Chapter 81: Divine Arrival
It is unclear when it began, but the moon in the mortal realm underwent a change.
Once a month, without fail, the silvery moon would take on a crimson hue; and on those nights when the red moon hung high in the sky, the darkness of the night would be deeper and more profound than usual.
Red and black—they have always been the perfect partners.
In a place where no light could penetrate, a biting cold seemed to seep deep into the very marrow of one's bones.
The young girl's limbs were bound by red cords; rendered voiceless, she could only huddle in the darkness, her eyes wide with terror. After a frantic, aimless struggle to break free, she could no longer even tell if she had managed to reach a corner that offered even the slightest sense of safety.
Tears dampened her eyelashes, only to freeze upon them into frost. She exhaled in great, gasping breaths, hoping to generate some warmth—but it was in vain.
She dared not make a sound; whether weeping or begging for mercy, she knew that in this place, she would find no pity.
Suddenly, a faint glimmer of light pierced the void of her vision. The girl flinched; a terror rising from the very depths of her soul made her feel as though she were plummeting into an abyss.
It was not the light of hope; it was the crimson gaze of a slaughterer.
Was it finally her turn?
So afraid... so terribly afraid...
"It is the 24th, yet this month's blood moon seems somewhat paler than usual."
A deeply resonant, magnetic male voice rang out, voicing its dissatisfaction with the natural lunar cycle as Cain casually set a pine bough aside.
He appeared not to notice the young girl cowering at his feet; instead, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed with intense concentration.
Six hundred years had drifted by, yet the passage of time had left not a single trace upon his face. He remained as tall and handsome as the young man in his early twenties he had been all those centuries ago.
Save for those eyes—eyes of such bewitching allure that they seemed to belong to no human being. Reflected within their depths was a long, elongated object of indeterminate nature; it was encrusted with layers of brown grime that, at the slightest touch, would crumble and rain down—decaying matter, reeking of damp earth and rot—landing upon the girl's face and nearly causing her to swoon from sheer horror.
"Yavan," he called out softly. "It's time to change the dressing."
No one in the darkness answered his words, yet he carried on as if conversing with another person; listening to him, the young girl trembled ever more violently.
Dark-brown strips of cloth unraveled from his hands—coil after coil, layer upon layer—until the two-finger-wide strips soon piled up into a small mound before the girl. She could not see it, yet she could distinctly feel the unique texture of the fabric.
Bewildered, she lifted her head—only to be assaulted by an odor a thousand times more potent than before.
The ghastly stench—a putrid blend of decay and blood—was utterly nauseating; yet the man looming above seemed utterly oblivious to it. He reached for a fresh roll of pristine white wool cloth.
She could not tell what he was doing; she heard only a soft rustling—the sound of fabric rubbing against human flesh.
She let out a choked sob, then felt something—colder even than the air itself—draw near.
"Hush," the man whispered gently, his lips brushing against her ear. "Good girl... don't cry."
"She simply couldn't stand the sound of a child crying."
After a muffled grunt, no other breath could be heard within the darkness. Cain retrieved a pine bough and secured it firmly in place overhead.
Soon, fresh blood began to trickle down through the pine bough, soaking into the white cloth below. He took a deep, lingering breath; the fragrance that wafted through his nostrils—that peculiar blend of bitterness and sweetness, reminiscent of almonds—left him utterly entranced.
At that moment, a figure dressed as a servant entered the darkened chamber.
"Lord Cain, I have carried out your orders: the intruders have been driven into the labyrinth. I doubt they will find a way out."
He gave a noncommittal hum of acknowledgment, his patience undiminished as he continued to pour the thick, viscous blood over the pine bough.
Over and over, layer upon layer he poured—tirelessly, relentlessly—until the white cloth was thoroughly saturated with blood.
"Look there... at your cunning sister," he murmured, lowering his gaze to the corpse shrouded beneath the cloth—a body now utterly devoid of life. "All these years... I have defeated the 'Hunters' she led—time and time again." Just moments ago, his city had once again repelled the "Hunters" and captured the majority of them—yet Acrylicman was not among them.
"Catching her is far harder than catching a rabbit."
He let out a soft chuckle, laced with a chilling, possessive fondness; he tucked in a stray corner of the white shroud draped before him, then spoke with an air of studied nonchalance to the servants gathered below.
"Find a suitable moment to release a few of them again; let them lead us to their base." He paused briefly, as if recalling something.
"Except for the one named Enoch." Cain's brow furrowed, and a glint of coldness flashed in his eyes.
"Keep him locked up. Don't let him escape."
The servants acknowledged the command and withdrew respectfully, dragging away the bloodless corpse of a woman that lay upon the floor as they went.
With the servants' departure, the fleeting trace of human presence they had brought vanished completely; darkness and silence once again descended.
"Are you cold, Avan?" He pressed his lips to the lock of hair that peeked out from beneath the white shroud; his voice was barely a whisper—tinged, it seemed, with a hint of wounded grievance, or perhaps even a touch of childish pleading.
"I am so cold."
"Ever since you fell into your slumber, no one else has been able to make me feel warm."
"When will you finally wake up?"
Naturally, no one answered his words. In the depths of his dark eyes, a fierce, cold flame ignited—a blaze of rage that transcended the bounds of reason, having been suppressed to the very brink of endurance.
"DIEANRUFUNGSATANS." As the incantation was chanted, a single point of light flared to life beneath his feet. Lines instantly connected point to point, activating a magical formation—one strikingly similar to the six-pointed star arrays used to commune with Heaven.
Yet this one possessed only five points; viewed from above, it appeared inverted.
The dark glow of the five-pointed star illuminated the chamber, revealing its true, macabre nature.
Cain sat upon a raised platform, encircled by a profusion of white roses. He gently stroked the slightly withered silver hair resting beneath his palm, his gaze fixed upon the shadows that began to take shape upon the wall.
Amidst the chilling darkness—and the presence of a corpse already succumbing to decay—grotesque, spectral shadows began to emerge. It must be said that any other human would have crumbled under the weight of this scene; yet, Cain's expression remained utterly unchanged.
Abandoned by the Light and banished from the earth by God, he was thenceforth forbidden from beholding any sacred or luminous thing in this world. Consequently—and quite naturally—he turned instead to embrace all that was dark, grotesque, and forbidden.
"Oh, illustrious Lord of Darkness! May I, too, be granted the privilege of sinking into the depths of freedom and ecstasy, just as You have." His lips spoke praises to the Darkness, yet his countenance remained chillingly aloof.
"To see my plea fulfilled, I implore You: You must honor the pact You made with me—restore my wife and child to life."
Cain remained oblivious to the fact that his single act of "summoning" had drawn five Demon Kings to witness the spectacle; his gaze was fixed solely upon the shadowy figure that had manifested in response to his call.
"Your Majesty," Envy whispered—having forcibly subjected himself to the sensation of the summoning—"he harbors doubts about You."
A truly competent Envy can perceive every nuance of cautious, guarded emotion; no matter how deeply such feelings are buried, they cannot escape his discerning eye. This was the future objective set for Behemoth, the Chaos Dragon—a task that proved truly vexing for a dragon accustomed to a lifestyle of unbridled, sweeping action.
Nevertheless, he continued to strive toward this goal. Fortunately, Cain had no intention of concealing his emotions, thereby granting Envy a superfluous—yet welcome—opportunity to demonstrate his worth.
"Mm." Lucifer offered a timely word of commendation, though in truth, he paid little heed to the Chaos Dragon's words; his gaze remained fixed entirely upon Cain.
That creature—who seemed born expressly for the night—could no longer be classified as human.
There was no one else in this world more wicked than he, nor any soul more hideous than his own.
And yet... he had still not claimed that soul.
Even the ceaseless flow of blood could no longer arrest the decay consuming the woman's body; doubt began to take root in the man's heart, causing even his soul—once so steadfast in its devotion to the Darkness—to waver.
Unlike that One in Heaven, *he* was a master of diligence.
Yet, the temperament of this suspicious race proved even more fickle and unpredictable than the skies of a summer's day.
Still, he felt no impatience; for the longer the wait, the richer and more potent the ripened fruit would become. One day, that lost and wandering heart would plunge into the depths of hell.
"What is it you question?" A seductive tone soothed the restless soul. "What is it you doubt?"
"Light abandoned you out of hypocrisy; would honest Darkness ever deceive you?"
The Devil's whispers murmured in his ear, and the sanguine glow in Cain's crimson eyes gradually subsided.
"Forgive my presumption, my Lord. I pledge my fealty to you because of the immense power you command," Cain said. "I have no doubt that you can help me fulfill my wish—yet another Blood Moon is drawing to a close, and I fear my beloved has little time left."
"With the Book of Raziel in hand, even if a beauty's flesh has withered to bone, her tissues can be regenerated and her body restored. Why, then, do you fret so?"
"As you commanded, the angel has been confined within the dungeon; through him, our power shall be made absolute."
Reassured by Lucifer's words, a faint smile touched Cain's brooding, handsome features.
"Your words are truth itself—verified in every detail." Having received the answer he sought, the human joyfully pledged his allegiance to the Devil.
"I have driven every one of these invaders into the labyrinth. May this gift please you; you are free to select whichever souls you desire from among them—including, as you mentioned, that young man who shares a name with my son, Enoch."
At these words, Lucifer paused briefly. He closed his eyes to extend his senses, yet he could detect no trace of Enoch's presence within Cain's "labyrinth."
"I do not doubt the loyalty of my believers; however, one can never predict whether an unforeseen mishap or the dawn of a new day will arrive first. I fear you have failed to capture Enoch."
"He is not here; by now, he has already fled far beyond the city gates."
No sooner had Lucifer spoken than Cain's expression darkened. Before he could even issue a summons, the servants who had departed earlier returned—bringing with them the news that Enoch, along with several hunters, had successfully escaped the labyrinth. "I know not how they managed to escape that place; fortunately, however, I had already given strict orders to the guards beforehand. Though they have fled, there are those secretly trailing them even now."
The servant's words caused the expression on Cain's face to soften considerably. Yet, the humiliation remained an undeniable fact; after issuing a fresh set of detailed instructions to his servant, he gave no further thought to the sentiments of the Hellish Arch-Demon he had—quite literally—*summoned* into existence.
Upon hearing this, one of the shadowy figures that had accompanied Lucifer's arrival spoke up.
"Could it be that this Enoch truly enjoys the Creator God's favor? Otherwise, how could he possibly have found a way out of this 'labyrinth'—a construct fashioned with the aid of the *Book of Raziel*?"
"He could not possibly have escaped," Wrath scoffed, displaying his customary disdain for humanity.
"And yet... they slipped away just like that—silently, without a trace."
"I suspect it was the angel among them," Beelzebub interjected. "Judging by your earlier descriptions, that would be a Power from the Fifth Heaven—the Sphere of Venus. It is hardly surprising that such a being would possess some knowledge of the *Book of Raziel*."
Listening to their exchange, a sudden flicker of intuition stirred within Lucifer; he abruptly sensed that something was amiss.
He had, until that very moment, been able to clearly sense Enoch's presence.
From the moment he first laid eyes on Enoch, he had accorded him a degree of scrutiny no less intense than that he had once reserved for Cain. He had branded the human with a mark of Hell—a sigil ensuring that, no matter where Enoch might flee, he could never elude Lucifer's detection.
His objective was to claim human souls, not to simply extinguish their lives.
But just now... Enoch's presence had vanished. Or rather, Lucifer could no longer sense the imprint of his own mark.
Who could have erased it?
No mere human possessed the capability to shake off the hounds of Hell—let alone a curse personally branded upon them by Lucifer himself.
In all the realms of existence, there were precious few who possessed the power to undo a curse of his making.
Pondering this, he knitted his brows, instantly transforming into a gust of black wind as he surged outward.
"Your Majesty?"
Following close behind him, several tendrils of black mist—darker even than the deepest night—swirled and swept forth in his wake.
Meanwhile, Edna, accompanied by the Deity, arrived in the mortal realm. It was night; the breeze was crisp, and the moon was gradually growing brighter. As she pondered the meaning behind God's cryptic words—to "go forth and welcome the Savior of this world"—she suddenly snapped back to reality, only to find that they had already descended before the gates of a city.
The angel looked up, then froze in astonishment.
In the mortal realm, owing to humanity's custom of rising at dawn and resting at dusk, even the grandest of cities typically observed a curfew once night fell; every household would shutter its doors, and no one would venture out.
Yet, the city before her defied everything she had ever known. Though the stars and moon hung high in the heavens, this place was illuminated by ten thousand crimson lanterns; a surging tide of humanity filled the streets—a scene of such vibrant bustle and prosperity that it scarcely resembled a mortal night.
She then turned her gaze to the city's name. Above the gates—which loomed even more majestically than those of the City of Hormah—she saw a single line of text inscribed:
[Enoch]
Astonished, she could not help but cast a questioning glance toward God.
Reflecting the hues of the night, God's holy radiance was not as blindingly intense as it had been in Heaven; instead, His slender form was enveloped in a soft, ethereal glow.
Luminous as the moon, yet more flawless than moonlight itself.
Translucent as water, yet cooler and purer than any stream.
Could it be that God's holy light was capable of such gentleness?
Bathed in that radiance—which seemed to wash away every trace of worldly turmoil from her heart—Edna stood entranced. She did not realize, however, that this gentle quality was a habit the Creator had acquired only after inadvertently withering countless plants during the very dawn of creation.
From within that holy light, God extended a single finger, gesturing for Edna to look ahead.
Edna reluctantly tore her gaze—which had lingered perhaps a moment too long—away from God and looked in the direction He indicated.
Several figures emerged from the city gates. Among them was a young man whose silhouette seemed strangely familiar... She recognized him instantly, yet for some inexplicable reason, she found herself overcome by a sudden, awkward reticence.
God then gave her a gentle nudge.
Her previously concealed form was suddenly revealed. Before Edna could fully regain her composure, she heard that familiar voice call out to her:
"Edna."
His tone betrayed no surprise—as if he had known all along that she would come. "How boring," she muttered, pouting slightly as she reluctantly raised her head. Yet, at the very sight of him, she couldn't help but be astonished.
"Enoch?"
To be honest, were it not for his familiar build and voice, she would scarcely have recognized the person standing before her as Enoch.
The young man was unshaven, his hair a tangled, disheveled mess; he looked as though he had endured a great ordeal, his appearance utterly wretched.
"I thought you had left," he said, his gaze fixed upon her with a distant, dazed look. After a long moment, he spoke softly, "So you *are* here."
No sooner had he uttered those words than he collapsed, losing consciousness.
Fortunately, she reacted with lightning speed, catching him just in time to avert the tragedy of him landing face-first on the ground.
"What happened to him?" She instinctively glanced back at God, who stood behind her. She was no incompetent angel, yet at this moment, the look she cast toward God was undeniably filled with helplessness.
The two burly men, however, mistook her glance as being directed at them.
"He must be suffering from sheer exhaustion; let us take him," they offered, stepping forward to relieve her of Enoch. Edna, however, deftly dodged their outstretched hands.
"Don't be afraid; we aren't bad people," the two hulking figures introduced themselves simply. "We are hunters. We originally came here with the intention of hunting down a particularly heinous vampire."
"But we failed," one of them admitted with a wry smile. "We owe our escape from that dreadful place entirely to Brother Enoch."
"Though he insisted that it was 'Edna' who saved us."
"Wait—Brother Enoch just called you 'Edna,' didn't he, little lady?"
"Are *you* Edna?"
"Was it *you* who saved us?"
Edna paid no heed to the humans' chatter; her eyes were fixed on God as He approached Enoch and gently touched the young man's forehead.
Instantly, a plume of dark, ash-grey smoke billowed forth from the young man's brow. It seemed to possess a life of its own, wailing as it fled, before dissipating into a wisp of pale smoke and vanishing completely.
God had performed a ritual of purification upon Enoch, purging the malevolent energies of the Underworld that had clung to him and restoring his vitality.
And so, the young man—who just moments before had been unconscious—suddenly snapped his eyes open. He sprang from Edna's arms, feeling more invigorated than he ever had in his life.
He gave it no further thought, simply assuming that his sudden recovery was yet another blessing bestowed upon him by the angel. "We must leave this place immediately," he said to his two companions in adversity, naturally taking the Angel's hand.
Instantly, Edna felt herself seized by an intense, piercing gaze.
It was a terrifying sensation of being watched—far more intense than anything she had felt while training under her mentor, Metatron, shortly after her creation... No! It was infinitely more intense than even that.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on her back; she immediately shook off Enoch's hand and put a distance of three meters between them.
"Edna?" Enoch asked, bewildered by her sudden, violent reaction.
"Stop fooling around. I am grateful that you saved us, but this is absolutely not a place where we can linger. Come with me—now!"