Chapter 86
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Chapter 86: Title
Hein stifled a sigh, mentally berating his supposed companion Atalans who should have been sharing this midnight surveillance duty but had instead become part of the problem.
Their agreed-upon teammate had unexpectedly entered the public eye due to abyssal creatures. The thought brought unease to Hein’s mind.
He worried this exposure might catch the attention of that tenacious wizard, inviting endless complications.
Regarding abyssal creatures themselves, while concerning, they hardly dominated his thoughts. The Abyss remained familiar territory for demons like him.
Every hellspawn from the Blood River knew ancient legends of the Abyss buried beneath their realm.
Centuries of occasional tremors had never caused true catastrophe. Even if disaster struck, such matters weren’t for upper-level or lower demons to ponder.
After all—were the Demon King and his lords mere decorations?
Bound by the Son’s presence, Hein maintained his concealed position three meters from Loral, observing why this holy figure wandered moonlight-bathed courtyards at night.
After prolonged waiting, realization struck—why passive observation? The initiative must be seized.
Yet action couldn’t reveal his demonic nature. Holy energy instinctively repelled darkness, and exposure would trigger immediate retaliation.
The human realm’s balance laws constrained him—unless willing to forfeit seventy percent of his power, exceeding permitted strength remained unwise.
Raphael’s feather-strategy offered clever circumvention, but such tricks came at cost: three months’ banishment from human realm manifestations.
Hence the archangel’s calculated distribution of power-infused feathers—avatar projection wasn’t granted to every archangel.
That night found Hein still strategizing.
He shadowed Loral’s return, slipping through the opening door to lounge invisibly on the sitting couch, legs casually crossed.
No longer restrained by the pendant’s threat, he reveled in his undetected presence.
That accursed pendant’s power of light—archangel-blessed—could unveil even Baal himself.
Yawning, Hein studied Loral’s movements. Close observation might reveal vulnerabilities.
Light-believers shared this weakness: their hearts must remain unsullied by impurity, malice, or shadow.
A single crack in that pristine facade allowed darkness entry—countless Fallen Angels had succumbed thus.
Were this not the Son, Hein would’ve already shackled him with darkness and corrosive emotions.
Not that he’d act on such impulses. Capturing the Son proved simple; enduring the aftermath of corrupting Holy See’s chosen? Entirely different matter.
Whether as celestial Son or infernal dark child, both stations commanded supreme reverence.
Unaware of his audience, Loral drifted through bedtime rituals—adjusting drapes, collecting nightclothes, entering steaming baths.
Hein—ever the unscrupulous demon—leaned forward appreciatively as the Son emerged in simple robe, damp locks framing features surpassing even prime Fallen Angels.
Hell’s denizens acknowledged this bitter truth: celestial beauty increased with pre-fall status. Some whispered this reflected their Creator’s preferences.
The Son’s rank eclipsed most celestial beings, second only to the Grand Sanctuary of Crystal Heaven’s occupant. Seraphim themselves bowed semi-deeply.
Hell prized muscular might over delicate beauty, though Hein now admired the contrast. Silencing his phone, he captured the moment—steam-softened blue eyes hardening as moisture evaporated, vulnerability freezing into icy composure.
Hein scrolled through his phone gallery and tsked softly, mentally calculating the potential profit from these photos. While not desperate for funds, he saw no harm in earning extra coins in the current economic climate of the human realm.
When Loral climbed into bed, the lights clicked off. The sofa, spacious for sitting, felt painfully narrow when used as a bed for a man nearly two meters tall.
Dawn arrived.
Hein blinked awake as Loral threw off the covers, his light sleep shattered by the slightest movement. Rising to stretch stiff limbs, he eyed the plush carpet wistfully – far preferable to this cramped sofa, were it not beneath his dignity to sleep on floors.
The abyssal creatures’ invasion had only begun. Western nations prioritized cleansing major urban centers first, minimizing collateral damage.
Seizing the Son’s distraction during his brother-search, Hein slipped from the manor. His membranous black wings unfolded like a bat’s, skeletal joints stretching beneath translucent webbing as he took flight.
This world teemed with winged races: feather-white angels, obsidian-plumed Fallen Angels, leathery-winged demons, luminous elves, and the scaled dragon race with their mighty pinions…
Cruising at cloud level, Hein answered his ringing phone without glancing at the screen.
"Speak."
"Lance here."
All nonchalance vanished from Hein’s posture. "Three months," the demon hissed. "Three months without contact. I’d nearly replaced you with a houseplant as my partner."
"Are you done?"
"Are you returning?"
Lance endured the tirade silently, guilt tempering his patience until Hein’s rant spent itself.
"…Flight details. I’ll collect you."
"Unnecessary. My situation remains… complicated."
Hein’s brow furrowed. "Complications? I’ve half-completed our mission solo! Shall I leave you no glory?"
The pause stretched before Lance responded carefully, "The abyssal infestation persists. I’ve petitioned for mission termination."
"What?!" Hein’s roar scattered cirrus clouds. "We pledged shared victory! You insult my prowess?!"
Wisely, Lance muted the device until the auditory storm passed. "Additionally," he resumed calmly, "resource shortages leave you solo temporarily. Though given your… confidence, perhaps termination proves unnecessary."
Hein’s jaw snapped shut. His bravado now trapped him tighter than any demonic pact.
"Typical human faithlessness," he finally growled.
"Hein." Lance’s sigh carried through the receiver. "My public exposure necessitates distance from hell-related affairs. The Council of Truth deems my continued involvement… diplomatically unwise."
Unlike the demon, Lance couldn’t risk association with the Son’s potential fall – a political landmine near Vatican City’s interests.
"Lord Baal would never sanction this!"
"Lord Baal approved," Lance countered. "He offers to summon another upper-level demon if you require assistance."
Hein’s wings faltered mid-stroke. The implication stung deeper than holy water. "Unnecessary!" The words escaped before pride could leash them.
"Very well. Contact me if…" The dial tone drowned Lance’s farewell.
Aloft in icy stratosphere, Hein stared at the dead phone. His boasts now circled him like vultures – he’d need miracles, not money, to salvage this mission elegantly.
