughtered without mercy, burning homes, crushing resistance, turning the once-peaceful streets into rivers of blood and lava.
Then Argon himself descended.
The Demon King landed in the center of the capital like a falling star of pure darkness. His presence alone made the ground crack and the air grow thick with dread.
Valthor met him head-on.
The clash between king and tyrant shook the entire sector.
Energy exploded in violent bursts of crimson and black. The two rulers fought like gods — wings clashing, fists shattering mountains, their roars echoing across the realm. Diablo tried desperately to reach his father, but Argon's elite guards blocked him at every turn. He fought through them with tears of rage burning in his eyes, watching from afar as the battle raged.
"FATHER!!"
The final blow came without warning.
Argon's dark energy pierced King Valthor's chest in a single, devastating strike.
The king staggered, blood pouring from the wound, but he still stood tall for one last moment. His eyes found his son across the battlefield.
"Diablo… run… protect… our people…"
Then he fell.
The king of Sector Two Hell collapsed to the ground, his body dissolving into fading crimson light that scattered across the sky like dying embers.
The realm screamed.
Diablo dropped to his knees in the middle of the chaos, wings limp, tears streaming down his face as the weight of loss crushed him completely. His heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The father who had taught him hope, who had believed in a better hell, was gone.
Argon stood over the fallen king, laughing coldly.
"A worthy opponent… but in the end, all fall before me."
He turned his gaze to the young prince.
"You… will serve me now."
Diablo tried to fight.
He screamed, he raged, he unleashed every ounce of power he possessed, his crimson energy exploding in a desperate, grief-fueled storm.
But he was still young.
Still broken by grief.
Overwhelmed.
Argon's forces overwhelmed him.
They dragged him away in chains, his wings bound with dark magic that burned like acid, his pride shattered into dust.
From that day forward, Diablo became Argon's slave.
The years that followed were true hell in every sense of the word.
Argon did not just want obedience.
He wanted to break him completely.
Diablo was forced to do things that haunted his dreams for centuries.
He was sent to lead raids on innocent villages in other sectors. He was ordered to execute those who dared speak against Argon's rule. He was made to stand beside the tyrant as he burned entire realms for amusement, watching families scream as their homes turned to ash.
Every time Diablo hesitated, Argon would remind him of his father's death with cruel whispers that cut deeper than any blade.
"Remember who you are now, boy. A prince without a kingdom. A slave with no future. Your father's blood is on my hands… and now your hands are stained with the blood of others."
Diablo's heart broke a little more with every order he was forced to obey.
He would lie awake at night in the cold cells, staring at the ceiling, tears burning in his eyes as the same broken thought repeated in his mind.
*Father… I'm sorry…*
*I couldn't protect them…*
*I couldn't protect anyone…*
He tried to resist at first.
He refused orders.
He fought back with every ounce of strength he had left.
But Argon's punishments were cruel and creative.
He would bind Diablo's wings with dark chains that burned like acid into his flesh. He would force him to watch as innocent demons were tortured for his defiance. He would whisper in his ear during the worst moments, voice dripping with satisfaction:
"You are just like me now. A tool. A weapon. Nothing more."
Slowly, painfully, Diablo's spirit began to crack.
He learned to obey.
He learned to hide his pain behind a mask of cold obedience.
He learned to kill without flinching, even when his hands shook afterward in the darkness of his cell.
The once-bright prince became a shadow of himself — a broken guardian who had lost everything, including the will to dream of freedom.
But deep inside, a small flame still burned.
A quiet, stubborn flame of hope that one day… he might break free.
One day… he might protect a realm again.
One day… he might become the prince his father had believed in.
---
The memory shattered.
Diablo was back in Paras City, standing among Dano's forces.
His neon-crimson eyes slowly lifted, scanning the faces of the defenders — Yuki, Uraka, Wano, Blu, Honokage.
Innocents.
People who had done nothing wrong.
People who were simply trying to live, to protect their home, to find happiness after so much loss.
Just like his own people had been.
Just like he had been forced to hurt before.
Dano's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"So… President, are you ready for the war… for Ares' future?"
Diablo's fists clenched tighter.
His wings twitched involuntarily.
He wasn't ready.
He couldn't do this again.
The same feeling from his past washed over him like ice water — the helplessness, the shame, the chains wrapping around his soul once more.
*Not again…*
*I'm not that slave anymore…*
*But here I am… standing beside another tyrant… forced to hurt innocents again…*
His heart twisted painfully.
Yuki's eyes were wide with fear, but there was still kindness in them — the same kindness that had once made him hesitate when Argon had ordered him to destroy.
Uraka's aura flared with determination, but she was protecting her friends, her home.
Wano stood ready to defend the jungle and the animals she loved.
They were not enemies.
They were people.
Just like the ones he had been forced to hurt in his past.
Diablo's voice was barely a whisper, meant only for himself.
"I… can't do this again…"
He felt sick.
The same broken feeling from his time as Argon's slave returned in full force — the guilt, the self-loathing, the knowledge that he was once again a tool in someone else's cruel game.
Dano glanced at him, noticing the hesitation.
"Diablo. Prepare to attack."
Diablo didn't move.
His wings remained folded.
His hands stayed at his sides.
For the first time in a long time, the guardian of Sector Two Hell felt truly broken again.
He was a slave once more.
And this time… the innocents he was ordered to hurt were standing right in front of him.