Chapter 66: The Council
To prevent the Four Great Demon Kings from staging a comeback, before Lucifer departed from Hell, Samael voluntarily offered to guard the borders.
Although no one had voiced any objections yet, it remained an undeniable fact that he—while disguised as a Throne Angel—had once deliberately stoked internal discord among the angelic ranks. He knew deep down that, compared to Beelzebub and Asmodeus, he did not enjoy the full trust of the King of the Fallen Angels; fortunately, however, Lucifer currently possessed far too few capable generals at his disposal.
Using his spear to impale a demon and hurl it high into the air, Samael cast a cold, piercing gaze upon the wretched creatures scrambling desperately to flee.
No one loathed demons more than he did.
The defeat he had suffered years ago at the hands of Samigina still haunted him with a sense of deep humiliation. Old grudges and fresh grievances burned fiercely within his heart; his inescapable serpent's tail—a constant, shadow-like companion—felt like a living nightmare. Within the span of just a few days, his fearsome reputation had already spread far and wide throughout the demonic realm.
The mere mention of Samael's name sent demons scattering in every direction, yet they could never escape their ultimate fate: slaughter.
It was nowhere near enough! He had not killed nearly enough!
His crimson eyes blazed with a fanatical fire, threatening to incinerate everything in its path. Belial, a Fallen Angel guarding their home alongside Samael, watched as a defensive operation gradually escalated into a full-blown campaign of conquest; inwardly, he felt deeply conflicted.
It was not that he felt any pity for the demons, but rather that he feared such indiscriminate slaughter might destabilize a situation that had only just begun to settle.
After all, demons were not fools; they would not simply stand idly by and allow themselves to be butchered at will.
They had always been creatures of pure opportunism—bullying the weak while cowering before the strong—and it was precisely this trait that had allowed them to be so easily expelled in the first place.
But if they were to discover that yielding brought them no peace, who could possibly predict what twisted actions these cunning fiends might take?
He dispatched a report detailing the situation back to headquarters; however, with the sudden disappearance of His Majesty's whereabouts, the Prime Minister—Beelzebub—was too preoccupied to attend to the matter, simply instructing Belial to handle it as he saw fit.
*How* was he supposed to handle it?!
As a former Throne Angel and one of Samael's original subordinates, Belial understood his former commander all too well. Charging headlong into the thick of the demonic horde, Samael appeared no different than he ever had.
But in reality?
In the past, his rigid righteousness had seemed merely foolish; now, however, his newfound capacity for thought had rendered him—ironically—overly sensitive.
Only one thing remained unchanged: his refusal to heed any counsel.
The outcome came as no surprise to Belial; under such intense pressure, the demonic legions—previously as scattered and loose as grains of sand—had once again coalesced into a unified force.
Even the mechanical demons, long since vanished into obscurity, had reappeared. A black lion with a sleek, glossy coat stood at the vanguard of the demonic host—its limbs powerful, its mane magnificent, and its bearing nothing short of extraordinary.
"Go back to your own domain, Angels," the lion roared, its voice booming like a great bell as it scraped a foreclaw across the ground, gouging a long furrow into the earth.
"God created seventy-two of us Demon Gods; the so-called 'Four Great Demon Kings' are merely those among us who happen to be exceptionally rebellious and belligerent," the lion continued.
"If you believe that demons are such easy prey, then you are sorely mistaken."
Samael's actions had ignited a spark of resistance within the demonic ranks. Ancient demons—who had withdrawn from the world in seclusion during the dawn of creation, weary of endless slaughter—now signaled their intent to emerge once more. Agares was overjoyed; such an opportunity was rare indeed. If they could defeat the Fallen Angels this time, then even if Lucifer possessed power that reached the very heavens, he would be powerless to salvage the situation.
Regardless of who won or lost, the morale of the Fallen Angels would be shattered, and they would never again be able to maintain their dominance over the demons. Having grasped the entire strategic landscape with perfect clarity, Agares could no longer contain his impatience.
Casting aside his usual air of weary decrepitude, he stepped out from behind the lion with renewed vigor and high spirits, addressing Samael from the front lines:
"Lord Marbas speaks the truth. Samael, you have grievously wounded many of my kin; today, we shall surely claim your life!"
Faced with the teeming, swarming mass of the demonic army, Belial could not help but turn his gaze toward Samael.
"Your Highness, what are we to do now?" he asked, so flustered that he reverted to using his old, formal title. Samael, however, remained perfectly calm. This battle was fraught with peril—yet was it not also the perfect opportunity to purge the demonic scourge once and for all? Clutching the weapon in his hand, devoid of even a shred of fear in his heart, he sneered as he retorted to Agares.
"I'll be waiting, old demon—let's see who takes whose life!"
War hung on the very brink of eruption. At this critical juncture, the Fallen Angel Moloch descended from the heavens; his black wings spread wide, forming a barrier between the two opposing armies. He loudly proclaimed Lucifer's decree, ordering Samael to return immediately.
"Your Majesty?" Upon hearing Moloch's words, Samael was struck with disbelief; he lowered his voice and asked again:
"Is this truly His Majesty's decree? Has he returned?"
Moloch nodded in confirmation, then turned his gaze toward the demonic legion, which had erupted into an uproar at the mention of Lucifer. He raised his voice and declared:
"By His Majesty's benevolence—and in recognition of the hardships the demons have endured—he has now restored to you several of your former demonic cities and granted you permission to reclaim your ancient royal titles, desiring only to put an end to this conflict." As he spoke these words, he did not fail to notice the glint of shifting malice in the eyes of the majority of the demons present. His expression instantly turned cold, and simultaneously, a deep crimson Spider Lily materialized in his hand.
It was a gift Lucifer had entrusted to him.
Moloch spread his palm; the Spider Lily, as if possessed of a will of its own, swiftly took flight from his hand.
Under the gaze of countless eyes, it ascended into the air, then burst forth with a torrent of blazing demonic energy.
A thick, fog-like miasma of demonic energy instantly engulfed the entire area, seeping into the eyes, ears, noses, and mouths of the demons who had been shouting the loudest.
Clutching their heads in agony, they screamed in torment before quickly dissolving into pools of dark, viscous fluid.
The scene fell into a deathly silence in the wake of this gruesome spectacle; no demon dared to utter another loud sound.
Moloch, too, was shaken by the scene unfolding before him—particularly as he recalled the moment Lucifer had given him his instructions just before his departure.
"If they prove insolent, use this; I imagine it will make them compliant enough."
As the black-haired King of the Fallen Angels had spoken those words, a gentle, affectionate smile had lingered upon his lips.
Suppressing the tremor that ran through his heart, he cast a cold, steely gaze upon the assembly of demons. "You insisted on this course; this is the consequence."
Lucifer was not Luciferiel.
In that moment, both demons and Fallen Angels alike realized this with absolute clarity.
Regardless of their private sentiments, upon hearing Lucifer's command, Samael had no choice but to reluctantly order his troops to withdraw, subsequently following Moloch deeper into the interior.
Throughout the journey, his expression remained grim, and his presence exuded an intimidating aura.
If Lucifer possessed such formidable power, why did he not simply wipe out the demons once and for all?
Instead, he chose to return the very demonic strongholds they had already conquered—as if the demons would be moved to tears of gratitude for such a gesture!
Although that was indeed the reality of the situation—for after such a stunning display of force, who would dare utter another word of dissent?
Yet, the mere thought of it only fueled his anger further.
He felt trapped in a vicious, self-perpetuating cycle; the expression on his face grew increasingly terrifying until he finally passed through the Gates of Hell and arrived in the shadowy realm where Lucifer resided.
*This place is truly strange,* he thought to himself; then, upon catching sight of a palace floating suspended in mid-air, all other thoughts vanished from his mind.
He knew that Lucifer was inside that very palace.
Lucifer was listening with rapt attention as Beelzebub and the others reported on the events that had transpired in Hell during his absence.
"When all is said and done, they merely seek a patch of land to call their own—a request that is hardly unreasonable, considering this was originally their home. Furthermore, they have all assured me of their willingness to pledge their service to you."
He appeared to be listening intently; yet, aside from his initial instruction to the Fallen Angel Moloch—dispatched to deliver a message regarding Samael's movements—he had not uttered a single word since.
This left Asmodeus, who had been acting as an advocate for the demons, feeling deeply apprehensive.
What did this silence signify?
Did it imply approval, or disapproval?
He racked his brains in agonizing uncertainty: if Lucifer were truly opposed to the idea, what did it matter if a host of old friends pleaded on their behalf?
And yet... His Highness did not appear to be opposed, either.
"Do you intend to become the next Lilith?" Seeing Asmodeus's state of agitation, Beelzebub decided to playfully banter with him—a subtle attempt to help alleviate his tension. Asmodeus received a response; even if it wasn't from the specific person he had hoped for, he still felt a sense of relief.
"Because even the demons know that only Your Highness can lead them to a higher, better station," he said, laying on the flattery.
"Your Majesty!"
Samael strode in hurriedly, his black robes billowing as if carried by the wind; Asmodeus felt a mere blur before his eyes, and suddenly Samael had rushed right up to stand before Lucifer.
He spoke as if through gritted teeth: "Why did you stop me from wiping out those demons?"
"They are a horde of mindless monsters; excessive leniency will only encourage them to encroach upon our domain time and again!"
Lucifer remained silent, appearing to be deep in contemplation.
"I, however, feel there is no need to concern ourselves with them," Asmodeus interjected. "They are ancient demons, dating back to the very Creation; they are by no means foolish. When it comes to assessing the situation and knowing their place, none are more adept than they. I guarantee they would not dare to encroach."
"How can you be certain that hatred won't drive them to do something reckless?"
Hearing Asmodeus voice an opinion contrary to his own, Samael could not help but retort.
"By then, it will be too late!"
"The rule of Hell is that the strong reign supreme. No matter how much they hate it, they can only grit their teeth and accept it," Beelzebub spoke up on Asmodeus's behalf, seeing that the latter had been momentarily stumped. "In fact, it is *your* approach that is more likely to backfire."
Each side held firmly to their own views, but ultimately, Samael—one voice against two—was outtalked and forced to concede defeat.
He braced his hands against the surface of the table, looking down from above at the seated Lucifer.
"Watch your insolence, Samael!" Beelzebub stepped forward, intending to pull him away.
Only as he drew near did he realize that Samael was pressing down with such force that his arms appeared to be trembling.
"I know you have no need of it," Samael said.
He paused, realizing only belatedly that this Fallen Angel—who typically projected the image of a hardened warrior—was, in fact, pleading. "But I need this."
"Allow me to clear away the obstacles standing in the way of your rule over Hell."
Casting aside his so-called dignity—and purging every trace of struggle and conflict from his eyes—he spoke aloud:
"Please grant me this opportunity to prove myself."
Lucifer raised his head, his gaze shifting from Samael's face down to his arms.
"You are wounded, Samael."
A faint, dark glow of magic ignited in his hands as a healing spell enveloped Samael's arms.
"You seem to be constantly getting injured."
Lucifer remarked with a smile; he appeared entirely unmoved by Samael's impassioned plea, yet it was Samael who felt a sudden sense of bewilderment.
*Yes... he is always getting hurt, and every time he is healed, it is by the very being standing before me right now...*
"Your Majesty," he murmured, a faint pang of bitterness rising in his heart.
"I am sorry," he said, though he could not quite articulate what exactly he was apologizing for.
Was it for inciting discord among the angels? Or for his own excessive eagerness to claim glory, which had led him to disregard the greater good?
Or perhaps, it was for both.
Lucifer swiftly healed Samael's arms before finally speaking again.
"The ranks of demons are vast; to squander our energy on such matters would be foolish."
With that simple statement, he put an end to their bickering, only to pivot to a completely unrelated topic.
"I have summoned you all here for one purpose alone."
He proceeded to recount his discovery of a dark power within the Gates of Hell—a power he had subsequently divided into seven distinct forces.
As the fallen angels listened to his description, they instinctively straightened their postures.
"I have named them the 'Seven Deadly Sins,' and it is my intention that each of you seated here shall take dominion over one of them."
"But why call them the 'Seven Deadly Sins'?" Asmodeus asked with a rather dim-witted air.
"You fool!" Beelzebub rapped him on the head.
"Why, naturally, it is meant to be the exact opposite of the 'Seven Heavenly Virtues'!" He cast a fleeting glance upward, echoing the very words Lucifer himself had once spoken:
"Whatever *he* demands, we shall do the exact opposite."
Lucifer smiled faintly but offered no verbal response. His resolve to stand in opposition to Heaven remained unshaken; yet, his recent journey had undeniably changed him in profound ways. "Wrath"—a streak of yellow light surged forth from his hand, sinking deep into Samael's body.
"Gluttony"—a blue light flickered in and out of existence as Beelzebub calmly accepted this power.
"Lust"—an azure bolt of lightning pierced into Asmodeus's forehead. In that instant, they immediately felt themselves ascend; this immense power granted them sensations they had never experienced before.
Beelzebub closed his eyes, attempting to sense this unfamiliar force. It differed vastly from the power of Fallen Angels they had grown accustomed to—a power that, though a reversal of angelic grace, was fundamentally still born of their former selves. This newfound power, however, carried with it a wildness that had never been tamed—so vast, so surging, that the moment it entered their bodies, they instantly perceived the difference.
It could not be suppressed; it could not be controlled. A sense of unbridled, wanton freedom threatened to spill forth from within them.
Accompanied by an unprecedented greed, he felt his already insatiable appetite grow even emptier. A desire to devour the very heavens and earth swept over everything; he opened his eyes and looked at his companions.
Like him, their eyes glowed with a crimson light—a clear sign that their wills had been completely consumed.
But what did it matter?
They were no longer angels; the constraints of virtue were, in themselves, nothing more than a joke.
Lucifer's face remained shrouded in darkness. He had claimed only "Pride"—just as God had once stamped His seal upon him—and now he watched in silence as his companions gradually transformed.
The Fallen Angels believed he sought merely to defy God, yet they remained oblivious to the far-reaching plans he had conceived from that very moment onward.
Sin was meant for humanity.
Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Greed, Gluttony, and Lust.
The Seven Deadly Sins were led by Pride, for he was their King—the master of all the forces of darkness.
"Your Majesty." Asmodeus swept back his long hair and executed an elegant bow before Lucifer, his eyes gleaming with a restless, eager light.
The other Sins did not grasp his intent, but Lucifer—accurately receiving the unspoken cue—made no move. "Allowing sin to rule over oneself is foolish, As," he remarked coolly.
Desire is not shameful; chastity, on the other hand, is laughable.
He was not averse to engaging in a bit of 'intimacy,' but at the moment, he simply wasn't interested.
So—when *would* he be in the mood?
Suddenly, the image of that supremely holy and pure figure—residing high above in the clouds—flashed through his mind; the fingers he had been unconsciously tapping paused ever so slightly.
The movement was minute—too subtle for anyone else to notice.
"Fine," Asmodeus said, looking thoroughly disappointed. He turned back to his seat, sulking a little like a petulant child.
Beelzebub watched his antics with amusement; his mind worked fast, and he quickly grasped the silent game of riddles the other two had just been playing.
On one hand, he found Asmodeus endearingly guileless—someone who, the moment desire struck, immediately sought to act upon it. On the other hand, he 'admired' his audacity—the sheer nerve to actually set his sights on *His Majesty*.
"Don't you feel any shame?" he teased.
"Of the Seven Deadly Sins, you're the one who drew the specific portfolio of 'Lust.'" As the embodiment of Gluttony himself, Beelzebub certainly held no disdain for carnal pleasures.
Whether it was an appetite for food or an appetite for sex—ultimately, they were both forms of desire. Yet, conventionally speaking, an appetite for food always sounded a bit more palatable than an appetite for sex.
"It just goes to show what kind of 'virtue' His Majesty sees in you on a daily basis," he chuckled.
"And since when do *we* bother with 'virtue'? Clearly, your brain has gone soft from soaking in that pool water—His Majesty really ought to wash it out for you using the River Lethe!"
Asmodeus rolled his eyes at him. He was already in a foul mood, and here was Beelzebub practically begging to get snapped at.
And just listen to the nonsense he was spouting!
What if His Majesty actually thought *he* was the one feeling dissatisfied? That simply wouldn't do; he needed to make a proper demonstration of his true sentiments.
Hold a grudge?
Perish the thought! The Sin of Lust cares only for beauty; and when faced with His Majesty—the most beautiful being among them all—he couldn't fawn over him fast enough!
His eyes darted to the side, his expression shifting to one of rakish charm as he cast a seductive wink in Lucifer's direction. "Only Your Majesty truly understands me! When it comes to the lust for beauty, who among you could possibly rival me?"
Whatever makes you happy.
Lucifer cast a glance at him—his expression utterly indifferent, betraying no reaction whatsoever.
Catching Lucifer's gaze, Asmodeus took it as a sign of approval; his mood visibly brightened.
He grew even more smug. Beelzebub, wearing an expression of sheer gastric distress, ceased his idle banter with Asmodeus and turned his attention toward Lucifer instead.
Now that he had fully absorbed this power, he gained an even more profound sense of the unfathomable depths of Lucifer's being.
A mere one-seventh of his power was enough to bring about a complete metamorphosis in them.
In that case, to what staggering heights of strength must His Majesty—who has communed directly with the primordial essence of Darkness—have ascended?
He could never hope to fathom Luci...