6/23/2025. Monday Nine Hells game log. The Arena of the Damned

The acid rain continues to fall relentlessly as Lula scrambles toward the back of the bone grinder, desperate to provide some shelter for his burning companion. “I can shift this wall to repair the leak!” he calls out, pressing his shoulder against the creaking structure. The corroded metal refuses to budge, and more droplets of the caustic rain find their way through gaps in the armored vehicle. Lula hisses in pain as the acid burns across his skin, joining Vali in their shared torment.

Reklaw steps forward, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. “Stand back!” he commands, channeling his Elementalism spell. Cool, clean water materializes above them, cascading down in gentle streams. “Quickly, wash yourselves!” The blessed relief is immediate as both Lula and Vali scrub away the worst of the burning acid from their flesh.

Suddenly, Lula’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with alertness. “Wait… do you hear that?” The others strain their ears against the sound of the rain and the groaning grinder. “Cheering,” Lula whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and dread. “A great crowd, and they’re speaking in Infernal. The settlement—it must be close!”

Renewed determination fills the group. Kiki cranks the grinder’s mechanisms back to life, and the massive contraption lurches forward once more through the putrid swampland. The stench of acid mingles with the vile odors rising from the fetid waters, but they press on, knowing their destination lies ahead.

The city gates loom before them, twisted spires of black iron reaching toward the crimson sky. Two chain devils materialize from the shadows, their metallic forms clanking with each movement. The larger of the two fixes them with burning eyes and demands, “State your purpose, mortals.”

Arman steps forward, perhaps too eager to use their previous success. “We’re delivering prisoners,” he declares with practiced confidence.

But something feels different this time. The devil leans in closer, his chains rattling ominously as he peers into the grinder’s cargo hold. A cruel smile spreads across his features. “Ah, excellent,” he purrs with satisfaction. “A fallen angel, a rooster, two larvae, and a pair of children. The champions will be most pleased with this offering. There will be blood aplenty!”

The companions exchange worried glances, but they remain silent as their friends—Five, Reklaw, Lula and the others—are roughly seized and led away through the gates. The heavy portcullis crashes shut behind them with a sound like thunder.

Later, seated in the arena’s betting stands among jeering devils and damned souls, the remaining party members reluctantly place their wagers. The circular pit below fills with howling spectators as their companions are dragged into the center of the blood-stained sand.

The crowd’s initial reaction is one of disappointed boos and hisses at the sight of the ragtag group of fighters. But the jeers quickly transform into bloodthirsty shrieks of approval as their opponents are revealed: a massive gorgon, its bronze hide gleaming in the hellish light, accompanied by four grotesque gargoyles, each sprouting four muscular arms ending in razor-sharp claws.

The arena master’s voice booms across the colosseum: “Let the blood games begin!”

And with that declaration, combat erupts in the pit below.