Chapter Twenty: Mammon

Chapter Twenty - Mammon

The air in Minauros, the third circle of the Hells, didn’t just hang heavy; it was a physical weight, thick with the cloying, swampy scent of mire and the dusty perfume of ancient, hoarded things. An endless, oily sleet fell from a sky the color of tarnished brass, coating everything in a slick, greasy film.

This was not the majestic, fiery terror of Avernus or the cold, clean despair of Stygia. This was a realm of filth. Below the precarious causeway on which she stood, a bottomless, stinking bog churned with a sluggish, diseased life. The polluted water, iridescent with scum, bubbled with foul gases, and the mud itself seemed to writhe with the trapped, wailing souls of lechers and perverts, their eternal punishment to be mired in the filth that mirrored their mortal sins. Yet, rising from this landscape of decay were the gilded ziggurats and opulent towers of Mammon’s sinking city, their surfaces shimmering with a desperate light as they listed at odd angles, slowly, inexorably being reclaimed by the bog.

Benzosia moved through the palace corridor, a sunbeam in a dragon’s hoard, her every sense on high alert. The memory of Eden, of Levistus’s reverence and the impossible, clean scent of moon-lilies, was a secret, precious warmth she guarded in her chest. It was the only thing that kept the chill of this place at bay. Today, I am not a lover, not a wife, not even an angel, she told herself, the thought a mantra against the oppressive atmosphere. Today, I am a queen.

A small, satisfied smile touched Benzosia’s lips as she navigated the gilded causeway. The task of collecting Mammon’s tribute – a decadent offering of his finest incubi and succubi – should have fallen to Basileus. The new Herald would have relished the duty, another symbol of his elevated status. It was precisely why Benzosia had intercepted the proceedings with a curt, imperious message to Mammon’s court, expressing her own ‘personal interest’ in overseeing the transfer. A petty move, perhaps, but a necessary one. 

She found Mammon not on a throne, but in a vast, vault-like chamber within his sinking palace, seated behind a desk carved from a single, flawless diamond. Here, the stench of the bog was replaced by the dry, sterile scent of gold and the aged, papery perfume of countless hoarded treasures. He was meticulously counting a pile of silver coins, his long, slender fingers moving with the precision of a master jeweler. He didn’t look up as she entered, letting the silence stretch, a classic power play. 

Let him play his games. I’ve learned from the master of them.

“Lord Mammon,” Benzosia began, her voice cool and steady, refusing to be intimidated. “I trust the new assets are prepared for transfer.”

Mammon placed one final coin onto a stack, the soft clink echoing in the cavernous room. He finally raised his head, his eyes the color of molten gold, shrewd and ancient. 

“Queen Benzosia. An unexpected pleasure. I was under the impression Lord Basileus would be handling this transaction.”

“Basileus is… enthusiastic,” Benzosia said, choosing her words with care. “But his methods can be… costly. The last shipment of pleasure slaves from your domain suffered significant, and I must say, unnecessary, depreciation before they even reached the King’s harem. Such a waste of pristine specimens.” She let the accusation hang in the air. “I felt I should oversee this delivery personally. To ensure your investment is protected.”

A flicker of something cold and sharp ignited in Mammon’s golden eyes. Greed is the language he understands. 

“My progeny are not mere ‘products,’ Your Majesty,” he corrected, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “They are the last living legacy of the First Mother. The children of Lilith and myself. Each one is a priceless, irreplaceable artifact from a time before Asmodeus was anything more than a glorified librarian.”

The revelation struck Benzosia with the force of a physical blow. Lilith. The name was a legend, a whisper of primal, untamable power even in the highest celestial circles. These weren’t just demons; they were royalty of a different, older line. And Asmodeus, in his arrogance, was breaking them like common toys. She had unexpectedly found a sore spot, the festering wound in Mammon’s pride.

“Forgive me, it seems the lack of care is an even greater insult than I realized,” she recovered smoothly, her mind racing with the implications.

“Indeed.” Mammon’s smile was a slow, reptilian stretching of his lips. “It shows a distinct lack of appreciation for true lineage. But I am relieved to know someone in the Malsheem still values a quality investment. Asmodeus’s tastes have grown…wasteful as of late.” He rose, his movements fluid and sinuous. “Come. Allow me to show you what true value looks like.”

He led her from the vault to a series of chambers hidden behind a gilded, puzzle-locked door. The air within was different—warm, scented with exotic perfumes and the faint, electric tang of raw emotion. These were the opulent dens of his Lillim, a stark contrast to the filth of the realm outside. Through archways of polished gold, she saw them. His children. Beautiful incubi and succubi, their forms perfect and alluring, were entwined with mortal souls, their victims lost in ecstatic, dream-like states. The demons were not merely cavorting; they were feeding, drawing sustenance from the pleasure and despair of the mortals, their eyes glowing with a soft, predatory light.

“Magnificent, are they not?” Mammon’s voice was filled with a creator’s pride. “In the golden era, under Lucifer’s reign, they were artists. They could walk the dream-realms of mortals freely, hunting, feeding, growing their power. Lucifer understood their nature, their purpose. He never restricted them. Asmodeus, however…” He made a sound of disgust. “He keeps them caged, leashed, treats them like common chattel to be broken for his amusement. He stifles their potential.”

The mention of her brother’s name was the opening she needed. “Then you would support my brother’s claim to the throne, should he return?”

Mammon turned to her, his golden eyes sharp and assessing. “Do you support his claim, my Queen? It matters little who I support if the Morningstar family itself is divided.”

“My opinion has carried little influence,” Benzosia stated, shrugging off a lifetime of ingrained loyalty. “And Lucifer’s claim is the strongest.”

Mammon let out a low, humorless chuckle. “My dear Queen, his claim is the loudest. It is not the same thing.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You are thinking like an angel. Lucifer’s claim is strong, yes. But it is based on history, on a past appointment. You are overlooking your most valuable, and current, asset.”

“And what is that?” Benzosia asked, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs.

“Your womb,” Mammon stated, his voice devoid of all but cold, hard calculation. “The Morningstar name is a powerful brand, it’s true. But a direct heir… that is a controlling interest in the entire enterprise. A child born of your blood and Asmodeus’s throne, would surpass the claim of a returning founder. Lucifer could rally armies, but your child would hold the very keys to the kingdom by right of succession. A right no one, not even the old guard, could dispute.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The air, thick with the scent of gold, suddenly felt thin, hard to draw into her lungs. He wasn't wrong. The thought was a shard of ice in her gut. She had been so focused on Lucifer, on the past, that she had failed to see the power of the future. She was not a pawn. She was not a prize mirror. She was the board itself. The power she held was not just in her alliances, but in her very blood, in the future she could create—or deny.

“I see,” she finally managed, her voice a faint whisper.

“I hope you do,” Mammon said, his smile returning, sharp as a shard of glass. “Because in any venture, my Queen, one must always know the true value of one’s assets. And you, it seems, are priceless.”

The walk back through the gilded streets of Minauros was a blur. Mammon’s words echoed in her mind, a drumbeat of revelation. A controlling interest. Priceless. The small, cold weight of the contraceptive stone in the hidden pocket of her gown felt heavier now, its significance transformed. The stone was unnaturally cold against her skin, a piece of oblivion that seemed to drink the very warmth from her hand.

She had stolen it as a shield, a desperate act of self-preservation to protect herself from bearing the child of a monster. But now… now she saw it for what it truly was. It was not a shield. It was a weapon. A weapon of absolute, terrifying power.

She could deny Asmodeus his heir, yes. That had been the plan. But Mammon’s words had unlocked a darker, more thrilling possibility. If she could control who didn’t father the heir to the throne of Hell… she could also control who did.

The thought was a dizzying, terrifying plunge into a new kind of darkness. An image of Levistus flashed in her mind—the reverence in his eyes as he knelt before her in Eden, the taste of his kiss, the feeling of being truly seen. The possibility of a child born not of duty and violation, but of that fierce, desperate connection… it was a hope so dangerous and beautiful it stole her breath.

Would Levistus consent to such a reckless, emotional gambit? He loved her, she knew—from the fire in his eyes, from the worship in his touch. Yet, love was a frail and fleeting thing in this realm, a currency easily spent. Would he continue to treasure her, or was she merely an asset to him – a queen to be leveraged, a womb to be utilized for a different kind of power grab? The uncertainty was a fresh torment. Does he even need to know?

Her decision, when it came, was not born of fear or defiance, but of cold, hard strategy. It was the move of a queen, not the act of a fallen angel. The infatuated fool who had followed a seraph into damnation for love was gone, burned to ash in the fires of betrayal. In her place stood a woman who understood that in Hell, the only love worth having was power. She would not use the stone on herself. She would use it on him.