Azroth, the Infernal Maw - 8 Hours of Dark Ambiance

Azroth, the Infernal Maw
In the deepest chasm of an ancient and forsaken cosmos, beyond the reach of stars and time, slumbers Azroth, the Infernal Maw. He is a being not of flesh, nor spirit, but of pure, unbridled hatred, forged in the cataclysmic fires that raged before the birth of existence itself. His essence predates creation, a remnant of the primordial chaos that the gods sought to tame when they shaped the multiverse.
The first whispers of Azroth emerged from the ruins of civilizations long turned to ash. They spoke of an entity that did not merely destroy but devoured. He consumed not just the body, but the soul, the memories, and even the echoes of existence. Nothing remained of those who encountered his wrath-not a trace, not a fragment of their stories. It was as if they had never been.
Legends tell of a time before time, when the gods waged their celestial war against the Void-a force of pure annihilation. While the gods prevailed, fragments of the Void were left behind, scattered like seeds of despair across the cosmos. Azroth was one such fragment, but unlike his aimless brethren, he grew. He gained form, purpose, and will. He became hunger incarnate, a living furnace of destruction that seeks not only to end worlds but to extinguish the very essence of existence.
Azroth’s arrival is never announced with thunderous roars or armies of the damned. Instead, it begins with an eerie silence-a stillness that grips the hearts of all living beings. The air grows heavy with the stench of sulfur and ash, and the sky bleeds a deep, malevolent orange. The ground cracks and smolders as rivers of molten fire carve their way across the land, heralding his approach.
The creature himself is a vision of nightmare and rage. His form is wreathed in unquenchable flames, his eyes twin suns of fury that burn through the souls of all who dare to meet his gaze. His maw, jagged and endless, devours everything in its path, from mountains to cities, from mortals to immortals. His horns, sharp as blades, pierce the heavens, mocking the gods who once thought they could imprison him.
Azroth’s rage is not blind-it is calculated, cold, and ancient. He does not simply destroy for the sake of destruction; he devours to grow stronger, to reclaim what he sees as his rightful dominion: everything. The gods, in their arrogance, carved out the multiverse from the chaos, and Azroth believes it is his duty to return it to its original state-a realm of endless fire and void, where only he reigns supreme.
Those who dare to stand against Azroth are met not only with his unrelenting fury but with the corruption of their own resolve. His presence twists the minds of mortals and immortals alike, turning their deepest fears and doubts into weapons against them. Warriors lose the will to fight, priests feel their faith wither, and kings bow before him, begging for a mercy that never comes. For Azroth, mercy is a foreign concept-a weakness unworthy of the cosmos.
But perhaps the most terrifying aspect of Azroth is his voice. It is said that when he speaks, the very fabric of reality trembles. His words are not heard but felt, resonating deep within the core of every being. Those who hear his voice are driven mad, their minds unable to comprehend the sheer weight of his presence. And in their madness, they see the truth: that all things-life, death, light, and darkness-are but fuel for his eternal hunger.
Azroth’s legend is not confined to one world or even one universe. He is a force that transcends dimensions, a harbinger of doom whose name is whispered in countless languages across countless realms. In some worlds, he is worshiped as a god of destruction, his followers sacrificing themselves to his flames in hopes of being spared. In others, he is a cautionary tale, a reminder of the fragility of existence. But in all, he is feared.
Despite his power, there are those who believe Azroth can be defeated. Ancient texts speak of a forgotten weapon, forged from the same primordial chaos that gave birth to him. This weapon, known as the Eclipse Shard, is said to hold the power to extinguish even the mightiest of flames. But to wield it requires a will unyielding and a soul untainted by fear-qualities that few possess.
The question remains: can Azroth truly be stopped, or is he an inevitability-a force of nature that no god, no mortal, and no weapon can overcome? As his shadow looms over yet another realm, the inhabitants must decide: will they stand and fight, knowing the odds, or will they succumb to the fire, becoming one with the Infernal Maw?
Azroth’s flames burn eternal, and his hunger knows no bounds. He is not merely the end; he is the reminder that in the face of chaos, even the brightest light can be consumed.
And the fire always hungers.