Chapter 82
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Chapter 82: Title
"What’s happening? Why did it vanish so abruptly?" Augustus stared at the angel feather on the ground, his expression dazed.
"Depleted power caused its dissipation," Loral explained, bending to retrieve the pristine feather. Its luminous surface bore no trace of dust, while the pendant’s milky crystal now gleamed translucent.
"Prioritize rescue efforts," Hill instructed Augustus before turning to his brother. "Loral, assist while I contact the Pope…"
"Understood. I’ll manage communications—you should conserve your strength," Loral responded, swiftly retrieving his phone to reach Vatican City’s pontiff.
The Pope’s relief upon confirming their safety resonated through the call. Though insistent on dispatching an extraction aircraft, his proposal met firm refusal from Hill. France’s unraveling chaos demanded their presence; the nation’s extraordinary individuals alone couldn’t shoulder the crisis.
This resolve solidified upon learning Vatican City remained unnervingly tranquil, devoid of spatial ruptures. Bound by their sacred duty as deity’s human realm emissaries, neither could the Pope compel their return despite his concerns. After exchanging final cautions, the connection severed.
Unseen by the departing trio, a demon emerged from shadows, clutching a phone broadcasting live footage. Across Zhongxia and France alike, audiences witnessed the unfolding spectacle—Hell and Heaven’s dormant conflict reigniting after centuries.
Hein, like younger demons, lacked firsthand experience with heaven’s high-tier angels. When Raphael manifested, he’d recognized only the archangel’s overwhelming might, not the celestial hierarchy behind it. Hill’s identification of Raphael as one of heaven’s archangels revealed heaven’s vested interest in the Sons.
Though holy wars had faded to legend, Hell retained knowledge of heaven’s upper echelons: the reclusive supreme deity, followed by Archangel Michael, the elusive scribe Metatron, then Raphael, Gabriel, Remiel, and Uriel. Once seven Seraphim had existed until several followed the fallen "shining morning star"—Heaven’s former viceroy—to damnation. Later restoration of six Seraphim left one rank perpetually vacant, an open secret across realms.
Observing Raphael’s descent, Hein conceived a stratagem.
Hell’s threshold quivered as a Fallen Angel stormed past the ancient hell gate—a being roused from millennia-long slumber. This frenzy bewildered the gate; Fallen Angels once moved with their original celestial poise.
Divinely forged in purity and compassion, angels retained their beauty even after falling—ebon wings replacing white, features shifting to hell’s signature black hair and crimson eyes. Some interpreted this transformation as partial divine mercy; the hell gate knew better. Had deity truly cared, the current Demon King wouldn’t have plunged into hell’s inaccessible depths during his fall.
The gate mused: stripping angelic traits likely aimed to distinguish fallen from pure, while preserving aesthetics aligned with heaven’s contempt for ugliness. Indeed, Hell’s mightiest demons mirrored heaven’s visual splendor—a fact the gate catalogued through eons of idle observation.
Fallen Angels sought not hell’s embrace, but fealty to their forsaken lord. This truth lingered as the gate’s ancient consciousness drifted through memories of primordial hellscapes—rivers of corrosive pitch, predatory flora camouflaged among jagged rocks, skies starved of sunlight’s kiss.
Dark races were seldom embraced by the light, and the sun naturally withheld its radiance from dark creatures.
When the Demon King descended into Hell, a crimson moon emerged in its skies.
Hell’s eighteen layered structure held the abyss of hell at its deepest core, where the Demon King’s palace stood upon the Eighteenth Floor – said to eternally suppress the ceaselessly churning void below.
Michael retracted his wings, his once golden tresses that cascaded to his waist now transformed to jet-black darkness, his once emerald eyes mirroring the same transformation.
Clad in a flowing black robe secured by a slender belt, his loosely fastened cloak revealed an altered countenance.
The archangel wasn’t foolish enough to reveal his true features while descending to Hell’s Thirteenth Floor, where encounters with upper-level demons grew more frequent… Even unrecognized by commonfolk, his visage remained dangerously memorable.
During the ancient holy wars between Heaven and Hell, he’d exposed his face too frequently before infernal forces – the mantle of archangel having been thrust upon him against his will, making him Heaven’s perpetual scapegoat.
Both demons and Fallen Angels harbored profound hostility toward this angel who’d inherited the archangel’s position.
Michael sighed inwardly; even within Hell’s depths, his notoriety remained undiminished.
Hell’s ruling monarchs all dwelled below. Though Michael once shared camaraderie with Belial and Leviathan, after eons of celestial falls, he preferred facing the former over Asmodius.
Should Leviathan learn of his presence, all Hell would know before nightfall.
A Heaven-born angel in Hell? However confident in his powers, Michael dared not tempt fate carelessly here.
Belial’s title as Sloth among the Seven Deadly Sins proved apt – the indolent lord likely remained sequestered in his Fourteenth Layer domain.
No demon could ignore the abyssal disturbances. Every Hell-dweller sensed the void’s restlessness, which explained how Michael had gleaned this intelligence so readily from demonic informants.
To verify the abyss’s unrest, Michael faced two choices: consult fallen comrades or approach the Demon King directly. The latter option he deferred – unprepared still to confront that particular presence.
Though Lucifer had fallen to become Hell’s monarch, to those who remembered his celestial glory, Heaven would forever hold but one true prince – an entity surpassing even the Son in majesty.
Belial’s lethargic nature persisted since celestial days. After their fall, his designation as Sloth confined him permanently to the Fourteenth Layer.
Given Hell’s teeming demonic populace, a monarch needn’t lift a finger beyond maintaining his domain.
Michael’s expectations of lethargic Fourteenth Layer streets were shattered by bustling demonic commerce. Were it not for partially transformed demons, the scene might mirror the human realm’s markets.
Though Hell maintained passages to the human realm, few demons could traverse them freely. Many mortal-world novelties remained absent from infernal domains.
Human realm developments were known only to select Heaven and Hell elites, most remaining oblivious to mortal-world transformations.
Belial’s palace guards displayed lax vigilance. Observing their cursory inspections, Michael removed his cloak, allowing obsidian wings to unfurl momentarily from his shoulders.
The feathered darkness folded before full extension, drawing guards’ attention before vanishing completely.
Demonic sentinels altered their suspicious gazes upon seeing this Fallen Angel. Belial being one of their own, visitors of his kind warranted less scrutiny – though this unfamiliar face gave pause.
Fallen Angels typically gained power after descent, their strength rivaling upper-level demons. These lowly gatekeepers dared not challenge this false Fallen Angel.
"My lord seeks audience with Lord Belial?" A knee-high demon retracted wings and tail, bowing deeply.
Michael glanced coldly downward, offering a terse nod.
"Enter freely," the imp conceded without further question.
Maintaining stoic composure, Michael marveled at Belial’s unchanged governance. Other monarchs’ domains would never permit such easy access.
He understood the demons’ lack of suspicion.
No sane angel would dare impersonate a Fallen Angel to infiltrate a Seven Deadly Sin’s domain. Such recklessness surpassed mere suicide.
Belial’s indolence belied formidable power.
Not every fallen angel earned a Seat among Hell’s Seven.
Progressing unimpeded, Michael considered his fortune – perhaps Belial would receive him promptly.
This thought crystallized as a shadow detached itself from the corridor ahead.
