Chapter Seven: Frozen Heat

Chapter - Frozen Heat

With care not to slip, Azadiel led her towards the entrance, the path of packed ice and dark stone crunching underfoot. Inside, the transition to the small parlor was jarring. The icy tendrils of the Stygian palace architecture were undeniable, yet the room itself exuded a surprising, almost disconcerting coziness. Furnishings were sparse but rich – a low, diamond stone table gleaming under the fire light, two plush velvet chairs in deep indigo that felt strangely warm despite their icy hues, and a crackling fire of hypnotic blue flames in a massive hearth, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the intricately carved ice walls. The air hung thick with the sharp scent of ozone from the nearby storm and something else, something faintly floral and ancient, a disconcerting mixture that mirrored the frail calm Benzosia forced herself to maintain.

“It is not wise to bait Asmodeus the way you did, brother.” While she loved him for his concern, his temper could easily get him killed.

“Azadiel courts danger like a lover.” Levistus’s voice, deep and resonant, preceded him slightly. He entered from a shadowed archway, a figure of stark grace against the icy backdrop. He moved with that unnerving silence, his long coat of midnight fur seeming to absorb the very light, the whisper of fur against the icy floor the only sound beyond the fire. It trailed behind him like a living shadow. In his arms, he carried a tray laden with steaming, delicate porcelain, the fragrant steam momentarily softening the harsh, beautiful lines of his face, veiling for an instant the lethal precision in his features, hinting perhaps at a vulnerability concealed deep beneath the glacial mask.

His eyes, a chilling shade of glacial blue, found hers instantly across the small room. They held hers captive, a beat too long, and a cold dread mingled with an unwanted warmth pooling low in her belly. It felt as if that icy gaze stripped away her queenly mask, layer by layer, leaving her vulnerabilities exposed under the eerie blue light. He set the tray down on the obsidian table, the sharp click of delicate porcelain against stone echoed, unnaturally loud in the charged silence, making Benzosia flinch inwardly. Then, he took the only remaining seat – directly beside her on the plush velvet chair.

His thigh brushed against hers as he settled, a jolt of palpable energy, an icy heat that radiated through the layers of her gown, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine and tightening her core. Gods, what was wrong with her? This thing beside her was a Prince of Hell, cold and calculating, yet her body betrayed her, responding with a primal awareness that defied reason, a forbidden spark in the suffocating darkness of her existence. This heat…it was different. Not the consuming rage of Asmodeus, nor the violating chill of Gadreel. It was something else, something controlled and deliberate, a banked inferno that felt both lethally dangerous and disturbingly… alive. It drew her even as it horrified her, a fascination she couldn't afford, couldn't extinguish.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your attempts at deflection, sister,” Azadiel pressed, oblivious to the silent undercurrents, his voice sharp, though shadows of his recent pain still lingered beneath his eyes. “Has he harmed you?”

How could she convince him? How could she speak of wellness when she felt like shattered glass, held together only by sheer, desperate will and the terrible secret growing within her? “Why… why would you ask such a thing?” Her voice was a fragile thread, threatening to snap under the weight of her brother’s concern and Levistus’s unnerving proximity.

“I know you loved Asmodeus once, Benny,” Azadiel said, his voice softening with a pity that felt like acid on her raw nerves. “But he is not the seraphim we knew. He is… changed.”

“‘Monster’ is perhaps too simple a word,” Levistus interjected, the correction a low, contemptuous growl, laced with chilling certainty. His presence beside her was overwhelming, a physical weight, a magnetic field that seemed to pull the very air towards him. The atmosphere crackled, threatening to shatter the delicate illusion of warmth from the blue fire.

“Or Gadreel makes him so,” Benzosia whispered, the words escaping like poison, scalding her throat far worse than the untouched, fragrant tea. The admission felt like a betrayal to the memory of the angel she’d loved, yet the lie was suffocating her, pressing down like the weight of Hell itself.

“Indeed?” Azadiel leaned forward, the ancient, righteous fury of the avenging archangel tightening his posture, sharpening the lines of his face into something fierce and dangerous. “Tell me about Gadreel.”

She let out a shuddering sigh, the sound fragile in the tense room. The Pandora’s Box of her secrets was being forced open, lock by painful lock. “You’re right,” she conceded, the words tasting like ash and despair. “Asmodeus has changed… horribly. But I believe Gadreel… his influence… it twists him, exacerbates the corruption Hell breeds.” She chose her words like steps across a frozen, cracking lake, revealing only the barest surface, shielding Azadiel from the full, degrading truth of her existence – the constant fear, the subtle manipulations, the ownership disguised as affection. The thought of his blood being spilled for her failures, her compromises, was unbearable.

Azadiel scoffed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed uncomfortably off the ice walls. “Don't excuse him, Benzosia. Hell may corrupt, but the choice to embrace that darkness? That was his alone.”

“I know, but it’s Gadreel, I feel his hand in this!” Her voice rose, sharpened by desperation, by the need for someone to believe her, to validate the sliver of hope she clung to that Asmodeus wasn't entirely lost.

Levistus considered this, stroking his hard jawline thoughtfully, his gaze distant for a moment, calculating probabilities in the infernal calculus. “Possible,” he conceded, the single word falling like a stone into the chilling silence. “Gadreel is a master manipulator, subtle as venom.” His ice-blue eyes flicked back to her then, pinning her with unnerving intensity. “Or,” he continued softly, dangerously, “Asmodeus always harbored these particular shadows, and Gadreel merely gave them shape.”

A shard of Stygian ice seemed to lodge itself in Benzosia's chest, each word from Levistus chipping away at the fragile wall of her composure. His innate core? The thought sent a tremor through her, threatening to crack the carefully constructed mask she wore. "He is a seraphim," she insisted, her voice tight, as if by sheer force of will she could make it so. She gripped the edge of her chair, knuckles white, as if clinging to a precipice.

"He was a seraphim," Levistus echoed, his tone a slow drip of poison, each syllable undermining her certainty. "And ambition," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "has always been a flame within him. Perhaps Hell merely fanned it, freeing the beast he kept leashed."

"Impossible" Benzosia's denial was sharp, desperate. She saw the angel in her mind's eye—gentle, kind—and clung to that image as if it were the only thing keeping her afloat.

"Are you so sure?" Levistus's voice was a low, sharp challenge, his eyes boring into hers, demanding an answer she wasn't sure she possessed.

Azadiel shifted, the movement stiff, drawing their attention. He cleared his throat, a sound that seemed too small in the charged air. He took a sip of his tea, but the nonchalance he tried to project didn't quite reach his eyes; they remained shadowed, troubled. "Regardless," he said, "it's time Lucifer reclaimed his throne. Perhaps then this..." he gestured vaguely, "madness can be purged." The words hung heavy, thick with rebellion, as palpable as the icy air itself.

A wave of panic washed over Benzosia, stealing her breath, making her head spin. "Lucifer?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But... will he even come back? Even our Father couldn't..." Her leg began to tremble, an uncontrollable tremor against the unyielding pressure of Levistus's thigh. It was a betraying movement, a crack in her carefully maintained facade. Her hand instinctively fluttered towards her abdomen, a fleeting, protective gesture she barely registered making. Before she could stop it, his hand covered hers on her knee. Not a gentle caress, but a firm, grounding pressure that radiated a stark heat, stilling the tremor with its sheer possessive weight. A strange heat radiated from him, a stark contrast to the icy chill of the room and the cold dread that had settled in her bones. His eyes flickered down to where her own hand had rested moments before on her abdomen, a fleeting, calculating assessment.

“Our Heavenly father offered him no choice, only condemnation,” Levistus stated, his voice resonating with the conviction of one who had witnessed the cataclysm firsthand. “We won't repeat that cosmic error. The decision to return, to rule, must be his. We merely need to find him. Convince him his Realm descends into madness under Asmodeus’s increasingly erratic reign.”

To find the Morningstar, the Lightbringer who had vanished into obscurity? Easier said than done.

“I brought some of his effects, items stored safely in the Silver City vaults before… before the Fall.” Azadiel set down his cup, rising stiffly, a sharp wince twisting his features as his damaged back protested. “Clues, perhaps, amongst the things Lucifer valued most.” He returned a moment later from an adjoining alcove, burdened by a heavy, dark wood trunk, bound in blackened, scarred iron. Its surface seemed to drink the little light the blue fire cast.

“Mind your wounds!” Levistus growled, rising with that predatory grace that seemed effortless for him. He took the trunk from Azadiel as if it weighed nothing, setting it down with a soft thud that echoed through the icy chamber. He then guided Azadiel back to his chair with a firmness that bordered on rough impatience. “I don’t relish playing nursemaid to a reckless, prideful archangel again.”

“Leave off, Levistus. I’m healed enough for this.”

“I should hope so,” Benzosia murmured, her gaze fixed on the ominous, ancient trunk. “It’s been weeks since the attack.”

“Healing is slow in this cursed realm,” Levistus grumbled, settling back beside her, his presence a disconcerting magnetic field, a vortex of potent comfort and terrifying danger that seemed to compress the air around them. “A side effect of the ambient misery, perhaps. Or the warlock's lingering dark magic fouling the process.”

Benzosia lowered her voice, the question barely a whisper. "You're sure it was a warlock?" She glanced at Azadiel, his jaw set hard, his gaze fixed on the blue flames. She knew he wouldn't bring it up—the shame of being brought down by magic, of all things, would choke him before the words could.

“Yes.” The single syllable was flat, cold, final. No room for doubt.

Benzosia knelt before the trunk, drawn by an invisible current, a strange mix of trepidation and desperate hope. She opened it, the old hinges groaning softly. A reverence warred within her against the bitter resentment she still held for Lucifer. Betrayer. Brother. Lost Star. The duality tore at her fragile composure. A sob escaped, raw and ugly, ripped from her chest – a sudden, violent release of weeks, months, of suppressed agony, gnawing fear, and soul-crushing isolation. Inside lay not gold nor gems, but humble, poignant remnants of a life extinguished long ago: a cracked leather pouch spilling dried, unrecognizable seeds that crumbled at a touch, brittle parchments covered in elegant, archaic script, a simple braided leather cord, frayed at the ends as if worried often, a small, dulled dagger with a surprisingly ornate, star-shaped hilt, and nestled beneath it all, gleaming faintly against dark velvet lining, a single, wrought-iron key. It pulsed with a faint, rhythmic, undeniably divine light, a tiny captured star defying the oppressive gloom of the Stygian palace.

“He kept it…” Azadiel knelt beside her, his voice thick with unshed tears. “The blade… I forged this for him, before I ever held a true sword, when we were… fledglings.” He reached past her, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her arm as he picked up the key. The cold iron seemed to warm slightly in his grasp. “This is from Heaven. And like its keeper, it found its way down to Hell.” He frowned, running a scarred finger along its intricate teeth, then picked up a piece of folded parchment lying beneath where the key had rested. “Benzosia… I think he meant this for you. Look–”

Her name, written in Lucifer’s elegant, familiar, devastating script.

For my sweet sister, Benzosia, I leave the key to paradise. -Lucifer-

“How… cryptic.” Disappointment warred with a reluctant flicker of desperate intrigue. A riddle, when she craved answers, solace, escape. Anything but more ambiguity from the brother who had abandoned them. Heart heavy as lead, she carefully tucked the pulsing key into the hidden pocket sewn into the lining of her gown, the faint thrum of its light a secret warmth against the icy chill that seemed to permeate even her bones in this damned palace. She stood, the movement deliberate, drawing strength from the cold resolve crystallizing within her fragile hope. She pulled Azadiel up with her; he stumbled slightly, leaning on her for a moment, his reliance a stark reminder of his vulnerability and her own precarious position balanced on a razor's edge.

“We’re going to find him,” she declared again, her voice firmer this time, echoing slightly against the ice-slicked walls of the parlor. The blue flames in the hearth flickered high, casting long, dancing shadows that momentarily distorted Levistus’s impassive features into something ancient and severe.

“We?” Levistus repeated, his voice a low baritone that resonated with the chill of the Stygian depths. He remained seated, a study in contained power, his stillness somehow more threatening than movement, his glacial eyes fixed on her, missing nothing. “A noble sentiment, My Queen. But fraught with extreme peril. Treason is not a word whispered lightly in Asmodeus’s court, even here in my frozen domain.” His gaze flickered, sharp and assessing, like a wolf judging the strength – or folly – of its potential prey.

"Treason…” It had always been the plan to see Lucifer restored to the infernal throne, yet it was obvious even to her that Asmodeus in his current state would see any dissent, any memory of Lucifer, as a threat. Her hand instinctively went to her abdomen again, a fleeting, protective gesture that Levistus did not miss, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, his stillness intensifying. "If finding Lucifer is the only way to ensure any kind of safety..." She let the sentence hang, the dangerous, rebellious implication shimmering like heat haze in the frigid air.

"You’ll only further endanger yourself, Benny," Azadiel protested, stepping slightly in front of her again, a protective gesture that felt both touchingly futile and achingly naive against the backdrop of Levistus’s cold pragmatism and the realities of Hell. "Let Levistus and I pursue the leads. Your place is..."

She braced herself.

"Princess Zariel," Levistus said, smoothly interrupting Azadiel. His full attention was on her, making her feel oddly exposed. The blue firelight danced in his icy eyes, giving them a sharp, almost analytical gleam. "You want power - you need counsel, allies. As the Queen, if you requested a meeting with Zariel at the Malsheem palace, it would seem less suspicious than Azadiel or I showing up unannounced. You could meet her, discern for yourself if she still supports the reign of the Morningstar—or if she's become too ambitious, like so many others here in Hell." He leaned closer, a small movement that felt charged with energy. The distance between their chairs shrank, and Benzosia could feel that distinct, unnerving heat radiating from him, a subtle crackle in the air. "Can you do this, Benzosia? Can you handle the politics? Can you play this dangerous game?"

His use of her name, stripped bare of her title, felt both disturbingly intimate and deliberately challenging, a gauntlet thrown down in the icy parlor.

"Zariel..." Benzosia breathed, the name itself tasting like frost and volatile, untamed power. She pictured the regent of Limbo – an Archon whose loyalty was as unpredictable as her realm. Seeking such an alliance felt like trying to harness lightning – a misstep, a misjudgment of Zariel’s fierce independence, could shatter everything into irreparable shards, condemning them faster than Asmodeus himself might.

“A dangerous gamble, but a necessary one.” Azadiel replied, with obvious discontent at her involvement. “Asmodeus’s moods shift like the unpredictable Stygian winds – veering from absolute, chilling calm to explosive rage without warning or discernible reason. We must remove him from the throne before he grows more erratic,"

"His true self... the seraphim I knew... he will return," she insisted, the words a desperate prayer whispered into the icy air, seeking reassurance she knew might be a fool's hope. "Once freed from Gadreel's insidious poison..."

“Hope, My Queen?" Levistus countered, his voice dropping, a low rumble that vibrated through the icy air. A humorless smile touched his lips. "A flimsy shield, easily shattered in a place like this. Steel yourself for the more likely outcome." The words were a low, guttural vibration, a terrifying glimpse of the volatile power beneath his icy control. In the shifting blue firelight, his sharp features seemed to sharpen further, revealing the fallen archangel: beautiful, lethally poised, and terrifying.

It jolted her back to immediate reality. Fear, cold and immediate, spiked through her veins like shards of ice. Her earlier panic returned with dizzying force. Reaching for the teacup again, her fingers brushed against porcelain filmed with delicate frost patterns. "How long?" she whispered, dread icing her words, making her voice shake. "How long have I been here, Levistus?" Asmodeus's possessiveness was a suffocating cage, his temper legendary. Gadreel would relish exploiting her prolonged absence, weaving fresh poison and paranoia into her husband’s already suspicious ear.

"Too long," Azadiel confirmed grimly, his face pale beneath the ethereal blue light, mirroring her own rising fear. He stepped forward again, pulling her into a tight embrace, his familiar warmth a small, desperate comfort against the encroaching dread. "We won't let him harm you, Benny," he vowed fiercely, his voice thick with conviction, clinging to his protective role. "We will see this through. We will find a way to protect you."

She clung to him for a moment, gathering her fragmented strength, trying to draw on his certainty. Then, pulling back slightly, she met his determined gaze, before turning to meet Levistus's watchful, intense stare. "This path," she stated, her voice steady now, imbued with the chilling certainty of her decision, the ice of Stygia seeping into her resolve, hardening it. "Is one I chose." She looked between her brother, the wounded archangel radiating fierce, unwavering loyalty, and the enigmatic, dangerous prince of the Stygia. “Come Hell or Heaven, the three of us are in this together now.”