Chapter 98
Our Discord Server: https://discord.gg/PazjBDkTmW
Chapter 98: Title
Loral gazed at the black cat on the floor. In this world, even creatures shouldn’t be underestimated. An ordinary kitten would never survive such torment, yet this young feline remained completely unscathed.
"With the archangel’s arrival, perhaps this crisis might be swiftly contained," Loral murmured absently.
Hein barely registered the words. These days, Loral spent daylight battling abyssal creatures, returning at ungodly hours only to mutter in restless slumber.
—Wait. What had the human just said about visiting the human realm? Hein’s tongue paused mid-lick, ears snapping upright. He must have heard wrong.
An archangel? More formidable than Raphael himself? In his current state, handling dual holy sons was manageable, but facing Archangel Michael… He might as well polish his claws for the executioner’s block.
Impossible. Celestial authorities wouldn’t permit such high-ranking beings here. Hell would’ve deployed the Seven Deadly Sins rather than him if archangels roamed freely.
"My brother mentioned Archangel Michael assisting with certain affairs… Though I can’t return yet," Loral’s drowsy voice drifted from the bed where he’d cocooned himself in blankets, indifferent to the gaping curtains. "They’ll arrive here soon enough."
Every second counted—even rest came in stolen fragments.
Hein’s pupils narrowed to slits. The archangel’s true form in the mortal plane? Preposterous. Yet the evidence coiled in his gut like poison. Demon King’s mercy—had Atalans’ team known? Their ominous silence now reeked of betrayal.
Claws unsheathed, he batted his own ear. The half-open window beckoned with night’s chill. No time for second-guessing.
In three fluid bounds—bedpost to nightstand to swaying curtains—Hein reached the sill. A final glance confirmed Loral’s feigned sleep, those azure eyes deceptively closed. The kitten’s leap carried the grace of fallen royalty.
Two stories vanished beneath shadow-soft paws. Had this been any mortal creature, the impact would’ve shattered bone. But Hein’s form dissolved into the inkblot night, grass whispering secrets to his passing.
*
Moonlight pooled around suddenly alert blue eyes.
*
Abyssal horrors plagued every nation. Atalans, now former comrade, had abandoned their mission to combat this scourge—a practical choice, given Bear Country’s mutual pact against the voidspawn.
The breeze carried winter’s last sigh through snow-draped eaves. Yet within the courtyard, spring reigned eternal under a shimmering magical barrier. Blossoms nodded beneath trees whose branches cradled a slender figure.
Black silk hair cascaded over pointed ears. Moonlight revealed translucent skin webbed with indigo veins—a dark fairy perched where no natural fairy would tread. For in Bear Country’s eternal twilight, even eternal beings cast double shadows.
As long as this barrier exists, the courtyard shall maintain its perpetual spring-like climate.
In the second-floor study, Atalans looked up from the letter he’d been scrutinizing to regard the uninvited guest invading his sanctuary.
"Shiviel," Atalans acknowledged, tucking away the parchment. "Hein’s correspondence expresses… dissatisfaction regarding the suspended plans. His rebuke was rather spirited."
"Were I in his position, I’d have come storming back to confront you," Shiviel chuckled, leaning against the window frame. "Since when do comrades sabotage each other’s schemes?"
"Plans crumble before shifting tides." The mage showed no remorse, his harried demeanor mirroring the chaos of recent events. "This pause benefits him too. Hadn’t he complained endlessly about the mission’s complexity?"
Their friendship spanned decades—Shiviel, slightly older, retained the youthful vigor of natural fairies despite having witnessed centuries since their first encounter during his coming-of-age celebrations.
"That Carlyle persists in requesting audiences with you," Shiviel remarked, plucking an apple from the enchanted tree. "Though the council refuses every petition, his determination borders on obsession."
"Were he not occupied containing abyssal creatures, you’d have faced his ire months ago." The elf’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Must all wizards share this bullheadedness?"
"…Irrelevant." Atalans’ gaze sharpened. "Vacate my arboreal specimen."
"Such inhospitality!" The elf’s boots remained firmly planted on the crystalline branches.
Their banter halted as new parchment materialized beside Atalans’ inkwell, its crimson wax seal identical to Hein’s earlier missive.
"Another?"
"From Hein." The mage’s brow furrowed. Their unique communication method permitted no other senders, yet the warlock rarely initiated contact—a troubling deviation from protocol.
"Read it!" Shiviel’s curiosity ignited.
Lance unfolded the document, his complexion paling as he absorbed the contents. Shiviel observed discreetly, honoring privacy despite his burning intrigue.
"Well?" The elf demanded when silence stretched too long.
"See for yourself." Lance thrust the parchment forward.
Shiviel’s nonchalance evaporated upon reading about the archangel’s true form manifesting in the human realm. "Impossible! No whispers of this reached the twilight courts!"
"Both mortal and hellish realms remain oblivious." Lance massaged his temples, envisioning Hein’s recklessness. "This demands council deliberation. Hell must be notified."
"An archangel…" The mage’s murmur trailed into grim realization. Their factions lacked any equivalent power.
"I’ll convene the conclave." Shiviel snatched the letter, silver hair crackling with urgency. "Warn that hotheaded warlock to maintain cover until we strategize."
—Among the dark council’s seven leaders, only Shiviel Silver dared address Atalans with such informality.
Hell’s Obsidian Throne
"Your Majesty," Mammon’s gravelly voice echoed through the sulfurous chamber. "Since Heaven deployed Michael to Blue Star, should we not counter with our own envoy?"
The Demon King’s crimson gaze swept across his assembled lieutenants. Within the regal shell, Ye Linlang’s consciousness calculated risks—playing both creator goddess and hellish monarch required meticulous balance. Maintaining these divine facades prevented challengers from any realm, though the mental strain rivaled juggling live magma.
His jeweled claws drummed the obsidian armrest. The swift intelligence gathering pleased him; every chess piece moved according to design. Sending Michael ahead served multiple purposes—the Holy See’s Son alone couldn’t stabilize Blue Star’s western conflicts.
"Propose candidates." The Demon King’s voice dripped with dark honey.
"Beelzebub volunteers!" The Lord of Flies stepped forward, ichor dripping from his mandibles. "Let me feast upon their fragile—"
"Folly." The monarch’s chuckle froze the chamber. "You imagine Michael wields full power in the human realm?"
Ye Linlang’s hidden smile sharpened. Her creations’ "sealed" strength was mere theater—whether angels, demons, or abyssal creatures, their cultivation stemmed from Fantasy Points and her divine will. Mortals perceived power hierarchies, never guessing their reality was shaped by collective belief.
Let them debate. When enough souls accepted her constructed reality, even illusory boundaries would solidify into unbreakable laws.
