Chapter 83
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Chapter 83: Title
When Michael discerned the shadowy figure, the desperate urge to flee surged through him. How could he encounter such an "old companion" within Belial’s palace?
He nearly bolted before remembering his current disguise. He wasn’t "Michael" now—even Raphael would find it difficult to recognize him in this altered form, let alone a comrade he hadn’t encountered for countless centuries.
Among Hell’s Seven Kings, six were once angels fallen from Heaven. Michael knew them all intimately except Mammon, Hell’s Chancellor.
Samael.
The Sin of Wrath from the Seven Deadly Sins.
Michael marveled inwardly—there’d been no particular bond between Samael and Belial during their celestial days. Who could have foreseen their camaraderie flourishing in Hell’s depths?
Memories of the hot-tempered angel from eons past flashed through Michael’s mind. Escape being impossible now, he steeled himself to approach and bow.
Though Fallen Angels surpassed demons in power, deference must still be shown to Hell’s sovereigns.
Samael had come to inspect Belial’s latest novelty fetched from the human realm. The approaching Fallen Angel drew only passing notice—such beings were commonplace in higher-tier infernal palaces.
Yet something pricked at Samael’s memory as the figure drew near. He studied the bowing form intently, finding no familiarity upon closer inspection.
Three paces away, Michael bent slightly at the waist, humiliation simmering beneath his calm façade. To think the archangel who’d once stood as Samael’s equal now groveled like a common serf!
As the Fallen Angel straightened to leave, Samael’s voice cracked like a whip: "Wait. Your name."
"Miller," came the steady reply. With countless fallen over the ages, Michael gambled on the name’s anonymity.
"Miller…" Samael’s lips curved faintly. "An echo of Heaven’s current archangel, wouldn’t you say?"
"The resemblance is coincidental, my lord."
"Seeking Belial?"
"Yes."
"Purpose?"
Michael’s response flowed like practiced wine: "To present His Lordship with an exceptional vintage."
Belial’s legendary fondness for drink—unchecked by celestial restraint since the Fall—made the pretext credible.
Samael dismissed him with a flick of wrist, yet his gaze lingered on the retreating figure. Long after "Miller" vanished, he massaged his temples. The build reminded him of… but no. Michael would never lower himself to such courtesy.
Outside Belial’s inner sanctum, Michael’s borrowed identity grew precarious. Mere Fallen Angels couldn’t demand audience with a King—especially not one empty-handed. The wine excuse had bought passage this far, but no further.
Although angels were not forbidden from drinking, the available liquor had a low potency. For a Fallen Angel who’d already descended from grace, its taste proved scarcely more pleasant than holy water. He couldn’t risk using Holy Word divine spells in Hell – discovery would bring consequences he wished to avoid.
The palace stood unguarded. With swift action before patrols returned, entry remained possible.
Within the bedchamber, Belial lay sprawled on his bed, toying with a phone magically delivered from the human realm via teleportation circle by one of his demons. Around him clustered stacks of human realm literature and cardboard boxes – extravagant use of precious magic circles for such trivial shipments, a luxury only he could indulge.
While Hell’s sovereigns possessed the power to visit the human realm, suppressing their strength to mortal levels rendered such excursions pointless. Too indolent for personal visits, Belial had delegated a demon servant to collect curiosities from that realm.
Midway through a mobile game, Belial abruptly glanced toward the chamber’s entrance where a black-cloaked figure materialized.
"Fallen Angel?" Belial’s gaze sharpened, sensing the distinctive aura though the face proved unfamiliar. He maintained his lounging posture, phone still in hand. "State your name and purpose."
Michael advanced, taking in the cluttered surroundings and Belial’s languid sprawl. "Belial, it’s me." Removing the concealed black necklace from beneath his collar, the illusion dissolved – raven locks lightened to gold, dark eyes shifting to celestial blue, holy light radiating from the transformed archangel.
Belial gaped at the revelation, phone slipping forgotten onto silken sheets. "M-Michael! Since when does Heaven’s champion skulk through Hell disguised as Fallen kin?"
"Necessity compels me." The golden-haired angel’s expression turned rueful. "I require assistance."
Belial’s eyebrows climbed. Millennia had passed since their last encounter, ages marked by severed ties between realms. "Did any witness your entry?" he demanded, already conjuring protective barriers around the chamber. "Samael just departed – you didn’t cross paths?"
Michael’s pause spoke volumes before he replied, "My presence remains undetected."
"Then Samael’s blindness serves us well." Belial snapped his fingers, materializing an ornate chair. As Michael sat, the demon prince lobbed an apple from nearby provisions. "Speak quickly – what crisis brings you here?"
Leaning forward, Michael’s gaze intensified. "Rumors of abyssal disturbances in Hell – truth or fabrication?"
Belial plucked grapes from a crystal bowl. "Would you be here if you doubted them?"
"Gray cracks are appearing in the human realm. Abyssal creatures slip through."
The grape hovered mid-bite. "Impossible. The sealed abyss hasn’t breached since its containment here."
"Humanity’s essence undergoes Awakening. Old balances shift."
Belial waved dismissively. "Consult our king or Samael for such matters. You know my distaste for cosmic housekeeping."
"Yet here you sit, unconcerned while Samael shows no alarm?"
Michael’s jaw tightened. "Raphael guards the human realm with Gabriel and Metatron as reinforcements. My concern lies here."
After prolonged silence, Belial sighed. "I’ll make discreet inquiries. Two days’ patience, lest we attract notice."
As gratitude flashed in Michael’s eyes, Belial added slyly, "Meanwhile, maintain your little disguise." He gestured at the black necklace. "Explaining a celestial visitor would prove… inconvenient."
The restored Fallen Angel illusion settled over Michael like shadow. Though eager to depart, leaving empty-handed served no purpose.
Unbeknownst to either, new fractures tore through the human realm in Michael’s absence. Desperate and unable to locate his counterpart, Raphael now sought counsel from Metatron – a development that would ripple across realms.
