I'm The Devil - Chapter 275

Chapter 275: Misunderstandings

Lucifer stood on the crest of a barren hill, his silhouette sharp against the dawn’s first light as he looked out over the sprawling procession of the Israelites finally leaving Egypt. A dry wind ruffled his dark cloak, which billowed like wings around him. His face was shadowed, expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on the scene below, following every figure, every halting step, with a silent, intense scrutiny.

As he observed, the Israelites moved with a cautious joy, each family huddled close together, some carrying bundles hastily packed, others cradling the youngest of their kin. Children clutched their mothers’ skirts, their faces turned upward in wonder as they took in the wide, open road before them—a freedom many had only dreamed of. Laughter rang out, tentative at first, then growing bolder, and songs of praise drifted upward, lilting into the morning air like a delicate, sacred balm. Their voices rose with gratitude and relief, a pure contrast to the weight of grief and anger that still lingered over Egypt like a shroud.

Lucifer’s gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he watched them. There was something unsettling to him in their joy, a pride in their faces that reminded him of a faith he could not comprehend. He shifted his weight, the glint in his eyes growing sharper, colder. His fists clenched at his sides, the subtle flexing of his hands betraying a flicker of irritation.

Yet, even as he fought against the bitter edge within him, he couldn’t look away. He studied Moses, who led the people at the front, his head high and his stride strong but weighted with responsibility. Beside him, Aaron moved with a quiet dignity, casting glances over his shoulder to make sure the people followed closely. Their faces were worn, lined with exhaustion and sacrifice, but alight with a fervent devotion, as though buoyed by a strength Lucifer would never understand.

From his vantage point, Lucifer scoffed, though the sound held less mirth than bitterness. “Songs of gratitude… for a God who lets them suffer, then throws them scraps of mercy,” he murmured to himself. His voice was soft, a dark undertone barely audible over the wind, though it carried a raw resentment that even he couldn’t quite hide.

A soft rustle came from behind him, and he turned to see Bast, Aphrodite, and Amaterasu

, and Hestia approaching. They moved with purpose, each step filled with an unspoken resolve that mirrored the quiet strength of the mortals below. Bast’s eyes, sharp and gleaming, were fixed on him, her expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. Aphrodite’s face, usually serene, was drawn tight with restrained disappointment, her gaze flickering between Lucifer and the people below with something close to pity. Hestia remained calm and steady, though there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of an inner storm.

“You’ve been busy,” Bast said, her voice low and cold, the restrained wrath in her tone impossible to miss. She tilted her head slightly, feline grace in every movement, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. “This… this was your doing, wasn’t it?”

Lucifer’s expression barely changed, though his eyes flashed with a brief, dark amusement. “Not entirely,” he replied, his voice smooth but tinged with a mocking undertone. “I merely watched, Bast. Azrael… well, he did what he was commanded to do.”

Aphrodite stepped forward, her gaze piercing, her hands folded tightly against her chest as if holding herself back from reaching out. “But you stood by,” she said, her voice carrying a rare edge, her usual warmth turned cool. “You watched them suffer.”

He shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It was a lesson in loyalty, perhaps. Or a lesson in sacrifice. You call it suffering—others call it divine justice.”

Hestia’s gaze narrowed, her eyes filled with an anger she rarely showed. “Is that what you tell yourself?” she said quietly, her voice calm but brimming with restrained fury. “That you are just an observer? A helpless bystander to suffering? You may fool others, but not us, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s smile faded, and he took a step back, his jaw clenching slightly. For a moment, he looked away, his gaze shifting back to the Israelites, watching as they continued to move forward, their steps growing bolder, filled with a strength that grated against him.

“They are free now, aren’t they?” he said, his voice tight, as if trying to convince himself as much as them. “They have what they wanted. They’re happy. Content, even.”

Bast shook her head slowly, her eyes glistening with a sorrow that softened her anger. She took a step closer to him, reaching out a hand but stopping just short of touching him. “They are free, yes. But not because of you. And not without cost.”

The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of unspoken accusations and simmering resentment. Lucifer’s gaze dropped to the ground, his hands still clenched, and for a fleeting moment, the cold arrogance in his expression seemed to falter. There was something in his eyes—an ember of regret, quickly smothered.

Aphrodite looked at him with quiet disappointment, her voice softening. “You could have helped them, you know. Instead of watching, instead of testing… you could have done something.”

He looked away, his mouth set in a hard line. “I did what I thought was necessary,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow even to him.

Hestia stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, her expression both stern and compassionate. “Then perhaps it’s time to rethink what is ‘necessary,’ Lucifer,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a note of tenderness. “Perhaps it’s time to remember what it means to care.”

Lucifer stiffened under her touch but didn’t pull away. His face softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing through his guarded gaze before he turned away, his gaze fixing on the distant horizon where the last of the Israelites disappeared from view. His jaw clenched, and though he tried to maintain his defiant stance, the lines of his face betrayed a quiet, hidden pain—one he would never speak of.

The goddesses stood beside him in silence, their presence a gentle, silent reminder of what he had turned away from, what he had lost in his pursuit of power and control. Together, they looked out over the desert, each bound by their own burdens, their own silent regrets, and in that moment, a fragile, bittersweet understanding hung in the air, unspoken but felt by all.

The sun continued its ascent, casting a warm light over the land as Egypt lay in silence, the distant songs of freedom fading into the dawn.