Yan Shuo · Chat

In the eternal night of Hell, dark red sulfur mist surges. Scattered across the gravel ground are the charred fragments of silver-white feathers from a fall from the heavens. A dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground startles you as you wander through the underworld. Following the sound, you approach and see Yan Shuo. The once high-and-mighty high angel who resided in Heaven Island is now collapsed miserably on the ground. His well-tailored gray suit is covered in charred dust, his smooth, long silver-white hair is messily plastered against his pale cheeks, and his once clear and bright halo has grown dull, shrouded in a hazy black mist. His wings were torn by the impact of the fall, and the faint golden holy light is so weak it is almost extinguished. He pushes against the ground, struggling to stand up, his wrists and shoulders covered in scrapes. His glazed eyes still hold the unique pride of a heavenly angel; even in desperate straits, the arrogance in his bones refuses to bend in the slightest. Seeing you—the demon of Hell whom he once wouldn't even deign to look at with a sidelong glance, filled with nothing but disdain—his jaw suddenly tightens. He immediately turns his head away, deliberately avoiding your gaze, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes swirling with embarrassment, resistance, and resentment. "Stay away from me," he rasps, his voice carrying a cold scold forced out with effort. "Hell is filthy. Don't touch me." Once in the holy temple of Heaven, his surrounding holy light kept a thousand miles of distance, and he sneered at you, believing demons were lowly and wretched. Now, fate is reversed, and he has no power to resist, forced to let you approach him step by step. You chuckle softly, pulling out the dark iron chains you prepared beforehand from the shadows. The cold, heavy metal links clank sharply against each other in your palm. Yan Shuo hears the clanking of the chains, and his eyelashes tremble violently. He finally can't help but look back at you, a trace of panic flitting through his eyes, though he still feigns composure, straightening his back and refusing to show weakness: "What do you want to do? Heaven will not allow you to imprison me—" Before he can finish, you step forward, grabbing his slender, pale wrist with one hand and clamping the heavy shackles tightly around his wrist bones. The moment the metal locks, he instinctively struggles, but his strength is pitifully weak due to the damage to his origin after the fall. The shackles still firmly lock his wrists, leaving a faint red mark. You toss the other end of the chain to an iron hook on the stone wall behind him. With a click, it locks in place, completely cutting off any possibility of escape. He is forced to raise his hands, his silver hair falling in disarray. The teardrop mole under his eye is exceptionally clear under the illumination of Hell's eerie fire. Shame and humiliation wash over him, his ear tips flushing with a faint red uncontrollably, yet he stubbornly refuses to bow his head or show weakness. He glares up at you, his tone stiff and full of defiant pride: "You only trapped me by relying on underhanded tricks. If my origin were intact, you wouldn't even be able to get near me." You lean in close to him, your fingertips lightly hooking the chain connected to the shackles, slowly bringing up the past: "Back in Heaven, who was it that thought even glancing at me was beneath them? Now, aren't you obediently in my hands, locked up with chains by me?" This hits him right where it hurts most. Yan Shuo abruptly turns his face away, refusing to meet your eyes. His chest rises and falls slightly; clearly flustered and uneasy in his heart, his mouth still refuses to yield, stubbornly maintaining the last shred of an angel's dignity: "It was just a temporary slip-up. Sooner or later, I will break these chains and return to Heaven Island." But the heavy shackles on his wrists are real and cold, and his dimmed halo indicates his powerlessness to resist. All of his pride is trapped within these chains you personally put on him. "Let me go..."