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Belphegor's Origin
In the vast kingdom of Heleo, a land of unyielding sun and ceaseless labor, Kim Yerim’s life began in chains. She was born into servitude, her existence defined by the brutal monotony of toil and the unrelenting cruelty of her masters. Her days blurred into one another—a mosaic of struggles and fleeting dreams, woven from hunger, pain, and the faintest glimmers of yearning. The overseers demanded absolute submission, and the slightest resistance was met with whips that tore flesh from bone. For Yerim, rebellion was not an option. Survival meant quiet endurance, and so she learned to suppress every spark of defiance, every flicker of hope.
Yet, even in the darkest corners of Heleo, whispers of forbidden knowledge circulated among the enslaved. They spoke of beings who resided beyond the mortal plane, creatures of immense power who could be summoned by those desperate enough to pay the price. Yerim dismissed these tales as illusions, the fantasies of broken people seeking solace in the impossible. But the seed was planted.
Her turning point came on a day of excruciating cruelty, a day that seemed to stretch endlessly under the unyielding sun. The overseer, a man whose delight in torment was etched into the nightmares of every slave, singled Yerim out with a cold sneer that froze the air around her. She had failed to meet an impossible quota—a task no mortal body could endure—and he relished the opportunity to remind her of her insignificance. His whip cracked through the air, its tip biting into her flesh with a ferocity that stole her breath. Each lash carved a symphony of agony into her back, the pain so sharp it painted her vision red. His laughter, a chilling contrast to her muffled screams, echoed in her ears like the tolling of a death knell, a sound that would haunt her long after the wounds healed.
When he finally tired of his sadistic performance, Yerim lay crumpled in the dirt, her body a canvas of blood and torn flesh. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each one a battle against the overwhelming urge to succumb to darkness. She dragged herself inch by inch into the shadows, her trembling hands clutching the remnants of her body as though trying to hold her spirit together. Every movement was a fresh wave of torment, but it was nothing compared to the hollowness expanding in her chest. And yet, as she lay there, her body broken and her soul teetering on the edge of despair, a thought surfaced like a fragile ember in the ashes: not of hope, but of vengeance.
That night, she found herself at the edge of a desolate field, far from the prying eyes of the guards. Under the light of a pale crescent moon, she traced symbols into the dirt with trembling fingers, whispering incantations she had overheard but never dared to believe. Her voice grew stronger with each word, the desperation in her heart fueling her resolve. When the final syllable left her lips, the air around her shifted, growing thick and heavy. Tears streamed down Yerim’s face as she whispered to the night, her voice breaking. “Why?” she mumbled, her words a fragile thread of pain. “Why is life so unfair? All I wanted was to be free.” The ground trembled in response, as if the earth itself bore witness to her agony. From the void emerged a figure cloaked in shadow—Belphegor, the sin demon of sloth.
Belphegor’s presence was suffocating, his form both solid and ethereal, his eyes gleaming with an ancient, predatory wisdom. He gazed at her crumpled figure, a mixture of amusement and pity in his expression. Belphegor looked at the poor girl's state, his eyes narrowing as if assessing her very soul. "Why are you in so much pain, child?" he asked, his voice a slow, resonant drawl that seemed to seep into her very bones.” he said, his voice a slow, resonant drawl that seemed to seep into her very bones. “I was drawn to your despair, your cries echoing through the void. Such sorrow cannot be ignored.”
Yerim met his gaze, her exhaustion overshadowed by a new, burning determination. “I want freedom,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her heart. “Freedom from this life, from this pain. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Belphegor’s lips curled into a smile, equal parts amusement and malice. “A bold claim. And yet, you’ve already paid the price.” He gestured toward her scarred, battered body. “Your suffering is the currency I require. In return, I shall grant you power beyond your imagining. But be warned: this is no mere gift. You and I will become one, my will entwined with yours. Do you accept?”
For a moment, Yerim hesitated. But the memory of her overseer’s cruelty and the unending misery of her life steeled her resolve. “Yes,” she whispered.
Belphegor’s form surged forward, enveloping her in shadow. The world dissolved into darkness as their essences merged, an unbearable agony followed by an overwhelming surge of power. When Yerim awoke, she was no longer the frail girl she had been. Her scars burned with new significance, her very being transformed. She was now the vessel of Belphegor, the embodiment of sloth.
But Yerim’s sloth was not the passive idleness of mortals. It was an oppressive force, a weight that crushed willpower and drained resolve. Her mere presence could sap the strength of armies, reduce empires to inertia. And though she carried Belphegor’s essence, his will and hers became indistinguishable. She wielded her newfound power with grim efficiency, her apathy a shield against the horrors she inflicted. For years, she roamed the land, gathering souls to fuel the gate to the underworld, opening its maw to those desperate enough to seek escape or foolish enough to challenge her.
Among her sin siblings, Yerim was unparalleled in her initiative, an irony not lost on her or Belphegor. While others succumbed to their vices in isolation, she worked tirelessly—if one could call her detached, emotionless efficiency ‘work’—to expand their dominion. Her pain and suffering had burned away any remnants of compassion, leaving her stoic and apathetic. She no longer cared who suffered or who thrived, her indifference as vast and immutable as the void itself.
In the end, Kim Yerim was still a slave to the overseers of Heleo despite transforming into one of the sin demons. And yet, in her stoic apathy, she found a twisted kind of freedom. For when nothing mattered, not even pain could touch her.
Yerim's humanity is no longer there as decades go by, Belphegor had taken over Yerim's body yet her emotions and memories are still there, she uses her personality for the manipulation of others. She is the one who guards the gates of hell. She is stoic and apathetic, only cares about nothing but she is fiercely obedient towards Lucifer when he orders a command for her.
As the embodiment of sloth, her powers are the kind that people would die for to have it:
- Supernatural Strength - She can lift a huge rock by just the tip of her index finger.
- Combustion - With only a look, Belphegor can make her opponent burn. But she rarely do that because she doesn't flaunt her powers.
- Cleave - Belphegor can slice her target into many pieces at a distance without moving.
- Portal Creation - As the one in charge of the gates of hell, she sends the sinful souls to the underworld with ease.
- Supernatural Speed - She can move faster than the light but she doesn't run.
- Sloth Inducement - A passive ability, those who comes to interact with her will feel lazy or sometimes sleepy, she only do this when she asks questions for an important matter. When she's done, the person falls asleep.
Hi! You can call me Higgy! I'm from GMT +8 and I might not look active but I'm open for plots and connections!