I'm The Devil - Chapter 286

Chapter 286: Family Meeting Two

The silence that followed Lucifer’s declaration was thick and oppressive, each sibling grappling with unspoken thoughts as the weight of his words settled over them. The flickering torches lining the walls cast shifting shadows across their faces, betraying hints of their inner turmoil.

Finally, it was Amiel, who broke the silence. She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her dark eyes flickered with a conflicted light. “We don’t know what Satanael is planning, if he is planning anything,” she said, her voice calm but edged with something brittle. “But…” She hesitated, her gaze lowering momentarily before snapping back to Lucifer’s. “I won’t lie. I’ve thought about him. Recently. More than I have in centuries.”

Her lips tightened as she shifted slightly, her green robes catching the dim light. “His punishment… it was harsh. Harsher than anything else we’ve seen. You don’t think… perhaps he’s suffered enough?”

Lucifer’s gaze burned into her, but he said nothing, letting the silence draw out until Amiel glanced away, her shoulders stiff with tension.

Bariel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers drumming against his knee in a nervous rhythm. His golden eyes darted around the room, avoiding direct contact with Lucifer’s piercing gaze. “Look,” he said, his deep voice tinged with unease, “I don’t know what Satanael’s been up to, okay? Hell, I doubt anyone does. But Amiel’s got a point.” He scratched the back of his neck, his armor clinking softly. “I mean, the guy’s been chained to that throne for—what?—a few millennia now? Even I’d think about cracking if I were in his place.”

His laughter was forced, and it quickly died under Lucifer’s unyielding stare. He leaned back, his large hands fidgeting in his lap as he avoided the growing tension in the room.

Moronuel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, his silver eyes gleaming with calculated intrigue. “What Bariel means,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with practiced charm, “is that perhaps Satanael’s punishment has reached its… expiration date.” He smiled faintly, his fingers steepling beneath his chin as he regarded Lucifer. “Not that I’m suggesting you were wrong to pass judgment, of course.” His lips curled into a faint smirk, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his caution.

“However, we all know how resentment festers in the dark. Satanael was always… ambitious. A trait we all admired once.” His gaze swept briefly across the room, lingering on Asmodeus, who raised a single brow in response. “Surely you’ve considered that his time in torment might have… shifted his perspective?”

Asmodeus tilted his head, his black eyes narrowing as he studied Lucifer’s expression. “I won’t deny it,” he said, his voice a low, melodic hum. “I’ve thought about him as well. We all have, clearly. And yes, his punishment was… severe. Perhaps even unfair, depending on your perspective.”

He smiled faintly, though the warmth didn’t reach his eyes. “But you must understand, brother, it’s not rebellion we’re discussing. It’s doubt. Doubt in the fairness of a punishment that was meant to serve as a lesson. If the lesson has already been learned, then what purpose does his suffering serve now?” His gaze flicked to the others, inviting silent agreement, though none spoke.

Coriel finally stirred, her movements slow and deliberate as though even speaking was a laborious task. She leaned back in her chair, her silver eyes half-lidded as she regarded Lucifer with a faint, enigmatic smile. “Perhaps the real question,” she said, her voice soft and velvety, “is whether you doubt yourself, brother.”

Her words hung in the air, a subtle challenge cloaked in disarming calm. “We’ve all thought of Satanael, yes. But his punishment was your decision. If you’re questioning it now, doesn’t that mean you’ve changed? Or perhaps you’ve come to fear what he represents.”

Her smile widened slightly, though it carried no malice—only a quiet, unsettling amusement. “After all, fear is such a… mortal trait.”

Lucifer’s crimson eyes snapped to her, his expression hardening into something colder, more dangerous. Coriel’s gaze didn’t waver, though the faintest flicker of tension passed over her features before she settled into stillness again.

For a moment, the room was deathly silent, the air heavy with unspoken truths and half-formed accusations. Lucifer let the tension simmer, his piercing gaze sweeping over each of his siblings in turn.

“You speak of fairness,” he said finally, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Of doubt. But remember this: Satanael’s fall was not a matter of fairness. It was a matter of order.”

His wings flared slightly, their shadow stretching long across the room. “I have no doubts. If he suffers, it is because he chose to defy what cannot be defied. Do not mistake my patience for weakness.”

He stood, the movement slow and deliberate, his towering figure casting an imposing presence over the room. “But I will know the truth of this. If any of you harbor treasonous thoughts—if any of you have been swayed by Satanael’s whispers—I will uncover it. And there will be no mercy.”

The weight of his words pressed down on them like a physical force, and for a moment, none dared to move or speak. Then, slowly, they began to nod, each offering murmured words of agreement. Yet, beneath the surface, the seeds of doubt and unease had already taken root.

Lucifer turned sharply, his wings trailing behind him as he left the hall without another word. As the great doors closed behind him, his siblings exchanged guarded glances, their expressions a complex web of fear, resentment, and something darker—a quiet, unspoken understanding that none dared to voice.

Lucifer paused just before the towering obsidian doors, his back to the room, wings folded tightly against him. The silence behind him was deafening, a heavy, suffocating weight that pressed down on each of his siblings. His head tilted slightly, as though listening for something beyond the reach of mortal senses. Slowly, his wings unfurled, the sharp, jagged edges glinting faintly in the dim, flickering light. The shadows seemed to ripple in response, drawn toward the dark, otherworldly energy radiating from him.

He turned his head slightly, just enough for his crimson eyes to sweep over the room one last time. They burned like molten coals, lingering on each sibling in turn, their gazes shifting under his scrutiny.

“This is your final warning,” Lucifer said, his voice low and resonant, carrying a menace that made the very air tremble. “Any betrayal, any whisper of disobedience, and I will burn this rebellion from its roots.”

His wings snapped outward with a resounding crack, filling the room with an ominous gust that snuffed out several torches. Darkness crept in, thick and unyielding, before the flames flickered back to life in Lucifer’s wake. Without another word, he surged upward, the force of his ascent shattering the stillness as he vanished into the smoldering skies beyond the arches.

—

For a long moment, none of them moved. The echoes of his departure reverberated through the vast hall, a haunting reminder of the power he wielded. Bariel was the first to stir, letting out a shaky breath as his shoulders sagged under the weight of the tension. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, his golden eyes darting toward the others.

“Well, that was… intense,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fidgeting more pronounced now that Lucifer was gone. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his usual awkwardness magnified by the oppressive silence that still lingered.

Amiel straightened in her chair, her hands resting lightly on her lap, though her fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grip the armrests. Her sharp black eyes narrowed, flicking to each of her siblings before finally settling on Coriel. “You had to goad him,” she said, her voice cold but strained. “Why? Did you think it was wise to accuse him of fear?”

Coriel’s head lolled to the side, her silver eyes half-lidded as a faint, languid smile curved her lips. “Accuse him?” she drawled, her voice as soft and velvety as ever. “No, sister. I merely offered an observation. One he did not deny, I might add.”

Her gaze shifted to the shattered silence where Lucifer had been, her expression unreadable. “Besides, fear or not, it was necessary. He needed to hear what none of you were brave enough to say.”

Moronuel chuckled softly, the sound rich and mocking. He lounged back in his chair, his silver eyes glinting with amusement as he watched the exchange. “Brave? Or foolish? There’s a fine line, Coriel, and you seem to dance on it with reckless abandon.”

He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his movements deliberate and slow, his expression a mask of calm calculation. “Still,” he continued, his tone growing darker, “she’s not wrong. He’s rattled. And when Lucifer is rattled, the cracks begin to show.” His smirk widened, but his eyes held a sharp, predatory glint.

Asmodeus shifted slightly, his dark, flowing hair catching the faint light as he regarded Moronuel with a raised brow. “Cracks,” he repeated, his voice low and honeyed. “A dangerous assumption, don’t you think? Our brother is not one to tolerate such… speculation.”

He leaned forward, his black eyes glittering with an intensity that seemed to pierce through Moronuel’s composed facade. “Or perhaps you’re testing the waters, Moronuel? Feeling out the limits of his patience?”

Moronuel’s smirk faltered ever so slightly, but he quickly recovered, leaning back with a dismissive wave. “I’m merely stating the obvious, dear Asmodeus. No need to twist my words into something they’re not.”

Bariel groaned, rubbing his temples as though trying to ward off a headache. “Could we not? For once? We don’t need to turn this into another round of verbal fencing. Lucifer’s already breathing down our necks; do we really want to give him more reasons to suspect us?”

Amiel’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though her eyes remained hard. “Perhaps Bariel is right,” she said, her tone laced with mockery. “After all, our dear brother is not exactly known for his mercy.”

Coriel chuckled softly, the sound low and almost musical, but it carried a hint of bitterness. “Mercy,” she murmured, her gaze distant as though speaking more to herself than to the others. “An interesting word for creatures like us.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of unspoken thoughts settling over them like a shroud. Each sibling wrestled with their own doubts, their own calculations, as the shadows of rebellion and fear lingered in the corners of their minds.

Outside, the distant roar of Lucifer’s wings echoed faintly, a grim reminder of his presence even in his absence. The seeds of discontent had been planted long ago—but now, with each passing moment, they began to take root, spreading slowly and insidiously through the hearts of those bound by sin.