Devourer

Chapter 229: The Maw Widens

I stood over the kneeling figures of Beelzebub, Satan, and Asmodeus, their fear palpable, saturating the air like a dense fog. The once formidable archdemons, now reduced to trembling supplicants, dared not meet my gaze. Their auras, previously blazing with infernal might, had dimmed to mere flickers, overshadowed by the power I now wielded over them. The chamber, vast and echoing, seemed to amplify their dread, each shallow breath and subtle shiver a testament to their submission.

Asmodeus, the embodiment of Lust, had ultimately chosen to back me, though his allegiance was tenuous at best. His head bowed in reluctant submission, I knew his treacherous thoughts had been quelled by the devastation my hive had wrought upon their territories. A scorched path of burned fortresses served as a clear statement of my power, leaving them with little choice but to kneel.

"So that's three of seven," I mused aloud, my voice echoing through the chamber. Satan, arguably the least afraid, still could not conceal the undercurrent of fear that coursed through him. Their submission was a testament to the new order I was establishing, one where the so-called mighty demon princes were easily cowed by the horrors I commanded.

The time to play my hand was approaching, and the daemon princes would soon have to choose their sides. For now, their fear was sufficient, a potent reminder of the consequences of defiance. “So anyone else has any protests about bringing Morningstar back?” I asked.

The silence was their answer and the oh-so-delicious fear radiating off their bodies was answer enough.

I allowed the silence to stretch, each passing second amplifying their discomfort. The weight of their trepidation was almost tangible, a symphony of submission that played to my senses. I could see the flicker of uncertainty in their eyes, the internal struggle as they grappled with the reality of their predicament.

Beelzebub, her once proud demeanor now overshadowed by apprehension, shifted slightly, her wings twitching in a barely perceptible display of unease. Satan's jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his internal conflict, while Asmodeus's fingers clenched and unclenched, betraying his restless mind.

Reflecting on the devastation I had wrought upon their borders, I recalled the precision of my hive's assaults. Each fortress was targeted with meticulous care, ensuring maximum destruction with minimal effort. The charred remains of their strongholds now served as grim reminders of my supremacy, the once formidable defenses reduced to smoldering ruins. The strategic annihilation of their territories not only crippled their power but also shattered any illusions of invincibility they might have harbored.

The hive's relentless efficiency left no room for retaliation, their forces overwhelmed before they could mount a defense. The psychological impact was undeniable; witnessing their dominions crumble instilled a deep-seated fear, compelling their submission. In the grand tapestry of my conquest, the obliteration of their borders was just a deception. It made it seem like the Hive was not taking a side. It was just lashing out at everything around it.

The psychological warfare extended beyond the battlefield. The uncertainty and fear generated by the hive's unpredictable assaults eroded the morale of enemy forces, leading to internal discord and a breakdown of command structures. This approach aligns with the principles of psychological operations aimed at undermining the enemy's will to fight by creating an environment of confusion and apprehension.

The calculated devastation of their borders had served its purpose. It had physically weakened their defenses, yes, but more importantly, it had sown a web of psychological deception. By cloaking my true intentions beneath layers of strategic misdirection, I ensured that the Daemon Princes remained powerless to resist and blind to my ultimate goal. They had their suspicions, of course, they were no fools, but without confirmation, they could not act decisively. Their unity was fragile, their resolve fractured, and their lands lay in ruins.

The Plains of Conflict, were now desolate. The great fortresses, those monuments to wrath and dominance, were little more than blasted ruins.

Six of Satan’s elite Wrath divisions had been butchered, leaving his forces incapable of mounting a significant counterattack, or even defending what little remained. Beelzebub, for all her pride, had been cowed. Her boldness was gone, her insect-like wings trembling slightly as she avoided my gaze. She knew better than to defy me now; the memory of her last failed resistance was fresh in her mind. And Asmodeus? The avaricious schemer was nothing but spineless, his golden bravado stripped away under the weight of what I had done to his glittering vaults. They had been reduced to mere shadows of their former selves, and they knew it.

I leaned forward, towering over the three of them, my presence pressing down like a stormcloud ready to burst. Their fear was palpable, deliciously so. They had gathered before me not as rulers of their domains but as broken relics on the verge of being stripped of the power they once wielded.

“Now, then,” I said, my voice low and heavy, reverberating through the shattered chamber, “I will ask a very important question.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as my gaze swept over them. Beelzebub fidgeted, Asmodeus shifted uncomfortably, and even Satan, the embodiment of wrath, seemed to hesitate.

“Tell me,” I continued, my tone sharp enough to cut through the oppressive air, “how do we bring Morningstar back?”

Their fear deepened, and I could see the weight of my words pressing down on them like chains. Beelzebub’s lips parted first, her usual sharp tongue faltering. She swallowed hard, then began, her voice trembling as she described the keys, the Pillars of Sin, and the forbidden ritual that would shatter the seals binding Magne Morningstar.

One by one, they spoke, each word laden with dread, detailing the artifacts of sin and the ancient monuments that would undo their betrayal. I listened intently, my satisfaction growing with every answer. They feared her return, but their fear of defying me was greater.

Their terror was proof that my plans were working. They were cowed, broken, and soon, the resurrection of Morningstar would be within my grasp. They didn’t understand yet, not fully. But they would. When she rose, when I unleashed the Prime Evil, their place in the new order would be clear.

Asmodeus’s voice held a measured calm, though fear lingered beneath the surface like a hidden current. “You are determined, I can see it,” he said, stepping forward, his golden gaze steady, though shadowed with unease. “And maybe you are right. Maybe she will bow to you, rise at your command, and grant you her loyalty. But do you truly understand what this means for us? For Hell itself?”

He gestured faintly toward Beelzebub and Satan, his tone grave and deliberate, as though every word carried significant weight. “When Morningstar is unsealed, you do not simply restore her power, you awaken her vengeance. She will obey you, yes, but she will not forgive the rest of us. Her wrath will be absolute, her justice merciless, and it will serve as a declaration to all of Hell that none who betray her can escape her retribution. The punishment she will bring upon us will not be swift, nor merciful, but a reckoning that leaves nothing but devastation.”

Asmodeus took a breath, his steps careful as he moved closer, his voice lowering like the toll of a distant bell. “If you follow this path, understand that she will not stop with us. She will not rest until the memory of our rebellion is erased entirely. The realms we have ruled, the power we have built, even the very stones of our domains, she will destroy it all, not because she must, but to prove her dominion.” 𝘳𝒶ＮỘ𐌱Е§

He paused, his expression hardening, the usual cleverness in his eyes replaced with grim certainty. “So, ask yourself: when Morningstar rises at your command, when she stands beside you, do you care at all for what remains of Hell? Because if you continue with this, know that all else will be reduced to ashes, the ashes of our power, our pride, and our kingdoms. There will be nothing left but you and her, ruling over a wasteland.”

He fell silent, his words lingering like the echo of a warning bell, less a plea than a stark reality. “If this is what you desire, so be it. But know this, you unleash not only the Empress but the destruction of all that we have built.”

My laughter filled the chamber, low and guttural, reverberating like the growl of a predator savoring its prey. “Oh, Asmodeus,” I rumbled, my voice dripping with mockery, “such devotion to self-preservation, such trembling little words. You think I’ll let her turn this place into a smoking wasteland of her rage? What would be the point in that? Tribute does not flow from a dead race. Gold does not glitter in the hands of corpses.”

I moved forward, claws scraping against the stone floor, each movement deliberate and heavy. “You’re so certain she’ll destroy everything, so sure she’ll lay waste to your precious kingdoms. But let me make this very clear: Morningstar will bow. She will rise at my command, and when she does, I will hold the reins. Her wrath may be great, but her purpose will be mine. And I don’t let useful things go to waste.”

I locked my gaze onto Asmodeus, who flinched under its weight. “The spineless like you, Asmodeus, the schemers, the grovelers, you’ll live, because tribute flows best from those desperate to cling to their power. But the others?” I let the silence stretch, relishing the unease etched into their faces. “Those who resist, who fail to prove their worth… they’ll feed her flames. And I will enjoy watching.”

I turned my attention to all three of them now, my tone growing darker, more primal, as a growl rumbled in my chest. “So don’t think for one moment that you’re safe just because you grovel so sweetly. If I find your uses lacking, if I see the barest flicker of defiance when she rises, you’ll wish you were among the ruins she burns first.”

A sharp-toothed grin spread across my face as I leaned closer to Asmodeus, watching as he shrank before me. “And don’t worry, Asmodeus. Your precious gold will still shine in the new Hell I forge. You’ll just have to learn to count it on your knees.”

Straightening, I let my voice cut through the tense silence like a blade. “Now, no more of your whining. I’ll bring Morningstar back, and Hell will change. Whether you have a place in it depends entirely on how well you remember your place.”

I looked over the trembling forms of the once great Daemon Princes and let out a small chuckle. “Besides she will have some satisfaction, you three knelt but what about the other four?”

“When Morningstar rises, she will be hungry,” I said, my gaze burning into them. “Hungry for vengeance. And she shall have it.” I let the words linger, watching the flicker of understanding cross their faces. “The defiant ones. The fools who still cling to their pride, who believe they can stand against what is coming, they will be her feast.”

“At the very least I can leave Lucifer to her. She would enjoy that very much.” I said with a grin.

I leaned forward, my tone sharpening like a blade. “And then there’s you three.” My fangs barred the threat pinning them where they stood. “Be thankful you understand your place. For now. When she rises, your usefulness will protect you, for a time. But if I so much as sense a flicker of hesitation, a spark of defiance…” I let the threat hang in the air, sharp and unspoken.

I straightened, my grin returning, wicked and cruel. “Morningstar will have her vengeance, and in giving it to her, I will show her that the new Hell I forge is not a weak kingdom of traitors and schemers, but one forged in blood and strength. The defiant will fall, and those who remain will know their place.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.♚.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Beelzebub sat silently in the luxurious lounge along side her two compatriots. She always knew Asmodeus would eventually see sense despite the avid fence sitter he always was. But unfortunately for him, playing both sides was a sure fire way to getting fed to a horde of monsters.

The Firstborn does not believe in half measures, and if the Great Beast smelt even a whiff of betrayal, then it would all be over. On paper they had stronger forces in thier rings as compared to what they have in Treachery but seeing what the Great Beast can field, they would probably be outmatched even on home ground.

“We are so fucked…” Beelzebub muttered, and she sensed the slight nod of approval from the other two.

“We’re damned. All of us. That beast isn’t just toying with us, he’s making sure we know how powerless we are. Offering Morningstar our heads on a platter, as if that will satisfy her.” Satan grumbled.

Satan leaned against the mantle of a marble fireplace, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his fiery eyes staring into the unlit hearth.

“It won’t,” he said bluntly. “Nothing will. Morningstar’s vengeance isn’t something you appease. You don’t buy her forgiveness, you don’t bargain for survival. When she rises, she’ll take everything, and she’ll make sure we all feel it.”

Asmodeus stood near a gilded sideboard, swirling a goblet of dark liquid in his hand. He hadn’t drunk from it, though. He stared into its depths like it held the answer to their predicament.

“You’re right,” he muttered, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. “She’ll want to make an example of us. The beast thinks he can control her, that he can focus her fury on Lucifer and the others. But Morningstar doesn’t work like that. She’ll see us all as guilty, no matter how much we grovel.”

Beelzebub snorted, leaning back in her chair, her wings shifting with irritation.

“Groveling doesn’t suit me,” she said, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “But I can recognize when the only way forward is to play along. He wants us to dance to his tune, so we’ll dance. For now.” Beelzebub muttered, but even to her this pathetic show of resistance was quite pathetic indeed.

“And when the music stops?” Satan asked his voice low and his fangs bared.

Beelzebub’s sardonic smile faded, and she didn’t answer. Asmodeus set the goblet down harder than he intended, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“We need to make ourselves more than tools,” he said, his usual arrogance tempered by an edge of desperation. “If Morningstar’s going to rise, we need her to see us as part of the reason she’s back. Useful. Necessary.”

Satan pushed off the mantle, turning to face them fully. “You think she’ll see anything but betrayal when she looks at us? We chained her, Asmodeus. We tore her crown from her head and left her to rot in the Abyss. There’s no talking our way out of that.”

“She might if she has a reason to keep us alive,” Asmodeus shot back, his tone growing sharper. “If we’re the ones who ensure the ritual goes smoothly, if we show her that we’re loyal now, maybe, just maybe, she’ll spare us.”

Beelzebub scoffed, her fingers curling against the armrest.

“And what about after? Even if she doesn’t kill us right away, you think she’ll just let us slink off into our realms as if nothing happened? No. She’ll keep us close, where she can see us, and remind us why we should never cross her again.”

“It’s better than burning with the rest of Hell, isn’t it?” Asmodeus sneered.

Satan’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Enough. The beast holds the reins, and for now, we follow. We do what we must to survive. But don’t delude yourselves, Morningstar’s return won’t end in salvation for us. At best, it’s a delay. At worst…” He didn’t finish, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing down on all of them.

The room fell into silence again, the flickering light of the chandelier casting long, wavering shadows across their faces. Beelzebub stared at the floor, her wings sagging with resignation. Asmodeus poured himself another drink, though he still didn’t touch it. Satan returned to his place by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the cold, unlit logs.

They were powerful beings, rulers of vast domains, but here, in this gilded cage of dread, they were little more than pawns waiting for the game to end.

“He’ll take the Black Heart,” he said, the words falling like a death knell. “That’s the only way he can do it. Bind Morningstar, I mean. Even he doesn’t have the power to hold her on his own. Not yet.”

Beelzebub froze, her wings twitching as she slowly turned toward him. “The Black Heart?” she repeated, her voice edged with disbelief. “The very essence of Hell? The thing that holds this entire realm together? If he dares to touch it,”

“Hell itself will unravel,” Satan finished, his fiery gaze dark and steady. “The Black Heart isn’t just a source of power. It’s the foundation of everything. The lands, the flames, the souls, they all flow from it. If he takes it, Hell will change, and not for the better.” Asmodeus shook his head, a grim smile playing across his lips. “Change? That’s putting it lightly. If he devours the Heart, he’ll become Hell. Every sin, every soul, every flicker of power will flow through him. And once that happens, not even Morningstar will be able to resist.”

Satan laughed as he turned to look at the other two, “If he really does devour the Black Heart then he might be the first ever Firstborn to devour a world.”

Beelzebub’s claws dug into the armrests of her chair, her wings flaring slightly as she struggled to process the enormity of it. “Then it’s over,” she said bitterly, her voice low. “If he’s powerful enough to take the Heart, there’s nothing we can do to stop him. The balance will break, and Morningstar will rise, bound to him, twisted to his will.”

“And we’ll burn for it,” Asmodeus added, his tone laced with resignation. “Do you really think Morningstar will care that we had no choice? She’ll see us as traitors, no matter what. The beast might think he can keep her leash tight, and he’s right. With the Black Heart nothing can stop him, not even Morningstar. Honestly, this is probably our best bet.”

Beelzebub stood abruptly, her wings bristling with agitation as she began pacing. “So, what do we do?” she demanded, her voice sharper now. “Just stand here and wait for him to devour the Heart and bring her back? Watch him rewrite Hell and hope we survive the aftermath?”

“We survive,” Asmodeus said bluntly, rising from his place at the sideboard. “That’s all we can do. If we can’t stop him, then we make sure we’re too valuable to lose. The beast isn’t just reshaping Hell for fun. He’s building something, and if we’re smart, we’ll make sure we’re part of it.”

Beelzebub laughed as she turned to face him, her voice mocking. “Part of it? Do you hear yourself, Asmodeus? Never took you for an optimist.”

Asmodeus shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his lips despite the tension. “And what’s your alternative? Fight him? Good luck. He’s a Firstborn, Beelzebub. Older than Hell, older than us, older than Morningstar herself. If he’s set on taking the Black Heart, then nothing, nothing, we do can stop him. So, we adapt, like we always have.”

Satan spoke again, his voice heavy with finality. “Asmodeus’s right. The Great Beast is beyond us, and the Heart is already as good as his. But if we’re clever, if we prove ourselves useful, we might survive what’s coming. And when the beast falters, or when Morningstar turns on him, we’ll be able to act.”

“That’s optimistic…” Beelzebub muttered, and Asmodeus just let out a dark chuckle in response.

Beelzebub let out a frustrated growl, but she didn’t argue further. She knew they were right, even if she hated to admit it. The Great Beast was unstoppable, and the Black Heart would give him the power to bind Morningstar, to reshape Hell itself. Whether they lived or died would depend entirely on how well they played their hand in the chaos to come.

Deep down Beelzebub knew this was the outcome from the start. She was hoping the Great Beast wouldn’t go so far. Afterall Morningstar was beyond dangerous and the Firstborn historically do not like rivals and upstarts. However, this one was different, the Great Beast was far more willing to delegate power elsewhere. He was about as far of a breakaway from the other Firstborn as he could get.

For now, they could only wait, watching as the storm gathered strength. But none of them could shake the feeling that, no matter what they did, the Hell they knew was already gone.

We are so fucked…