Chapter 102

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Chapter 102: Title

"Looking like this, yet still daring to speak to me so boldly? Have you no fear of being struck?" Shiviel scoffed harshly, though he extended his arms to let the black cat leap into his embrace.

In the next heartbeat, both Shiviel and the feline vanished from existence.

They reappeared amidst London’s fog-cloaked streets within the Kingdom of England. Shiviel steadied his breathing, his suppressed powers straining from spatial traversal – the only feasible method to transport Hein across Lance’s borders and back within limited time.

"Retrieve me from these coordinates," he commanded Cain’s subordinate through the phone, then glanced at the transformed Hein. "Lady Lilith’s current affairs are tended by the blood clan. Contact their representatives for an audience."

Securing an audience with Hell’s Witch dwelling in the human realm required extraordinary means – a feat made possible solely through Hein’s involvement. The importance of Hein’s mission to the underworld couldn’t be overstated; exposure would nullify years of preparation.

Presidential Suite, Hotel’s pinnacle floor.

"Hail Lady Lilith." Shiviel deposited the feline before performing Hell’s traditional bow of deference.

"Hail Lady Lilith." Hein pressed his furry belly to marble tiles, limited to this feline obeisance.

Lilith’s crimson lips curved into an exceedingly tender smile as she extended pale fingers toward the trembling creature. "Hein, approach."

Hell’s notorious Witch of Evil harbored notorious partiality toward cats – any whiskered supplicant might find undeserved mercy. Whispers claimed offending parties could avoid execution through clever felid transformations.

"What does my lady require?" Hein nuzzled the witch’s fingertips in practiced feline endearment, tail curling submissively.

"Infinitely preferable to your usual dreary form." Lilith gathered the cat onto her silk-draped lap, idly smoothing ebony fur from skull to twitching tail-tip. "Self-sealed magic? How pedestrian."

"Indeed, my lady."

"Foolishness, believing this crude seal might deceive Michael." Her nail etched glowing sigils across his forehead, magic settling into his bones. "Shall I gift you counsel, little shadow?"

The witch reclined deeper into her chaise lounge as Hein dipped his head. "Your wisdom would be my honor."

"Common strays draw no eyes. The Son’s gaze demands proper temptation – our demonic essence remains corruption’s finest instrument."

"Then… should I reveal myself?"

"Must I explain everything? Apprentice yourself to succubi!" Her jeweled finger jabbed his whiskered cheek.

Normally such impertinence warranted severed digits, but Hein-the-Timid merely flattened his ears. Petty vengeance came naturally to witches – especially the primordial one currently stroking his tail.

"Succubi?"

Memories surfaced of those gender-fluid demons, Heaven’s androgynous angels mirrored in Hell’s perversions. Unlike naturally gendered demons or Heaven’s sexless celestials – whose fall spawned gender through corruption – succubi reveled in metamorphic ambiguity.

Most adopted feminine guises to exploit mortal men’s endless lusts, though true conquests remained rare. Even predators exercise discernment when selecting prey.

"The succubi’s favorite game is love, do you understand? You needn’t make them fall for you—though that’s preferable—but you must become the most irreplaceable part of their soul."

"Become the kind of existence that would tear their heart to shreds if removed, the agony so unbearable they’d rather die. Then drag them down into your darkness… What’s a Son to that? Mortal vessels always harbor desires, whether saintly or false."

Whether Hein grasped this, Shiviel couldn’t tell, but the implications were crystal clear to him. This scheme required Hein to become the ultimate deceiver, complete with feminine disguises—after all, no Son would succumb to male demons or humans.

Failure meant Hein becoming the Holy See’s most wanted, hunted to eternity’s edge. Success… Shiviel shuddered. Should the corrupted Son discover the ruse, even the Demon King’s protection wouldn’t spare Hein from being skinned alive.

"Lady Lilith, isn’t this too cruel?" Hein ventured timidly.

Lilith’s crimson lips curved as she addressed the black cat. "At your current pace, when will the Son truly fall?"

"Perhaps… some time?" Hein’s ears flattened. Truthfully, he had no notion.

The Son’s heart belonged to Hill. To break Loral with darkness, why not eliminate his brother? Yet attempting this would have Heaven’s angels slaughter Hein before he drew breath—Hill’s heavenly ties ran deeper than Loral’s.

"Time’s tide waits for no demon."

"The dark camp requires the Dark Child’s power." Lilith’s gaze grew distant, piercing through veils of time. "Our future depends on it."

Every blood clan member and demon present stiffened. When the Lady of Night spoke prophecies, wise creatures listened.

"Understood, kitten?" Lilith deposited Hein on the floor, her laughter silver bells as she turned to Shiviel. "Return him. Even Michael’s holy gaze will see but a common stray."

Horror prickled Hein’s fur. His magic—gone! Not sealed, but vanished entirely, leaving him truly feline.

"Mind the spatial currents during transit," Lilith sang, tracing a bloodred nail along Shiviel’s jaw. "A single ripple would… pop his pretty head like overripe fruit."

"Meowrrrrrl! Mreowmeowmrow!" Hein’s panicked yowls emerged as helpless cries.

"Deceive thyself before deceiving others." Lilith’s smile turned knife-sharp. "Enjoy your paws, little actor. The curtain rises when I say."

Hein’s pleading eyes found Shiviel, who studied the marble floor intently. None dared oppose Lilith’s whims—and truth be told, the fluffed-up furball was… amusing.

"Our business concludes, Lady." Shiviel scooped the squirming cat into his cloak. "Prolonged absence breeds suspicion."

As they vanished, Lilith waved away her attendants. The room emptied, leaving only rustling papers about abyssal energies.

Her lacquered nail halted mid-page. "There you are," she purred, crimson eyes blazing. The document showed a location—Zhongxia’s underbelly, where filth bred greater filth.

Zhongxia’s Sewers

"Chasing vermin through shit-rivers," Qiao Feiyu growled, blasting a rat-nest with spiritual-energy bullets. "Promotion material, this isn’t."

Hu Mei’s snort crackled through his earpiece. "Ladies’ team would’ve mutinied. These nests reek worse than hell’s armpit."

"Say that to Captain Xia’s face," Qiao retorted, vaulting over a sewage flow.

"Wouldn’t dare! Our sisters could purify this cesspool in heels—"

"Status report," interrupted Zhang Wutong’s voice.

"Section B-12 cleared," Qiao answered, eyeing the new spiritual pistol. Version 2.0 prototypes supposedly drew ambient energy, but for now, manual charging left his fingers numb.

The team regrouped beneath a manhole cover. Two days prior, they’d incinerated the abyssal worm’s birthing pit—a charnel house of missing persons and unclaimed vagrants.

As Qiao emerged into the alley, a shadow stirred above. Neither noticed the dragon-shaped sigil glowing faintly on the manhole cover before it clanged shut.