Chapter Thirty-one: A Nest of Lies

Chapter thirty-one: A nest of lies

The ice of Stygia had never felt colder. It was always a bitter shift from the smothering heat of the Malsheem, but the chill that now settled in his bones had nothing to do with the fifth layer's bitter climate. It was a core-deep frost, an ache that mirrored the silence left by Benzosia's absence. His fortress, once a sanctuary, was now a perfect, silent mirror reflecting his torment. Every shard of glacial blue seemed to amplify the crushing burden on his soul.

The image was burned into the back of his eyes, a torment on constant replay: Queen Benzosia, gilded and fragile, standing beside the King, his hand possessively resting on the soft, round curve of her stomach. The smugness of his deceptive smile as he looked down at her, a transparent act of doting on his prized possession – transparent to Levistus, at least. It was a display for all the Hells to see, the ultimate trophy, the final proof of her restored fealty. 

The public audience had been a suffocating charade. Levistus had stood among the other archdevils, his gaze fixed on her. She, in turn, looked through him, her eyes devoid of the love that beat so strongly in his own heart. Her performance was flawless, a cold and terrifying mask of indifference. It was just one more testament to her extraordinary nature. The pain that gripped him was not the rage of a man scorned, but the devastating sorrow of a lover forced to applaud his beloved’s perfect, tragic lie. 

She’s protecting herself. She is protecting the child.

This crushing thought was his only comfort. He knew his own gift—the rock of unmaking he’d given her months ago—had sealed a different, personal fate for him: infertility. She had chosen to turn the weapon on him. She had calculated the risks and made him the sacrificial pawn, ensuring her fertility for the King, and removing him as a viable threat. He could only respect the ruthless brilliance of that choice, the hellish calculace behind her need to protect her life and position by choosing the subsequent pregnancy. A Queen of the Nine Hells, stripped of her brother and separated from her allies, had only one weapon left: her necessity. But Levistus, consumed by his impossible love, found no logic to numb the agony of knowing that the life growing inside her was Asmodeus’s heir. The ultimate price of her survival was the eradication of their shared love, and Asmodeus, a mockery of a husband, now flaunted the dynasty Levistus himself could never give her.

I cannot accept this.

For a fleeting moment, he told himself this was for her – a general, a lord saving his queen. But the lie felt brittle even as it formed in his thoughts. He felt the integrity of his soul tear, not from noble self-sacrifice, but from a desperate, all-consuming choice. He chose her, and in doing so, he chose himself. Her mere survival was no longer enough – he wanted it all. He craved a life with Benzosia, free from Asmodeus's possessive grip, and freedom from the gnawing torment that had been his constant companion. He even wanted a claim on the child she had denied him. Her salvation was a means to an end—the key to his own dominion. 

Asmodeus had seized control using the old ways: terror, submission, and the claim of untouchable lineage. To break this control, Levistus needed a variable that transcended the existing hierarchy – a forgotten power, a true challenger. He needed Lucifer.

The political situation was a tightening noose, secured by the destruction of the Abyss and the absolute authority of the Rod of Ruin. Benzosia was a gilded prisoner, her life – and the life of Asmodeus's heir – dependent on the King’s fleeting, capricious mercy. For centuries, he’d honored the boundaries of the original compact, respecting Lucifer’s centuries-old self-exile. That code of conduct was now moot, his loyalty, once tethered to the fallen Morningstar King, now swayed only to the Queen of his damned heart.

While his soul endured its glacial torment, his mind raced, sharp and unyielding. He spent days and nights in the icy depths of his scrying chambers, meticulously tracing the fading echoes of his missing herald. Azadiel’s trail, once dismissed as a foolish flight into impossible rebellion, now pulsed like a desperate beacon. Levistus poured over celestial charts and infernal ledgers, his focus sharpened by a singular purpose. The last verifiable reports were a whisper, a rumor of a great disturbance near the edge of the known cosmos, where the light of the Morningstar once shone and where the old compact still held… a place of forgotten power, a true challenger to Asmodeus’s reign. This was where Azadiel had gone.

He looked across the chaotic tapestry of the Hells, towards the churning, hateful clouds of Avernus, and then further, into the terrifying, unknown void where the original patron of the Hells was rumored to be hiding.

He saw the cold irony of his own hubris now. He once scoffed at Azadiel's desperate treason, but now he would commit the ultimate defiance, shattering his ancient oath. He would seek out Lucifer and directly challenge the self-exiled King to return. It was the only viable path to claim what was his. Azadiel’s missing trail was not just a beacon – it was the compass pointing toward the impossible.

“Enough.” The word was a single, brittle snap of breaking ice.

He drew the cowl of his cloak over his head, the darkness settling around him like inescapable fate. His commitment to the structure of the Nine Hells had been his creed. Now, his only creed was the desperate, terrifying claim to a life he wanted for himself. He was committing treason. A slow, patient, glacial treason – and he was finally, terribly, free to possess all that he craved.

He had nothing left worth losing.