Chapter 70
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Chapter 70: Title
"Now, now, you can’t pin this on me. Had misfortune not chosen me, this affair would never have touched my shoulders."
"Silence." Lance’s brow furrowed.
Though the surrounding crowd couldn’t decipher their words, recklessness remained ill-advised.
"Hein, after millennia, your tongue still rattles like temple bells."
"A soul must seek its amusement," the black-haired demon chuckled, fingers brushing the obsidian chain at his throat. Were he to reveal the pendant beneath, the inverted pentagram would gleam darkly.
This trinket masked his infernal essence – without it, Vatican City’s hallowed grounds would have scorched his presence upon entry. Few places still held divine attention, but the Holy See’s seat remained firmly in celestial regard.
"Speaking of which, does Carlyle still chase rumors of your whereabouts? Some unfortunate wretch recently endured… persuasive questioning regarding you."
Lance – full name Atalans Brel – once stood as the Council of Truth’s brightest star, that prodigious wizard who shattered expectations. A thousand years past, he’d shattered allegiance too, forging the dark council with six shadow-borne allies.
This assembly of night-aligned beings counted Hell’s denizens among their number. Hein, though subordinate as a demon lord’s lieutenant, carried himself with theatrical flair.
Hell’s hierarchy bent knee to seventy-two demon lords, who in turn answered the Seven Kings of the underworld. Thus did the dark council anchor itself in infernal might.
Their power flowed from darkness itself, that primordial force once embodied by a deity who’d stood eye-to-eye with Yahweh. But that dark god’s reign ended in ancient dust, leaving his divine mantle to Lucifer – Hell’s brightest fallen star.
Now the unlikely pair walked Vatican’s sunlit squares, tasked by the Demon King himself to seek darkness’s heir: the Dark Child, said to spring from the void’s source power. A being whose awakening might eclipse even Heaven’s cherished Messiah.
Plaza fountains sent water arcing through sunlight as white doves wheeled above pilgrims and gawkers. Since miracles graced this tourist hotspot, footfalls echoed endlessly across sacred stones. The initial post-revelation crush had eased, though cathedrals still swelled with devotees hoping to glimpse the Son of Holy Light.
Lance and Hein moved through the throng like ink stains on vellum. The Magic Return’s sartorial chaos helped them blend, though their striking features still drew glances.
"Which one?" Hein nodded toward two golden-haired figures radiating beatific calm. "They practically glow with sanctity. Are we truly to find night’s heir among day’s darlings?"
"Knowledge would preclude our presence," Lance replied lightly. Vatican’s air thrummed with latent divinity – whether Yahweh’s gaze lingered or not, angelic sentinels surely watched over their precious Son.
"Your plan then?"
"The task of scheming falls to you." Lance turned from the crowd, polished shoes clicking against cobblestones. Observation had limits; action beckoned.
Hein scrambled after, chains clinking. "Abandoning post? The Demon King’s orders-"
Across the bridge they walked, unnoticed by tourists snapping photos of rushing waters below.
"Duke Baal said you lead this venture," Hein ventured, uncharacteristic hesitation coloring his words. Where most upper-level demons wielded serpentine cunning, this raven-haired beauty nursed a fatal flaw – an endearing simplicity that nearly cost him everything during that botched summoning ritual. Had Lance not intervened…
Lance studied the demon who defied stereotypes. "Your kind supposedly excels at corrupting souls." The words hung between them, equal parts observation and challenge.
Hein shuddered, instinctively clutching his hair as he stammered, "You don’t mean for me to corrupt the Son, do you? That’s suicidal—utterly impossible!"
Humans remained oblivious, but Hein knew the truth from his superior—this "Son" was the mortal incarnation of Heaven’s sovereign. Tempting Messiah’s fall? Even Samael had failed millennia ago. Hein harbored no illusions about succeeding where the Fallen One had not.
"He’s merely mortal now," Lance countered.
True, the twins had only exhibited lightly radiant power of light earlier, lacking the Son’s legendary might. Yet that faint glow spoke volumes—unlike common holy light accessible to any believer, this sacred radiance required direct divine favor.
Hein’s expression twisted. The mission couldn’t be abandoned without fatal consequences. "Then who exactly are we seducing?" He flashed a bewitching smile, his ethereal features momentarily stunning even Lance—who’d resisted his allure for millennia.
Mortals fell easily to beauty’s snare. The pair concealed their true forms deliberately; were Hein’s celestial visage revealed, they’d likely be mobbed wherever they wandered.
"They’re twins—identical in appearance but distinct in essence. Observation comes first," Lance proposed.
Hein nodded grimly. This mission had been troublesome from its inception. Only Heaven’s highest could discern the true Son from his mirror, Hein mused, carefully avoiding even mental mention of Those Names.
America.
Night veiled New York’s streets where Ye Linlang walked unseen. The metropolis thrumming by day now revealed its shadows—homeless figures huddled in doorways after 10 PM, addicts and gang members haunting alleyways.
This young nation, lacking ancient myths or deep history, remained deceptively calm. Ye Linlang’s gifts—Atlantic ruins and awakening Spiritual Energy (or "magic" as Westerners called it)—permeated the air. Over time, extraordinary individuals would emerge, abilities blooming according to their nature.
Three months had passed since encountering world consciousness. Ye Linlang assessed global forces—Practitioners strengthening, ordinary people awakening. With six months until abyssal invasion, Blue Star’s defenders remained pitifully weak. Her avatars wouldn’t intervene; humanity must confront this trial alone.
Most Practitioners would be occupied by her decoys. The contaminated world fragment—now labeled an Abyss Fragment—likely harbored both original inhabitants warped by corruption and genuine abyssal creatures. Should these horrors establish footholds, their locust-like spread would force her direct involvement… and expend precious power reserves.
"Enough." She shook her head, black gown materializing around her transformed figure—a deity’s perfect curves draped in night, beauty that tempted yet commanded reverence. Western foundations needed reinforcement. While her dark god candidate awaited, the abyss of hell required its counterpart.
The system warned: True abyss, vengeful and expansionist, would detect her purification of the fragment’s Abyssal aura. Its collective consciousness-deity differed from true divinities, but substitution remained feasible—a trick she’d mastered long ago.
Time to choose an "unlucky" proxy. Zhongxia already knew the threat; now the West required warning. Dark mist swirled in her palm—genuine Abyssal aura bearing her seal. Uncontrolled, this wisp could unleash catastrophe; contained, it would forge necessary weapons.
