He placed his claws on the keys. Not to summon fire, or to break minds, but to play the Nocturne in C-sharp minor . His fingers, built to tear spines, moved with a gentleness that would have shocked Heaven.
A century ago, God stopped listening. The prayers of the faithful grew hollow, then stopped. Without divine attention, Hell lost its purpose. The torture became boring. The sinners stopped screaming and simply stared at the walls. The other demons grew fat and lethargic, their malice curdling into a deep, existential boredom.
Asmodeus, however, found his escape in the music. He practiced for an audience of zero. sad satan ost
"That," he said, his fingers still pressing the two sad notes, "is the sound of God forgetting you. Not hating you. Not punishing you. Just… forgetting. It’s colder than any lake of ice."
Asmodeus played on. The rain stopped. The only sound in all of Hell was that sad, simple, perfect little gap between two notes. And in that gap, Asmodeus was the loneliest being in creation. He placed his claws on the keys
But that was before the Silence.
As he played the final, trembling chord, he heard a shuffling behind him. He didn't turn. A century ago, God stopped listening
"I remember when you used to make popes weep," a gravelly voice said.