Beginning Of The END
Dressed in a rumpled tank top and shorts, her underwear peeking out, she epitomized slothful disarray. Strands of violet hair fell messily around her face, partially obscuring her half-lidded eyes. She scratched her stomach absently, her other hand rummaging through an array of snacks, tossing whatever she found into her mouth without a second thought.
The grand throne room of the Sloth Ring, usually a place of somber reverence, now felt like a messy living room, cluttered with remnants of past meals and empty wrappers. Medical supplies, the pride of the Sloth Ring's contribution to Hell, were scattered haphazardly around, a testament to her disregard for order.
As she watched Adam pummel the 'Princes of Hell' with relentless fury, a faint flicker of interest sparked in her eyes, quickly extinguished by a yawn. The ferocity of the battle was almost hypnotic, yet she couldn't summon the energy to care. The magnitude of their struggle contrasted sharply with her languid demeanor, a ruler of Sloth entirely disinterested in the upheaval of Hell.
The thought of intervening crossed her mind briefly, but the effort felt monumental, and she dismissed it with a lazy wave of her hand. Let them fight, she thought. The Sloth Ring would endure, as it always had, untouched by the transient squabbles of power and vengeance.
Belphegor reclined further into her beanbag chair, her fingers lazily finding another snack. The world could crumble around her, and she would remain the same: detached, indifferent, and thoroughly uninterested in the affairs of those who still found the energy to fight.
"Hhhnng!" With a lazy stretch, Belphegor shifted in her chair, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the silence of the room. She reached for another snack, her movements slow and deliberate. The sounds of battle faded into the background as she settled back into her comfortable stupor, content to let the world outside her domain continue its turmoil without her interference.
It didn't surprise her that things had gotten this bad. Hell had its fair share of morons, after all. It was just a matter of time before chaos erupted. She was just disappointed that the so-called "rulers" of Hell were cut from the same cloth. Then again, self-reflection was rarer than gold down here.
The thought of intervening did cross her mind briefly, but she quickly crushed it, burned it, shoved it in a box, and threw away the key. Mainly for a couple of reasons.
First and foremost, the effort of going up there felt monumental, so she dismissed it with a lazy wave of her hand. Let them fight, she thought.
Secondly, she found a twisted sort of pleasure in watching the chaos unfold. The drama and destruction amused her, providing a welcome distraction from the monotony of her existence. It was a rare moment of entertainment in the otherwise dull landscape of Sloth.
And thirdly, she simply had no reason to fight. It was always apparent to her how different she was from the other Fallen. They called themselves Rulers and Princes of Hell, but they weren't. She didn't see herself as better than them, nor did she think they were beneath her. To her, they were all just a bunch of losers who thought too highly of themselves, her included. The titles they gave themselves didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, and Belphegor knew it.
Lucifer was no king. Lilith was no queen. They were no Princes.
In all of Creation, there was only one true King, and He was far beyond the petty struggles of Hell.
Belphegor knew there was no point in fighting. She had lost the moment she was cast away from God's grace.
She wasn't like Satan, consumed by a one-sided vendetta against Heaven, believing in his own might and Hell's chances against those blessed by the Lord. Belphegor wasn't Satan; that's why her body was not a burnt lump of flesh and scales.
She wasn't like Beelzebub, who seemed to genuinely believe in some sort of "family," happily calling the rest brothers and sisters, desperate to belong to something as if they had something worth being "together" for. She wasn't Beelzebub; that was why both her eyes watched with glee as they were embarrassed in front of all of Hell, and her ribs remained safe inside her chest.
She wasn't like Asmodeus, poor stupid Ozzie who seemed to be most ruled by his sin, passionately making one dumb mistake after another, loyally following the same dumbass who had gotten them into this mess in the first place, justifying it as a result of his "love."
It made her sick.
The only love worth a damn was one Belphegor had been foolish enough to discard eons ago.
Perhaps spending the next couple of centuries healing with a cracked soul and body would help Asmodeus reach the same conclusion.
And Belphegor was most certainly not like Leviathan, a primordial beast created with the Earth itself, who for all his might and belief that he was above all creation, ended up as nothing more than a meal for the Lord's favored children. Now a mere shade forced to obey those he had considered beneath him.
And most of all, Belphegor was not like Lucifer. She could actually admit her mistakes and not hide behind excuses and inane platitudes. Mammon had the right idea. Even as chaos descended upon the Greed Ring, not once did the green clown show his face. Instead, he deployed thousands of killer bots shaped like Asmodeus's pet imp. The robots barely lasted a second on the battlefield before being obliterated, their metal carcasses scattered like confetti in the midst of the carnage.
Still, it was a clever move. Showing support without risking himself. Whether Hell triumphed or the First Man slaughtered them all, Mammon could always suck up to the victor. He had positioned himself perfectly, ready to shift his allegiance to whoever emerged as the new power. It was a strategy that required no honor, just a keen sense of survival and an utter lack of shame. Just like the man himself.
Belphegor was sure he had another motive as well. Mammon likely wanted to minimize his interference with the battle to avoid the integrity of his betting pool being questioned. The stakes were high, and the betting pool was a goldmine for someone like Mammon. He thrived on others' misfortunes, turning their despair into his profit. By keeping a low profile, he turned his 'brothers' sacrifice into entertainment. He only cared about himself.
Belphegor couldn't help but smirk at his audacity. It was so typical of Mammon, always calculating, always finding a way to turn chaos into opportunity. In a twisted way, she admired his cunning. While others fought and bled, Mammon played the long game, ensuring his survival and his profits. He embodied the very essence of Greed, and in this moment of hellish turmoil, his methods seemed almost enviable.
She always did have a soft spot for him. Belphegor had briefly considered joining the bet, a fleeting thought that sparked a rare moment of interest. The idea of watching the chaos unfold while having a stake in the outcome was tempting. But she decided against it. It would be a bit rude to do so with her companion next to her.
Said companion was a nervous wreck, nearly bringing down the entire mansion with how frantically he was pacing around. The grand throne room, already cluttered with remnants of past meals and empty wrappers, seemed even more chaotic with his incessant movement.
Belphegor watched him with half-lidded eyes, her expression one of detached amusement. His anxiety was palpable, a stark contrast to her own languid demeanor. Despite his frantic movements, she could see him trying to keep his nerves under control, his worry evident in every step he took.
He wasn't afraid of the outcome, she knew that much. His pacing wasn't driven by fear but by a deep-seated concern. The sounds of battle from the screens seemed to gnaw at him, each blow and clash reflecting in the tension of his movements.
The Sin of Sloth looked at him for a long moment. The usually soft-spoken man...How long ago had it been since she had seen him act so agitated? "Relax," she drawled, her voice thick with indifference. "Whatever happens, it's not like we can do anything about it."
He took a deep breath, trying -and failing- to control his nerves. "How can you be so calm? They're literally fighting on our roof." She shrugged. "It's gonna be fine."
He gave her a pointed look.
She took a slow, deliberate bite of her snack, the crunch breaking the tense silence in the room.
Staring at her in disbelief, he paused, the screen's light revealing his form in a moment of panic. He was tall, with neat dark brown hair and wide, shocked bright blue eyes. His jawline was strong, adding to his rugged appearance.
His clothes had a unique, almost ceremonial look. He wore a long, cream-colored tunic with subtle patterns, paired with dark blue trousers that emphasized his towering height and muscular frame.
Yet, the most striking feature of his appearance was how simple it was. Not a single spec of demonic or divine influence was evident on his body, for he had none.
He was the sole living human to ever step into Hell and had remained so for the past eight thousand years.
"How can you say that?"
"I've seen it all before. And so have you, for that matter." Belphegor shrugged, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "Wars, battles, power struggles. It's all the same. And in the end, none of it really matters. In the end, there's only one thing that matters." "So I take it you not going to move if they come down here?" he asks, his voice tinged with uneasiness.
"No," she answers, her tone firm, arms crossing in the shape of an X. "I've had my fill of getting punched by Angels a long time ago." She leans back in her chair, a nostalgic shudder running through her back as she recalls the brutal encounters with heavenly forces.
For an Archangel of Love, Chamuel had one hell of a right hook. She had no intention of experiencing her tongue licking the back of her brain ever again. Especially with the Taxiarch here.
"It's not just about the pain," she continues, her voice tinged with bitterness. "It's about the futility of it all. Fighting against Heaven is like trying to stop a tidal wave with a bucket. You might as well just sit back and enjoy the show."
Her companion looked at her, a mix of confusion and concern in his eyes. He knew her history, knew the scars that Heaven had left on her body and soul. He understood her reluctance to get involved in the conflict, even if he didn't agree with it.
Silence stretched between them, Belphegor turned her gaze to the screen again to find the battle in its last moments.
Adam and Lucifer stood locked in their final confrontation. Adam's stance was firm, his voice steady as he taunted Lucifer, demonstrating the simple act of forming a fist. The contrast between their demeanors was striking; Adam's confidence and control against Lucifer's exhaustion and desperation.
For a moment, her attention shifted to her companion. Gone was the ancient, wise old pal she had known. In his place, she found a child, desperate for approval, his eyes glossy as he looked down at his fist, a tired smile playing on his lips. His fist clenched just as Adam's voice explained through the screen. Belphegor remained quiet and turned her attention to the screen, letting him have his moment.
Lucifer began to summon his final attack, the magic circle before him glowed ominously, pulsing with malevolent energy. Belphegor felt the power from the ring above, a tangible force that seemed to press down on her soul. Lucifer unleashed his attack, and the screen erupted in a dazzling display of light and power.
The blast surged forward, leaving a trail of distortion and destruction in its wake. Belphegor watched with a mix of awe and detachment. She had seen her fair share of battles and displays of power, but there was something different about this one. As the blast tore through the air, Adam moved with incredible speed and precision.
His fist, glowing with a divine light, met the onslaught head-on. There was a moment of impact, a brief pause where time seemed to stand still, and then... The screen went black, the feed cutting off momentarily. Yet, to all of Hell, the victor was clear. Belphegor felt a warm feeling enveloped her, a sensation that momentarily transported her back to Heaven, to the divine embrace of the Lord.
It was a fleeting moment, a brief respite from the chaos and turmoil of Hell. She closed her eyes for a second and allowed herself to bask in the memory of that divine presence, of the peace and serenity it brought.
But all too soon, the moment passed, and the harsh reality of Hell once again confronted her.
The battle was over. She was the first to feel it. A moment before the feed returned, Belphegor sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle yet undeniable change in the air of the Sloth Ring. As the tender of this realm, attuned to its every nuance, she felt the sky above the ring seem to part as if making way for something monumental.
Then, with a surreal swiftness, Lucifer's form plummeted toward the ground, a dark and ominous descent that contrasted starkly with Adam's gentle landing beside him. The First Man knelt by the fallen archangel, his posture a mix of reverence and inquiry, his words lost to the drone's damaged auditory sensors.
Yet, as the warden of this domain, all resonances within it were hers to perceive. As the scene unfolded on the screen, Belphegor couldn't help but feel a surge of mixed emotions. The gravity of Adam's question, unheard but deeply felt, lingered in the air. Without realizing it, she turned to her companion, her eyes wide. In that fleeting moment, the truth of their situation became clear.
The horror that swept over her companion's features mirrored the turmoil in Belphegor's own heart.
No words were exchanged between them, no reassurances were offered. There was no need. He understood.
As the sound returned to the feed, and Lucifer's screams filled the air, Belphegor remained focused on her companion, watching as his expression shifted with each passing moment. It was clear that the unfolding events were taking a toll on him, his mental state deteriorating with each passing second. "Cain!" she yelled, in a flash, she was by his side.
Then, all of Hell heard Lucifer utter words he must never speak.
'Father, I wish to confess.'
Belphegor's blood ran cold as she witnessed the unthinkable unfold in her land. The sin of pride, Lucifer, accepted humility. Hell's warden had fallen, and with his descent into vulnerability, the very fabric of Hell began to tremble. Reality itself seemed to bleed as cracks spread, signaling a profound shift in the underworld. In that moment, all of creation seemed to hold its breath. The balance of power had shifted, and the consequences were unfathomable. From the chaos and upheaval, a realization dawned on Belphegor.
The seal was weakened. The barrier that separated the realms of the living and the dead, the boundary that held the forces of Heaven and Hell at bay, was now vulnerable. the very essence of Hell seemed to recoil in fear. The ground shook violently, and fissures split open, releasing torrents of dark, swirling energy.
The screams of the damned mingled with the roars of Madness incarnate, creating a cacophony of terror that reverberated through all three realms... As chaos reigned and the world trembled, Belphegor realized that Creation's darkest hour had come.
The Root of All Evil was manifesting.