Chapter 151
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Chapter 151: Title
Hell Gate shuddered at its own conjecture, yet the genuine dark essence left it in turmoil. Though denying the thought repeatedly, its burning curiosity compelled closer examination of the white-robed youth approaching.
Black hair and eyes mirrored the Demon King’s… similar brow shape, though the nose differed… As Hell Gate mused, the youth reached its threshold. Before resolving whether to bar passage, the ancient portal instinctively rumbled, "State your identity. Do you comprehend where you stand?"
Normally silent, Hell Gate only addressed beings of extraordinary status. Nearby demons stiffened in surprise, ears twitching intently. Like the sentient gate, they burned to know this anomaly’s origin – a youth radiating celestial purity amidst their infernal domain.
The accompanying black cat tensed. It had warned against angelic attire in hell! Now the stubborn boy faced Hell Gate’s scrutiny. The feline’s golden eyes darted, noting every demon’s stare fixed on their incongruous visitor.
An upper-level demon reduced to feline form and sycophantic duties! Hein’s tail lashed bitterly. He never should’ve accepted Lord Baal’s mission to corrupt Vatican City’s Son. Success brought only the fallen saint’s icy disdain.
Two Sons served Vatican City – Hill remained pure, while Loral now stood at hell’s precipice. The white-robed youth’s gaze settled on Hein’s quivering feline form, that lightly piercing stare freezing the demon’s blood.
Hadn’t they sent word ahead? Why this interrogation? Hein oozed forward, oiling his voice, "Presenting His Highness Loral, Hell’s Son from our dark camp."
His Highness? Son? The gate’s carvings writhed. Royal titles belonged solely to the Demon King’s lineage or… realization struck. Had their sovereign forged a scion from dark essence?
Hell Gate’s massive panels groaned open, exceeding even monarch-level courtesies. Normally permitting single-file passage, it now spread fully as for the Demon King himself. "Welcome home, Your Highness." The basso pronouncement held dignified reverence, avoiding obsequiousness.
Heaven’s watchers sensed the disturbance, but Hell Gate resealed before investigation. Within, true hell unfolded – teeming legions outnumbering the gate’s loiterers. Hein’s presence kept common demons at bay as wildfire rumors spread: within five minutes, every fiend knew hell had gained royalty.
"The eighteen layers…" Hein gestured ahead while padding through sulfurous mists. "The Demon King’s palace crowns the Eighteenth Floor. We require the monarchs’ teleportation formation unless you fancy centuries of descent."
Every layer of hell is equipped with teleportation formations connecting to subsequent layers, primarily for ordinary demons’ passage. Those with sufficient power, of course, could simply tear through space to travel freely between infernal realms.
Loral remained silent, trailing behind Hein with apparent disinterest in the demon’s explanations.
Hein hesitated internally, acutely aware that maintaining his current diminished form in hell’s hierarchy might lead to centuries of humiliation should any acquaintance witness him thus.
"Your Highness, might I resume my true form?"
Though uncertain of Loral’s acquiescence, Hein ventured the request regardless.
The Son’s temperament had always been enigmatic during his days in the human realm, growing increasingly mercurial after his fall. Hein suspected the estrangement from Hill contributed significantly to this transformation.
The upper-level demon understood Loral’s lingering resentment – had it not been for Hein’s intervention, the golden-haired youth might still dwell peacefully in Vatican City. This enforced feline form served as constant reminder of the Son’s displeasure.
"Should you resume your demonic visage, my restraint may falter."
The chill in Loral’s voice could frost hellfire itself as he delivered this ultimatum without so much as glancing at his companion.
Hein’s memory flashed to their first encounter in the infernal realm – the cataclysmic moment when darkness had claimed heaven’s favored child. The golden locks darkening strand by strand, cerulean eyes devoured by void, holy radiance replaced by swirling shadows – these images remained burned into the demon’s consciousness.
Knowing his station as mere upper-level demon paled against the Dark Son’s emerging authority, Hein swallowed further arguments. Should Loral choose to annihilate him, hell’s aristocracy would scarcely note the execution of this "prime culprit". Survival itself already exceeded reasonable expectation.
Wordlessly, Hein guided hell’s newly anointed prince toward the eighteenth layer’s teleportation nexus. The formation guardian’s prompt obeisance contrasted sharply with their earlier hellgate embarrassment, confirming Loral’s status recognition throughout the underworld.
Emerging before the obsidian spires of the Demon King’s citadel, Hein’s eyes widened at the approaching figure. None other than Mammon himself – Hell’s Treasurer and one of the Seven Sovereigns – came to greet them personally.
"Lord Mammon," Hein managed, his strained courtesy ignored by the financial overlord.
The demon lord’s attention focused entirely on Loral. "Our apologies for the delayed reception, Your Highness. Recent… complications involving an evil witch’s disappearance disrupted preparations." Mammon’s gesture toward the palace gates flowed with practiced elegance. "His Majesty awaits with anticipation."
Loral’s parting warning to the black cat carried lethal implication – "Should you absent yourself upon my return…" Hein’s frantic nodding acknowledged the unspoken threat. Even Lord Baal’s commands would yield to the Dark Son’s authority now.
As Mammon escorted Loral through onyx corridors, he marveled at fate’s design. The same soul he’d delivered from heaven months prior now returned transformed, bearing the dark god’s essence within. Truly, the Demon King’s lineage manifested in unpredictable ways.
"The hierarchical formalities…" Mammon began, observing the tension in Loral’s bearing.
"Unnecessary." Loral’s interruption came softened by fleeting smile. "My delayed notification caused this disorder, not your arrangements."
Mammon’s chuckle echoed through the vaulted hall. "Nervousness becomes you, Highness. But fear not – His Majesty’s… receptiveness may surprise you."
Truthfully, Loral’s adaptation to infernal existence surpassed all expectations. Beyond fleeting nostalgia for Hill, no lingering attachments to light remained. Had true resentment festered, Hein’s punishment would extend far beyond harmless felinity.
"Indeed," Loral murmured, his golden-black hair shimmering in the torchlight as they approached the throne room doors. "This should prove… enlightening."
