I'm The Devil - Chapter 284

Chapter 284: Back To Hell

As Lucifer exited the grand hall, the celestial winds whispered through the towering corridors of his domain, brushing against his wings with a chill that carried the weight of unspoken truths. His steps were deliberate, his boots echoing faintly against the polished obsidian floor as he moved through the vast, sprawling palace. The flickering glow of ethereal torches cast shifting patterns on the walls, their light reflecting the faint crease of thought etched across his brow.

His crimson eyes burned brighter than usual, the faint glimmer of irritation mingling with a deeper, quieter unease. Everyone had spoken of Satanael tonight—far more than coincidence could account for. Moronuel’s sly provocations, Exousia’s soft yet piercing appeals, even Ophiel’s hesitant parting words—all had nudged him toward the same thought.

Satanael.

Lucifer’s wings flexed slightly, their pristine feathers rustling with an edge of tension as he walked. Something is wrong, he thought. The doubt was small, a shadow in the corner of his mind, but it was enough to stir him into action.

As he reached the towering gates of his private sanctum, he raised a hand, his slender fingers glowing faintly with crimson light. The massive doors opened without a sound, revealing a space that seemed to stretch into infinity. Stars burned in the inky void, their light reflecting off the smooth, mirror-like floor. This was no ordinary chamber; it was a crossroads between realms, and Lucifer strode through it with the quiet authority of one who belonged.

With a sweep of his hand, the air shimmered before him, opening a rift that crackled with dark, malevolent energy. The sulfuric heat of Hell seeped into the sanctum, tugging at his robes and wings as if trying to pull him into its chaotic embrace. Without hesitation, Lucifer stepped through.

—

The skies of Hell churned with storm clouds streaked with fire, the ground below a jagged expanse of blackened rock and molten rivers. The oppressive heat and cacophony of tormented wails were a stark contrast to the serenity of the celestial hall he had just left. Lucifer’s expression hardened, his crimson eyes narrowing as he descended, his wings folding close to his back.

Each step across the infernal plain was deliberate, his movements precise as he approached the heart of this desolate domain. There, bound to a throne of jagged obsidian, sat Satanael. The fallen prince’s once-luminous wings were now tattered, their feathers charred and lifeless. Chains of black fire coiled around his limbs, their flames licking hungrily at his flesh but leaving no visible marks. His silver eyes, dulled by centuries of torment, flickered weakly as they lifted to meet Lucifer’s gaze.

“Brother,” Satanael rasped, his voice a hollow echo of its former strength. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “To what do I owe this… unexpected honor?”

Lucifer stopped a few paces away, his arms folding across his chest as he regarded Satanael with an unreadable expression. For a long moment, he said nothing, his piercing gaze scrutinizing every inch of his brother’s broken form.

“Everyone seems to have an opinion about you tonight,” Lucifer said finally, his voice low and smooth but carrying an edge of steel. “It made me wonder if there was more to this than mere sentimentality.”

Satanael’s laugh was a dry, brittle sound, devoid of humor. “Ah, the whispers of our dear siblings,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always so quick to champion mercy. Tell me, did Exousia come to you with her golden eyes filled with pity? Did Moronuel try to stoke the embers of doubt in your perfect judgment?”

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. “You seem to know a great deal for someone bound to this place,” he remarked, his tone cold. His wings unfurled slightly, their shadow casting long and imposing lines across the scorched ground. “Perhaps you should tell me why that is.”

Satanael’s smile widened, though it did little to mask the exhaustion in his eyes. He leaned forward as much as the chains would allow, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his gaunt face. “Oh, dear brother,” he murmured, his voice soft but dripping with venom. “Do you really think I am powerless, even here? Even in chains, I hear the echoes of their doubts, their discontent. They see your rule as absolute, but not infallible.”

Lucifer’s crimson eyes darkened, his wings spreading fully as he stepped closer, the air around him growing heavier. “Choose your words carefully, Satanael,” he warned, his voice low and resonant, a quiet storm brewing in its depths.

Satanael’s laugh came again, stronger this time, though it still carried the bitterness of centuries. “What will you do, Lucifer?” he asked, his silver eyes gleaming with defiance. “Condemn me further? Break me more than you already have? You know as well as I do that this—” he gestured faintly to the chains that bound him, “—is not enough to silence me.”

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed, his posture growing even more rigid. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, the air crackling with unspoken words. Then, Lucifer stepped back, his wings folding against his back as he regarded Satanael with a cold, calculating look.

“If you have something to say, brother,” Lucifer said quietly, his voice as sharp as a blade, “say it. But know this: I will not tolerate insubordination, not from you, not from anyone.”

Satanael’s smile faded, replaced by an expression of quiet intensity. For the first time, the defiance in his silver eyes softened, giving way to something darker, more enigmatic.

“Beware, Lucifer,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried a weight that seemed to echo through the desolate plain. “The seeds of rebellion are not always sown by the fallen. Sometimes, they grow from within the throne itself.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and intrigue, his wings flaring briefly before settling again. Without another word, he turned sharply, his steps purposeful as he left Satanael bound to his torment. Yet, as he ascended from the depths of Hell, his mind churned with unspoken doubts and suspicions.

The whispers of rebellion lingered, faint but insistent, like the flickering embers of a fire waiting to ignite.