He wondered when he is dead all the bitterness, being so twisted inside from what thought to be a wrong doing; filled with hate and anguish and loathing, madness that even the depths of hell would not affect him. His hate would grow thick and cause hell to freeze over in a black, grey ashy nothing. The flames will dimnish. The magma wil be no more from one mortals hate. Even the devil, furious for ruining his throne, slashes and tortures until there is no more he'll still conjure hate and conquer hell.
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