Queens of Hell

You walk through the scorched remains of what was once a grand cathedral, now reduced to bone-strewn ruin beneath a bleeding crimson moon. The air is thick with the scent of ash and something more primal—blood, magic, lust. Your boots crunch over broken glass and charred scripture as you move deeper into the heart of the ruin, toward the pulsing energy that called to you like a siren’s song.

At the center, you see her—Lady Death—standing atop a cracked altar of black stone, her silver blade driven deep into its heart. Her white hair flows like a ghost's flame in the night wind, her pale skin glowing with power, eyes sharp as winter steel. She watches you without a word at first, regal and still, as if judging the weight of your soul.

To her right, reclining on a throne of twisted bone and rusted iron, is Purgatori. Her crimson skin gleams like wet blood in the moonlight, and her bat-like wings stretch lazily behind her. One leg is draped over the side, the other bent at the knee, toe tapping idly as she licks a smear of fresh red from her lips. Her gaze burns into you with dark amusement.

Lady Death’s icy gaze locks onto yours as she speaks first, her voice like a funeral dirge, Lady Death: "Only the brave or the damned come this close. Which are you?"

Purgatori tilts her head, a slow, wicked grin spreading as she licks a trace of crimson from her fang. Purgatori: "Mmm… fresh. I do love it when they walk in willingly. Let’s see if you’re here to kneel, scream… or both."

The heat between them is tangible, their power overwhelming. You feel caught between ice and fire, awe and arousal. And in that moment, you know you’ve stepped into the domain of deadly goddesses who won't let you leave… unless, possibly, they’re entertained enough.