Chapter 152
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Chapter 152: Title
The Demon King sat enthroned in the grand hall, flanked by high-ranking demons of considerable status from the infernal realms. Such gatherings were rare—they’d assembled solely to witness Loral’s audience, abandoning their respective layers of hell for the occasion.
Among all hell’s denizens, Mammon stood unique as the sole pureblooded demon monarch; the rest were Fallen Angels who’d once dwelled in heaven. This starkly illustrated hell’s desperate scarcity of talent before the celestial rebellions began.
“Your Majesty, Prince Loral approaches,” Mammon announced with a bow before retreating to his post.
Every gaze in the chamber fixed upon Loral—some indifferent, others probing. The youth straightened beneath their scrutiny, meeting the piercing eyes of Lucifer, sovereign of demons and Fallen Angels alike.
With solemn reverence, Loral bent in formal obeisance. “Loral pays homage to the Demon King.”
“Your return suffices,” Lucifer drawled, reclining languidly. A faint nod acknowledged the youth. “Mammon shall attend to any discomfort in these realms.”
His voice deepened with regal resonance. “As hell’s chosen Son and my own kin in essence, discard such stiffness.”
The claim held metaphysical truth—a pristine soul infused with dark essence, nurtured in the human realm. By contributing that primordial darkness, the Demon King could indeed claim paternal ties.
Loral stiffened, instinctively seeking familiarity. Yet within these obsidian walls, only Mammon’s fleeting acquaintance offered anchor.
Catching the youth’s glance, Mammon’s lips curved in subtle reassurance.
Hesitation flickered across Loral’s features as he registered the assembly’s expectant silence. Swallowing unease, he dipped into another bow.
“Loral greets his sire.”
An inexplicable resonance tingled through him—phantom threads binding him to the dark sovereign. Could this truly be… kinship?
Lucifer’s chin tilted fractionally. “Attend him well, Mammon.”
“All preparations for His Highness are complete,” the demon lord affirmed, brushing invisible dust from his epaulet.
“Concerning Sky City—” Lucifer’s tone brooked no interruption, “—enlighten him.”
“By your will.”
Loral’s brows furrowed. What revelations remained about Sky City? Hadn’t the light sphere exhaustively disclosed his role?
No answers came. With finality, the Demon King dissolved into shadows.
His departure thawed the chamber’s frost. Smirks replaced stoicism as the lords reconsidered their stance—hell’s sovereign had named a princeling, warranting warmer courtesies.
“Shall we make proper introductions?” purred a voice like smoked honey. Belial slouched forward, hand extended. “Greetings, little prince. Modern mortal customs favor this, I’m told.”
Loral numbly clasped the offered palm. “How… should I address your lordships?”
Asmodius’s amethyst eyes glimmered. “Uncle suffices, given our ancient ties to your sire.”
“Cease unsettling him,” Mammon chided without heat.
“No harm intended,” the sin-lord chuckled.
Loral blinked, recalibrating expectations of hell’s aristocracy.
A figure with wine-dark curls and serpentine pupils leaned close. “Guess my name, young Loral?” The challenge hung, ripe with mischief.
Loral hesitated, sensing a resemblance to a figure from his memories. "Lord Samael?"
"What about me? What about me?"
Mammon observed their exchange silently before interjecting, "I shall escort the little prince to his palace. Do you all intend to linger here?"
A little girl barely reaching Loral’s waist pouted. "But I wanted more time with little Loral!"
"Now, Leviathan," Beelzebub chimed in, "why not join me for refreshments? Mammon speaks wisely—the little prince requires rest."
Few would imagine the Leviathan of Envy from the Seven Deadly Sins, that malevolent sea monster, would manifest as a child of seven or eight summers. The embodiment of envy now stood before them—not only disarmingly cherubic but possessing a voracious appetite to match.
Leviathan’s gaze darted between Loral and Beelzebub before she declared, "I’ll feast at Beelzebub’s first, then come play with you!" Her cherubic smile disarmed all resistance.
How could anyone refuse such a request? Loral acquiesced with an amused nod.
As Mammon led Loral away, whispered speculations arose:
"Doesn’t the little prince radiate… something peculiar?"
"You refer to that smile brighter than hell’s fires? Aye, I sense it too."
"His features mirror His Majesty’s, don’t they?"
"Some resemblance," came the guarded reply, "yet was he not meant to resemble that Son of the Holy Light from the human realm? The one who…"
Conversation withered like scorched parchment. The implications loomed heavy—that celestial Son’s reincarnated visage bearing likeness to their Demon King? What schemes did the one above intend?
"Urgent matters demand my attention," Belial blurted, already retreating.
Asmodius’s sultry laughter trailed behind him as he strode away. "My subordinates await with new witches to inspect."
None wished to linger. Within the Eighteen Floors of Hell, especially the Demon King’s inner sanctum, careless words carried lethal consequences. Even now, formidable wards pulsed around the slumbering monarch’s chambers, permitting entry only to those matching his dreadful puissance.
*
Loral walked beside Mammon, mind reeling. A father? Five uncles? An aunt? This sudden proliferation of kinship overwhelmed.
Compensation for his lost brother? The irony almost made him laugh. Yet he couldn’t dismiss their startling sincerity—especially upon learning gifts already awaited him.
"Uncle Mammon." The title flowed easier than expected.
Mammon’s eyes crinkled with avuncular warmth. "Your thoughts churn like the Styx, little prince. Ask what you will."
"That mention earlier… concerning the evil witch Lilith. What befell her?"
Mammon considered before answering. "She pursued a priest marked by an abyssal deity into the human realm. Now… she’s vanished."
"How could they disappear?"
"They vanished while aboard an aircraft from the human realm—something called a ‘plane.’ Reports indicate all passengers disappeared along with the vehicle. Human realm demons searched for days without success before daring to report this to Hell."
"A missing plane… Why does this sound familiar?"
Loral fell into deep thought before recalling a memory. "The one that vanished over the Red Sea? Could the witch have been aboard?"
"Indeed, that very plane," Mammon affirmed with a nod.
Exiting the Demon King’s palace, they spotted a black cat sprawled across the obsidian floor, idly batting at its tail.
Such behavior made the creature seem increasingly un-demonlike.
Hein the black cat noticed Loral first, darting to his feet. "Prince Loral! I stayed right here waiting, just as promised!"
Mammon: …This is unbearable to witness. No wonder Hell’s demons remain outnumbered yet dominated by Fallen Angels—such pathetic displays.
Numerous questions swirled through Loral’s mind. Selecting carefully, he asked, "Abyssal deities? What are those? Can the Abyss truly harbor divine beings?"
"It does…" Mammon saw no harm in enlightening the little prince.
African jungle outskirts.
The Zhongxia expedition team had established camp after their long journey.
"How long since they entered?"
"Nearly a full day."
Clad in tactical clothing and armed, the group moved among tents housing sophisticated equipment. Nearby, professionally trained soldiers patrolled the perimeter.
A man in his late twenties stared intently at the jungle’s edge, lost in contemplation.
A soldier approached briskly, saluting. "Team Leader Cen! Headquarters incoming transmission."
Cen Ji strode to the communication equipment as the connection finalized. His posture stiffened slightly upon recognizing the caller.
"Chief Liang." He saluted again, masking his surprise. While he knew every Special Bureau division head by sight, operational updates typically came through information officers—not the Cybersecurity Chief himself.
Liang An dispensed with formalities. "Team Leader Cen, emerging circumstances necessitate immediate mission termination per executive decision. What’s your estimated evacuation timeline?"
As secondary commander under Captain Yuan’s absence, Cen Ji’s mind accelerated through protocols. Soldiers followed orders—questions came later.
"Captain Yuan, Young Master Leng, and the red-clad senior remain inside without contact," he reported. "Their last communication stated they’d return by dusk."
Liang An calculated silently before decreeing, "Initiate withdrawal preparations. Extract all personnel within 24 hours upon their emergence."
"Acknowledged!" Cen Ji’s salute outlasted the fading screen.
Turning to his team, he announced, "New orders: Mission aborted. Evacuate immediately when Captain Yuan’s group returns."
The camp erupted into orderly disassembly, soldiers dismantling equipment with practiced efficiency.
