Chapter 60: Vengeance
Angels are a race that places great importance on ritual and ceremony.
They treat every memorable occasion with solemnity, even while dwelling within the pitch-black depths of Purgatory.
No sooner had their King ascended the throne than they were eager to construct a palace for him.
The project's overseer was a gnome named Painom. After Lucifer claimed the title of King, he appointed Beelzebub as the Prime Minister of Hell; Beelzebub, in turn, designated Painom—a gnome gifted in the art of smithing—to design the Demon King's palace. Their ambition was to establish a grand palatial complex in Hell, much like those found in Heaven.
It was a monumental undertaking. They razed every fortress left behind by the King-level demons, then shoved the resulting rubble and debris into the molten lava, where it was completely incinerated.
Painom moved nimbly among the Fallen Angels, his steps light and swift as the wind. He directed the Fallen Angels to stockpile all the necessary raw materials in a designated area.
To construct a palace in Hell—one of unprecedented magnificence—would be an achievement far greater than a lifetime spent forging weapons within the confines of a rocky cavern.
Every Fallen Angel proved to be a capable stonemason. They gathered a wealth of shimmering ores and discovered various species of infernal flora growing near Hell's subterranean rivers. Rooted in the dark soil and deprived of sunlight, these plants possessed a deadly allure all their own.
The Fallen Angels deftly hacked away the plants' thrashing vines and venomous thorns, then selected the specimens best suited for structural support.
They mobilized en masse, a formidable force moving with great momentum, and completed all the preparatory work in less than half a day.
The quarried stone blocks lay stacked at the construction site, awaiting assembly; yet, the actual construction proceeded at an unexpectedly sluggish pace.
There was, after all, a good reason why the King-level demons had lived exclusively in rocky caverns for so many eons: ordinary stone simply could not stand firm amidst the fractured fissures of the infernal terrain.
Reinforcing the structures with magic was a simple enough solution; however, there was a catch—should the enchantments ever fail, the palace would vanish like a bubble, sinking deep into the earth's core without leaving a single trace behind.
Naturally, it was unthinkable to house the Demon King in such a precarious palace. Painom, having attempted several different methods only to find the problem still unresolved, was utterly at a loss. His initial enthusiasm had completely evaporated when, suddenly, a soft, gentle voice drifted from behind him and posed a question. "Little dwarf, what is troubling you?"
Pynom turned his head; standing behind him was a dazzlingly beautiful woman—a truly striking sight.
"Who are you?" Pynom asked, dumbfounded.
"I am the Fallen Angel Lilith." Her breath was warm against his ear; speaking with a solicitude that suggested she wished to share his burden, she said, "If these stones are the source of your troubles, why not ask the demons?"
"After all, no one has more experience building structures in Hell than they do."
Following Lilith's pointed gaze, Pynom looked toward the distance. The comings and goings of the Fallen Angels had attracted the attention of many banished demons; they lurked in the shadows, watching the host of angels with eager, longing eyes.
"That is impossible," Pynom replied. "They have already been banished by His Majesty."
"How can you know for sure unless you ask?"
With effortless ease, Lilith extracted from Pynom the current whereabouts of the Fallen Angels' leadership.
Inside the dark stone fortress, the Fallen Angels were holding their very first council.
Lucifer sat at the head of the assembly and issued his first decree.
It was vengeance.
As Lucifer spoke these words to the Fallen Angels gathered before him, a glint of ruthless malice flashed within his blood-red eyes.
"Your Majesty," Beelzebub—seated in the place of honor just below the throne—spoke up, "the words of demons are not always to be trusted. Heaven is under strict lockdown; I have heard that ever since God..."
He paused, reluctant to accord Him the same reverence he once had, yet unsure how else to address Him. However, seeing that everyone was waiting for him to continue, he lowered his voice and went on:
"Ever since *that One* purged Heaven entirely, no demon has been able to enter it again."
"If that is the case, then how could they possibly have obtained any intelligence regarding Heaven?"
"Speak His name, Beelzebub."
The newly crowned King of the Fallen Angels wore a faintly mocking smile. He gazed down at his followers gathered beneath the throne; they looked back at him, listening as if to the voice of the Divine itself. "That name ought not to be uttered by the tongues of mortals."
"But would calling his name not draw his attention upon us...?" Asmodeus asked hesitantly.
"Jehovah!" Lucifer cried out loudly from their midst. His voice rose and fell with such dramatic cadence—brimming with such raw emotion—that the fallen angels gathered there were startled into silence. They cast anxious glances upward and all around them, half-expecting a blinding surge of Holy Light to burst forth from some unseen quarter.
Lucifer scoffed at them, likening them to startled birds. Then, composing his features, he repeated the name twice more before fixing them with a cold, piercing stare.
"I have uttered his name so many times now; yet, have any of you witnessed a single noble glance cast down upon us by that lofty Creator from the Heavens?"
"He would deem even a fleeting glimpse of Hell an affront that sullied his divine eyes!" he declared, his voice seething with indignation.
The fallen angels fell silent, waiting patiently for Lucifer's sudden outburst of rage to subside.
Before long, Lucifer regained his composure. He pressed a hand against his forehead; the expression in his one unshielded eye appeared lucid and clear, and his demeanor reverted to its former, gentle affability.
"I am well aware that the words of demons are not to be trusted."
"But what does that matter?" He lowered his hand, tapping his fingers lightly against the smooth, black marble surface of the table.
"I understand your meaning; I recognize your hesitation and your fear."
"Yet you must remember this: Jehovah did not confine us within the depths of Hell merely so that we might live out our days here in carefree ease."
Three months ago, Lucifer had sought nothing more. Now, however, the mere dominion over Hell was no longer enough to satisfy him.
He would prove to that Supreme Sovereign that, even stripped of the glory of Heaven, he could still forge a glory entirely his own.
Did He imagine He could break their will by exiling them to the Abyss?
Then Lucifer would do precisely the opposite of what He intended!
"His Majesty speaks the truth! If we are to truly attain freedom, we must first break free from His control!" Samael declared, voicing his full support for Lucifer's resolution. They must exact their vengeance—upon Heaven, and upon mankind.
"But how are we to escape?" Beelzebub asked, posing the crucial question. Hell is the prison God designed for the demons—a place from which they can never escape.
They are now a fallen race, in essence indistinguishable from true demons; the gates of Light have closed to them, and it is no longer possible for them to traverse in and out of Hell as they once did.
The atmosphere grew stiff and tense, until a voice drifted in from the distance, drawing ever closer:
"I can help you."
Samael shot up from his seat, glaring at the uninvited female Fallen Angel.
"Lilith! What are you doing here?"
Lilith had previously defected to the demons; now that the demons had fallen from power, she had come running here offering her "help." Samael found this opportunistic show of allegiance utterly repulsive.
"Naturally, I have come to see His Majesty." Lilith merely cast a fleeting glance at the bristling Samael before losing all interest in speaking with him.
A master at displaying her succubus allure, she curtsied deeply before Lucifer—a gesture executed with exquisite grace and seductive charm.
It was as if, through that single bow, she sought to wipe the slate clean and bury all past grievances between them.
Lucifer regarded her with a heavy, contemplative gaze. As a Fallen Angel, Lilith had committed no specific transgression; indeed, having witnessed all that had transpired, Lucifer even felt a certain measure of admiration for her.
She was far more astute than the vast majority of Fallen Angels—far more adept at the art of self-preservation.
Yet, admiration aside, he felt not a shred of genuine pleasure at her presence.
Thus, Lucifer accepted her bow but offered no words in return, simply waiting for her to state her purpose.
"Lilith offers her congratulations on your ascension as the King of Hell. This is a moment of rejoicing for all Fallen Angels; whether in the past or in the present, you have never once disappointed us."
"Enough with the drivel!" Beelzebub interjected gruffly. "Just tell us: what is it you want?"
"I have come to pledge the allegiance of all demons to you."
"Hah!" Beelzebub scoffed in disbelief. "Demons? Are you referring to those vermin we've cornered and trampled underfoot?"
His words were undeniably abrasive; Lilith, therefore, chose to ignore him entirely, directing her attention and conversation solely toward Lucifer. "The demons of Hell number in the tens of millions—a multitude far exceeding that of the Fallen Angels. Even if we were to drive them off for the moment, it would hardly be a sustainable long-term strategy."
"Surely, with your wisdom, you recognize the truth in my words."
"Only by accepting the demons' allegiance and becoming their chieftain can you rightfully and legitimately assume command over the entirety of Hell."
She earnestly endeavored to persuade the King of the Fallen Angels: "The demons have dwelt in Hell for countless millennia; the benefits of cooperating with them far outweigh the costs of standing against them!"
Lucifer offered no definitive response; he listened with an air of detached indifference. Seeing his reaction, Lilith found herself at a loss as to how to proceed with her persuasion.
Left with no other recourse, she decided to play her trump card once more.
"Are you not currently vexed by the problem of how to escape Hell? The demon Vassago possesses a passage leading to the mortal realm—a route known only to the demons themselves..."
Lilith had barely finished speaking when Samael suddenly sprang to his feet.
"Your Majesty! I shall go capture a demon and bring him back this instant!"
Why waste one's breath when a matter can be resolved through brute force?
Samael, harboring no fondness for demons, was itching for action; he needed only a single command from Lucifer to take flight and strike.
Lilith's expression visibly darkened. She cast a strained glance toward Lucifer; as far as she knew, the Seraphim were a cold, unyielding, and stubbornly straightforward lot.
She could only pray that Lucifer would not prove equally pigheaded.
Why resort to brandishing swords and blades when a matter can be settled with mere words?
"No," Lucifer finally spoke. Much to Lilith's surprise, he stayed Samael's hand—though he offered no direct affirmation of her own proposal either.
"To rely on the demons' opportunistic trickery to effect our escape would be laughable," he declared, his profound gaze fixed upon the distant horizon.
"We shall make our exit through *that* great gate—and no other way."
Instantly, every eye in the room widened in sheer astonishment.
"That's impossible!" Lilith blurted out. However, upon receiving a fleeting, sidelong glance from Lucifer, her mouth snapped shut of its own accord.
When the Demon King has made a decision, one has only to listen and obey; your opinions are not among the factors taken into consideration. Lucifer's demeanor made Lilith shudder; yet, at the same time, it set her heart racing.
This innate imperiousness—bolstered by a formidable power sufficient to uphold it—endowed him with a bewitching charisma, a magnetic allure that suggested: "Whatever he says is right."
No one could refuse such a Lucifer—save for God Himself.
God listens to the voices of all creation, though He does not necessarily respond to every plea; yet, the invocation of His Name is a different matter entirely.
The very first time Lucifer called upon His Name, those golden eyes turned their gaze toward Hell.
But seeing that Lucifer was merely calling out, and that nothing else transpired, God turned His attention away once more.
In the mortal realm, Adam and Eve were adapting quite well. They had already begotten Cain—their firstborn son, conceived in the wake of their transgression with the forbidden fruit—and soon their second son was born, followed in turn by their eldest and second daughters.
It was a cycle of birth almost every year—a reproductive vigor surpassing even that of certain perennial plants.
God watched their family frolic across the vast wilderness, all the while instructing Gabriel to have the lower orders of Heaven intensify their vigilance over the mortal realm.
Between Hell and the mortal realm stood a massive gate.
For God had expressly forbidden demons from setting foot in the mortal world; thus, He established the Nine Gates of Hell at this threshold. Ever faithful to the Divine Decree, the Gates remained steadfastly shut, never once parting their portals.
Lucifer declined Asmodeus's offer of escort. Under the watchful eyes of the other Fallen Angels, he strode toward the Gates of Hell; yet, before he could even draw near, he sensed a palpable will of rejection emanating from within.
God had erected the Gates of Hell—and for countless millennia, no living soul had ever managed to pass through them to the other side.
No matter who approached, they would inevitably become lost within the world that lay beyond the Gates.
He gazed upon the Gate, its surface a tapestry of undulating, interwoven bas-reliefs. One could not discern what thoughts occupied its Creator's mind during its making—whether He, too, had labored as Lucifer was doing now: scrutinizing every single line, inch by inch, pondering the hidden meanings each stroke might harbor, as He painstakingly chiseled its intricate patterns into existence.
The dim, flickering fires of Hell cast a shifting, intricate interplay of shadows across Lucifer's face, lending him an air of inexplicable gloom and dread. An aura of terror—a horror defying all verbal description—radiated from his very being, establishing a profound connection with the Gates themselves. Thick fog seeped through the cracks of the gate—much like a demon swallowing anyone who dared attempt an exit—and within it, Lucifer's figure vanished. When the mist finally dissipated, the Fallen Angels—who had been ordered to wait at their posts—rushed forward to look, only to find that nothing remained.
"Your Majesty?" they called out in bewilderment.
"He must have been devoured by this gate!" Beelzebub declared grimly.
"Then what are we to do?"
"Dig through it!"
The Fallen Angels sprang into action, preparing to tunnel upward from beneath the gate to force a passage through. The Gate of Hell stood motionless, seemingly casting a silent, mocking gaze upon this band of fanciful angels.
Enveloped by the dense fog, Lucifer suddenly found himself thrust into the heart of a raging storm.
He paused for but a single instant—long enough for the tempestuous winds of that place to carve a gash across his face.
Dark blood welled forth, only to be greedily lapped up by the surrounding forces.
This place was nothing but a maelstrom of wild, chaotic power.
Though God took no pleasure in bloodshed, He had nonetheless left a slender thread of survival for those who defied His decree and entered the Gate of Hell.
Turn back now, and one might yet live.
Lucifer sneered at this act of "mercy." The demons had assumed God sought to bar their path to the mortal realm; yet, given the sheer ferocity of the dark energies here, was it not the demons themselves who were, in fact, being protected?
Much like taming a wild beast, Lucifer allowed the darkness to greedily devour him.
He fed it with his very life force; indeed, even as it completely engulfed him, he intensified the outpouring of his own power—releasing it at a rate faster than the darkness could consume him.
Through this act of total, unsparing self-expenditure, he managed to carve out a momentary respite—a small pocket of safety that saved him from being instantly swallowed whole by this insatiable entity.
During his descent into the abyss, through a silent dialogue with his own soul, the darkness had conveyed its will to him.
Although it had yet to coalesce into a conscious entity, it never ceased in its relentless drive to expand its dominion.
And though Lucifer did not immediately choose to cast himself into the embrace of the darkness, he had nonetheless come to a profound realization: Light and Darkness—the two fundamental particles that permeated the entire cosmos—were omnipresent; they had existed since the very dawn of creation. They, too, once yearned for God's mercy, yet they were displeasing to the Creator.
In essence, there is no distinction between Light and Darkness; it is solely due to God's partiality that Light reigns supreme while Darkness lies beneath.
"Why has Jehovah cast you aside?"
It was as if he were speaking to himself, or perhaps addressing the void; he gazed around him, his focus absolute.
"Because within you surges an endless tide of desire."
A force of even greater ferocity surged toward him; a lesser demon would have been torn to shreds in an instant, yet Lucifer stood amidst it all, utterly unperturbed.
The forces of sin swirled together in a chaotic mass—entwined yet mutually defiant—roaring and raging as they swept through the air.
These negative energies, rejected by the Creator, had accumulated ten thousand years' worth of resentment.
He saw through them; he laid bare their true nature.
"Pride: a heart devoid of reverence, allowing wild ambition to run rampant."
"Envy: a constant sense of injustice, breeding capricious resentment and jealousy."
"Wrath: to be held captive by violent emotions."
"Sloth: a total lack of responsibility, squandering time in avoidance."
"Greed and Gluttony: avarice that amplifies sin—excessive indulgence leading to a mindless descent into ruin."
"Lust: the pursuit of carnal gratification above the fulfillment of the soul."
Sentence by sentence, he articulated the truths he had learned during his time as the Archangel of the Seraphim—the very traits God found abhorrent—and with every word, he struck directly at the very spine of Darkness.
The power attempting to consume him seemed to seethe with indignant rage; in a fit of fury, it transformed into seven swirling black holes, hovering menacingly above Lucifer's head.
"But that is merely *his* definition of 'right.'" From the fingertips of the King of the Fallen Angels, wisps of black smoke curled forth, forming a chain that bound the seven black holes together.
"What sin lies in Pride?"
"What sin lies in Envy?" He tightened his grip, little by little, engaging in a final, decisive struggle against the force.
"Only the soulless—the walking dead—can exist without distraction. If one possesses a heart, perfection is impossible! And how much more so is a perfection that is *forced* upon you?"
The power of Darkness writhed within his grasp—seeming, at once, to rejoice and to suffer. "If he alone in this world embodies goodness, then I shall become the sole embodiment of evil."
"Light possesses the Seven Virtues; Darkness, the Seven Deadly Sins."
"Whatever serves my purpose—that is the true path!" As he spoke, he absorbed the entirety of the power of darkness.
Because he had assimilated the power of darkness, Hell itself pledged its absolute allegiance to him as its master.
In that moment, he distinctly perceived the transformation taking place within him—a mystical sensation, as if he had become one with Hell itself, that was simply impossible to ignore.
It was as if the things he had once held dear had suddenly become utterly insignificant—and not merely insignificant, but laughable.
Amidst the wailing of Hell...