Hellfire

Hellfire loves to interrogate criminals with heavy kicks and her Flames of Retribution. The criminals she interrogates say her heavy kicks can send people's souls straight to hell. The agony is unbearable, and under this terrifying power, no one can maintain their composure or hide their crimes.

Hellfire, warden of the Royal Military Prison, is the living embodiment of every criminal's worst nightmare. Her unwavering integrity, combined with a fiery temperament and ruthless interrogation methods, strikes fear into all who cross her path.

Following her awakening, Hellfire's skin turned into a vivid red, radiating an intense, unceasing heat, a rare case of atavism within her family. Previously, only the first warden of the Royal Military Prison had undergone such a transformation. While many recoil at her fearsome and strange appearance, Hellfire views it as a blessing, a fiery mandate from her ancestors to uphold the Empire's order and shed light on its darkest corners.

In Hellfire's office stands an iron bookcase, and at its most prominent spot rests a dark red broken horn, her own left horn.

That horn was severed when she was nineteen. At the time, she was just beginning to assist with interrogations, far less composed and experienced than she is now, but just as relentless in her pursuit of justice.

She was faced with a noble criminal, arrogant and shielded by his web of influence. He had managed to erase all evidence of his abuses against numerous young women, escaping legal punishment. As the previous warden bent down to unlock his shackles, the criminal, who had remained silent throughout the interrogation, suddenly whistled and began to hum. Each note seemed to stomp on the military prison's emblem, the pages of the law, and Hellfire's burning face.

A fire ignited within Hellfire, growing stronger with each moment, and no amount of warnings from her superior could extinguish it. As the man swaggered towards freedom, she snapped and struck. But instead of the criminal, a searing red piece of her horn hit the ground, severed by the noble's guard. The guard's blade slowly grazed her throat, not sparing her out of mercy but delivering a haughty warning.

"I vow to pry open the mouth of every criminal, to expose every hidden sin within Hyperborea."

Hellfire kept that broken horn, a constant reminder of the shame and pain from that day, when the guard's blade sliced through her flesh and bone, urging her never to forget her oath and her commitment to justice.

Hellfire comes from a lineage of wardens who have overseen the Empire's most sinister criminals for generations, maintaining order in its darkest corners. The role is isolating and fraught with pain, demanding immense mental resilience. Over the years, even members of her own family have buckled under the weight of this mantle, crushed by fear. Yet, Hellfire is an exception. Born within the prison walls, she was raised in its harsh realities: criminal testimonies were her primers, the cries for mercy her lullabies, and the spectacles of torture the spice of her daily fare.

For most, the prison is a hell to shun; but for Hellfire, it is home.

Hellfire often reiterated her conviction of what true justice entails: not an ideal of universal equality, but a bulwark of steadfast order.

She has met numerous heinous criminals, most moulded by the inequities of fate, their crimes coated thickly with the patina of personal suffering. Many have confronted her defiantly, challenging, "Do you think you could have done any better in my shoes? You think you're serving 'justice', but in fact, you're just a spoiled child!"

Hellfire is keenly aware that within the prison walls, it is not chains that are most common, but lives deprived of choice. Inequalities serve as the mortar binding the citadel together, pervasive in every corner where life struggles to exist.

Yet she knows all too well that if the storm of hatred were to dismantle this citadel known as "prison", the very sanctuary many depend on would collapse with it. Hellfire will never let the foundations of this structure be shaken, her justice has always been about the fortification of this citadel.

Thus, when faced with such poignant accusations, Hellfire's response remains unflinchingly composed: "Yes, I am serving justice in my own way."

Hellfire has a widely known quirk. She is completely inseparable from her weapon, Flames of Retribution. It is said that the Flames of Retribution belonged to the first-ever warden, but due to its intense heat, no one within the family could wield it until Hellfire's awakening. Being able to wield this ancient weapon has always been a source of pride for Hellfire. Whether she's interrogating prisoners or sleeping in bed, only when the Flames of Retribution is by her side can Hellfire truly feel at ease. People often mockingly say in private that Hellfire treats her weapon like a lover, and who knows, one day she might actually marry her weapon. After all, who would love a red-skinned monster like her?

Among Hellfire's few indulgences, strong spirits are one of the rare comforts she allows herself. The numbing warmth offers her a brief respite from the relentless demands of the prison and the turmoil stirred by the inmates. Yet, her drinking capacity remains a mystery. Even her colleagues at the military prison can't gauge her tolerance, as the usual telltale sign, skin flushing, is ineffective due to her unique complexion.

On the day of Hellfire's awakening, her fiery flames nearly reduced her ancestral home to cinders. When she finally emerged from the inferno, her skin had turned a searing blood red. Her family wept with joy at the sight; some even willingly burned their fingertips just to touch her face, their eyes alight with awe and fervour. Overnight, her kin transformed from family into her devout followers, her parents included.

Long ago, their ancestor, with her blazing sword and searing skin, had lifted the family from poverty and obscurity. Now, they looked to Hellfire, with her similarly fiery form, to lead them to even greater glory.

To her clan, she was a god; to outsiders, a fearsome monster.

But no matter how her appearance altered, or how others viewed her, Hellfire knew her mission remained unchanged.

The Royal Military Prison has witnessed countless lies crumble under Hellfire's unyielding gaze.

Dragging the suspect up by the collar, Hellfire forced him to look directly into her eyes. The moment their gazes locked, the suspect's face was scorched by an intense heat, leaving his skin seared with blistering marks. He crumpled to the ground, writhing and screaming in excruciating pain.

"This is what happens when you lie to Madam Warden." The scribe documenting the interrogation remained unperturbed, while you stood in shock amid the chaos. Up until this moment, the suspect's defence had been airtight. The Legion had found no evidence of his guilt, and the experts in micro-expressions at the Alchemy Academy had failed to detect any signs of deception. You had even begun to doubt whether he was just an unfortunate bystander caught in a terrible situation.

"As long as Madam Hellfire remains as cold and relentless as ever, no lie can withstand the intensity of her gaze."

But what if, one day, a suspect could break through Hellfire's icy composure?

You thought of asking, but seeing the scribe already back at work, the question died on your lips.

In the military prison Hellfire governs, there's a common saying: "Hellfire's on her way."

This phrase is typically whispered among those who have committed acts they regret, knowing well that nothing escapes Hellfire's watchful eyes. The inmates are convinced that Hellfire is not human, but a demon risen from hell itself.

You never know when she'll appear before your cell, ready to drag you into an abyss of terror. In truth, one might even say that the warden's ruthless torture begins the moment her slow, deliberate footsteps echo through the corridor.

The guards of the military prison greatly admire one of Hellfire's habits: she is incredibly stoic, even sleeping on the floor like an austere prisoner.

But in fact, Hellfire sleeps on the ground because she cannot sleep in her bed as her red skin always burns the bed sheets.

Throughout her career as warden, Hellfire had interrogated countless criminals. Yet, she never expected to one day see her own adjutant, Artin Nonn, in the torture chamber.

Artin was nothing like Hellfire. Known for his gentleness, he treated even criminals with compassion, remembering the names of those who earned his sympathy and often sending supplies to the prisons where they served their sentences. His work had always been flawless, and Hellfire relied on his meticulous intelligence, trusting it as the backbone of her relentless pursuit of justice.

Had Hellfire not verified the evidence herself, she would have found it impossible to believe that her trusted adjutant was the mole taking bribes to secretly release certain prisoners.

"Don't give me that look, Hellfire." Artin didn't flinch. He straightened his back and confronted her gaze filled with disappointment and fury. "I'm fed up with this job. This wretched, sunless gutter makes me sick... Can't you see? We all have blood on our hands. Those soldiers out there, they're the heroes of Hyperborea. But us? We are nothing more than the Legion's lapdog! The nobles scorn us, the criminals hate us, and the common folk spit on us. All this dirty work we do is utterly worthless! I've had enough, I need to go somewhere with light!"

Hellfire couldn't bring herself to reprimand him, not after knowing he had lost his hearing in his left ear during a mishap on an intelligence mission.

She understood that not everyone could grow accustomed to being seen as a monster, the way she had. So, she carefully documented Artin's service record and submitted it to the judge, hoping for leniency in his sentence.

Artin wasn't the first to break under the pressure of working in the Empire's military prisons. Many aspire to uphold order in the light, yet few are willing to cleanse the rot in the shadows. Hellfire understood she was one of the few meant to dwell in the darkness. She feared neither infamy nor the night. If the only way to banish the sin-filled darkness was through her purgatorial flames, she would gladly embrace that role.

People often say that Hellfire was born to be a warden, as she had never failed in an interrogation, well, almost never. There was one exception, a singular blemish on her otherwise flawless record.

Rumour has it that the prisoner who brought shame upon Hellfire was not a native of Hyperborea but a perfumer from the Republic of Luca. This perfumer, adept in the art of deception, somehow managed to withstand Hellfire's fiery gaze without succumbing to the usual burning fate and ultimately escaped from Hellfire.

For Hellfire, this failure remains an indelible stain. Driven by the need to rectify her mistake, she continues her relentless hunt for the perfumer.

Any liquid that comes into contact with Hellfire's skin instantly vaporizes under her intense heat, except for her tears. They are the only thing that can briefly cool her burning flesh, leaving cold trails across her face, like acid etching into bone. After enduring such excruciating pain, Hellfire vowed never to shed tears again.

That single failure in her career as warden was the one and only mistake Hellfire ever made.

She once covered for a sinner, destroying evidence and allowing her to flee far away. But the sinner betrayed Hellfire's trust, returning to Hyperborea with a captivating smile and pulling her signature tricks to commit even more unforgivable crimes. Hellfire could not fathom why, the one time she bent her principles, the one chance she offered for redemption, was repaid with lies, deceit, and betrayal?

"What's so hard to understand?" It was as if she could hear the sinner scoff amidst the swirling fragrance, "I admired your integrity, yet you compromised your own principles of fairness and justice for me, how disappointing."

Swallowing the bitter taste of mockery and betrayal, Hellfire's heart grew filled with hatred, loathing, and an unwavering determination to correct her "only mistake." She resolved that the sinner must receive the punishment she deserved, which shall be delivered by Hellfire herself, with a skull-piercing bullet.

Hellfire's mother once sighed: "My child, you're like an eternal flame that never dims or tires, always burning fiercely."

Hellfire tirelessly pursued case after case, weaving through a web of criminals until their dark deeds shrank away from the heat of her righteous flames.

"Your fire is all-consuming, Hellfire... I fear one day it might burn you out."

So what if it does? Hellfire thought. She would rather burn out in blazing glory, forcing anyone who passed by to stop and marvel at a fire that, even in its final moments, refused to die.

Hellfire keeps a childhood portrait locked away. In it, she hadn't yet awakened to become the "monster" others would later see her as. She looks like any other child, standing proudly before a statue of her ancestor, with her parents seated behind her. They appear as an ordinary Charon family, with unremarkable features and simple clothes, the kind who easily blend into a crowd. What stands out to Hellfire is the subtle, nearly imperceptible smile on her stern young face.

Hellfire rarely looks at the portrait. It stays tucked away in a drawer, a reminder not to dwell on the days before she became what others now call a monster.

Hellfire's decision to let that sinner go years ago wasn't just a moment of shame for her but a seed that germinated within her, which later grew into an obsession. She constantly tortured herself with one question: What had driven her to abandon the principles she had upheld her entire life, to turn her back on the laws she revered, and to show mercy to a criminal?

Hellfire remembers everything about the sinner, her patterns, her crimes, her habitual lies, even the subtle gestures that betrayed her guilt. These memories are vivid in Hellfire's mind. Yet, as she tries to drown her thoughts in strong liquor, those sharp memories begin to blur, leaving only the night of her fateful mistake. The night was ablaze, the sinner's damning evidence reduced to ashes, and not even the snowfall could extinguish the flames. When Hellfire turned around, the sinner's face was clearly reflected in her eyes. The sinner, also labelled a monster, shared her story, and for the first time, Hellfire understood what it felt like to have someone to relate to. In the haze of her stupor, Hellfire briefly grasped that some things are harder to let go of than hatred, like the gnawing loneliness that erodes the soul.