The air was sweet.
Yet, it was a cloying sweetness that brought to mind rotten sacramental bread.
The moment the cage, etched with the Inverted Bible, slowly ascended from the ground, the previously bright parlor immediately became dim—the light scattered and fled like startled birds, as if every ray refused to shine upon the figure within the cage.
The entire space seemed to be slowly clenched by an invisible hand. Light was no longer a sanctuary, but a betrayer—it once symbolized the sacred, but now it could only reflect the slowly decaying existence within the cage.
"Did this Angel offend you, and then you contaminated him with some means?" Ian stopped three inches away from the transparent cage and did not reach out further.
Mainly because the Angel inside the cage looked like he had contracted some sort of filthy disease.
"It's not what I did, but what he did... you'd better not look too long." Crowley's voice came from behind, rich with the flavor of whiskey.
"That thing is contagious. Angels and Demons are not immune." Crowley heavily puffed his cigar, the surrounding smoke swirling as if helping him isolate the contamination.
This High-Ranking Demon was extremely fond of power and very cautious, with an intense study and obsession with magic and the occult, so he clearly knew how to stave off the pollution.
"It's fine, I like having eyes all over my body, it's just that I can't grow them myself." Ian didn't turn around. His gaze was drawn to the Angel's form, an extremely decayed and twisted state.
Inside the cage, the Angel was quietly suspended, eyes closed, his body fixed in mid-air by an unseen force. His skin was ash-black like mud, and something beneath the skin could be vaguely seen slowly wriggling.
It was as if countless tiny living creatures were moving continuously through his flesh and blood.
The Angel's wings had long since decayed and withered.
Feathers were shriveled and falling off.
Unnatural swollen lumps bulged at the joints of the wings, one after another, covered in a green pus that must have smelled terrible, though it was contained by the cage.
Not only that.
A thin slit was cracked open below the Angel's collarbone—not a wound, but more like a newly grown organ. It opened and closed with his breathing, oozing out star-dust-like fragments of light.
It looked like a mouth inhaling and exhaling air.
"This isn't just a Fallen Angel, this is an Angel of Plague." Even with Ian's aesthetic sense, he felt his scalp tingle, and he didn't even want to stay too close to the black Angel.
He took a few steps back.
A bronze chandelier hung down from the ceiling, its light faint and yellow, shining around the transparent cage imprisoning the Angel, enveloping the entire space in a sick light and shadow.
The most bizarre thing was the Angel's forehead. The spot where a divine rune should have been inlaid was now covered by a film-like substance. Beneath the film, countless tiny characters could be vaguely seen flowing.
That was not the celestial Enochian language.
Nor was it the script of any known civilization.
Those twisted symbols changed structure with the observer's gaze. When Ian slightly shifted his angle, he actually saw them form the shape of innumerable eyeballs twisting constantly.
At this moment.
Ian felt he understood.
He recalled the bizarre drawing the Dream God Morpheus made in his notebook when Ian rescued him, and also the item the Dream God mentioned that he hadn't been able to find.
Of course.
There was also the matter of Miss Death being ashamed to see him, who, the last time she appeared before him, mentioned the "protection of the ultimate power could prevent Them from discovering the invasion."
Clues connected.
It made Ian feel that he had touched the answer.
"This Angel was subjected to Cthulhu contamination on an extradimensional level." Ian didn't know if Crowley was aware of extradimensional matters. He turned to look at the Demon King behind him.
Yes.
The name Crowley had already given Ian the information he needed.
This fellow, like his Godfather, was a character from Supernatural, and might also be an extradimensional entity, though he was one that had been integrated and friendly accepted into the DC Universe.
Crowley, the King of Hell.
He was originally a tailor from Cannisbay, Scotland, in the 17th century. To help his little brother grow taller, bigger, and fatter, he sold his soul to a demon. His mother was a witch, who taught him a lot of magic.
This also gave him the foundation to become the King of Hell.
In the TV series Supernatural, Crowley did rule Hell for a while. Although his rule was heavily disputed, among the Crossroads Demons, he was indeed a powerful King of Hell-level entity. As the King of Crossroads Demons, he was obsessed with the "contract game," enjoying tricking humans and his own kind with meticulously designed terms.
Naturally.
Crossroads Demons, unlike most other demons, weren't too keen on slaughter and other evil deeds. Like his own kind, Crowley only enjoyed making deals.
"This is what I call the 'Good Show'—Heaven is about to stage some magnificent drama." Crowley continued to swirl the wine glass in his hand, the amber liquid left a viscous trail on the glass wall.
"I call this the 'Apocalypse Special Edition'. As long as I'm on Earth, I have the best front-row seat to watch the show." He stated his true purpose for coming to the human world.
His tone was full of schadenfreude.
The Demon King showed no confusion about Ian's mention of an extradimensional invasion, suggesting that any being with a bit of power was already aware of the invasion.
"Um, you don't have to just watch the show. Could you also consider invading Earth, committing atrocities, running rampant, doing wicked deeds, stirring up trouble, and being lawless?"
Ian's golden pupils stared at the moving oil painting on the wall—the hellish landscape in the painting now changed seasons with the rhythm of Crowley's finger tapping.
He was still thinking about this magnificent manor.
Even though it now housed a filthy thing.
It still hadn't diminished the boy's fondness for it.
His golden pupils sparkled in the dim light.
"Hmm? I thought we skipped this part." Crowley paused as he was adding ice to his glass, the ice cubes making a crisp clinking sound in the amber liquid.
"Destroying the world and all that, I'm really not that kind of demon without ambition." He spat an olive pit into a gilded ashtray, the pit making a crisp "ding" sound.
This fellow had a certain taste for fine food and wine.
He rinsed his mouth.
Crowley looked at Ian again.
His tone was serious.
"Actually, without the script Lucifer wanted to assign me, I have no interest in harming the human world. In my opinion, the human world is a great place."
"Not only does it lack the beautiful scenery of Hell, but the human world is quite dangerous, it's not a place you can just invade whenever you get a chance. Do I look like an unintelligent and arrogant demon to you?"
Crowley sighed elegantly.
This gesture made him look more like a human stockbroker than a Demon King.
"You could be." Ian said sincerely.
"But I don't want to be."
Crowley put down his glass, the glass bottom making a crisp sound against the coffee table. "The fact that I could use Constantine to capture this Angel proves I'm smart enough."
His firm attitude made Ian quite disappointed. Ian slumped his shoulders, an action that made him look like a pitiful person who played the lottery all-in but didn't win a dime.
Staring at the boy's expression.
Crowley smiled slightly, gently tapping the armrest of the sofa. "I've investigated you. I know what you want to do. You want to be a superhero on Earth and gather human faith."
"This is a very good disguise and choice. If I were to cause trouble, it would give you the prestige of saving the world." Crowley seemed to have his own interpretation of what Ian was.
However, he seemed quite aware of some of Ian's actions.
However.
Ian's intent in wanting him to wreak havoc wasn't that complicated.
"No, I just want this amazing manor." Ian blinked, then honestly shook his head, openly stating his simplest possible thought.
Upon hearing this.
Crowley's expression visibly froze.
"?????"
The Demon King's expression was glued to his face.
There was a silence of a full three seconds in the parlor.
"You wish to acquire this manor? Fine, I'll gift it to you directly as my apology." Crowley put down his wine glass and made a decision decisively.
He clapped his hands in the air.
A smartly dressed demon immediately materialized from the shadows.
"Transfer this manor to this young man's name, and by the way, adjust the contracts of the gardeners and other staff, so their loyalty is also transferred to this young man."
Crowley instructed the demon disguised in human skin. The silent demon butler nodded, glanced at Ian, and vanished back into the shadows.
Just then.
The human-bone piano suddenly emitted a series of harsh notes.
"Crowley."
A husky voice emerged from beneath the keys—the talking piano was voicing its opinion. "You're such a coward, how can you still manage Hell?"
The voice of the human-bone piano was full of mockery.
"Heh."
Crowley glanced at the old grand piano, his tone calm but unyielding: "You belong to him now, too. Stirring up trouble is not a wise choice."
In response.
The human-bone piano let out a cold laugh.
"I have my integrity! I'm not like you!"
As soon as the words fell.
It played a section of sharp notes.
"It can play itself?"
Ian looked thoughtfully at the piano.
"Heh."
Crowley ignored the human-bone piano and turned to Ian.
"See, this is the disadvantage of old relics not knowing how to use the internet. I, a trendsetter, am different. I learned what kind of person you are in ten minutes on the internet."
"That's much more useful than inefficient divination." As he spoke, he fumbled on the sofa, showing off his tablet computer.
It was not only the latest model.
It was also a flagship brand machine under the Wayne Group.
"Uh..."
Ian was conflicted.
He had truly never encountered such a tricky demon in his life. This guy was far more terrifying than the demons who clamored to kill the heavens, the earth, and his parents.
"If you keep giving me things, you'll become my Uncle Crowley."
Ian didn't want to sigh, but what could he do? The demon's methods were truly wicked. He was indeed the Demon King, and it was normal for a fourteen-year-old boy like himself to be overwhelmed by such a being.
"I very much hope we can maintain this friendly relationship." Crowley smiled like a merchant who had just closed a big deal, the characteristic aura of the Crossroads Demons.
Crossroads Demons are a special group of demons, who can indeed be seen as merchants in Hell. They are characterized by red eyes, often appear as beautiful women, and can grant humans any wish but charge a very high price. The term of the deal is usually ten years, after which a Hellhound drags the contracting party's soul to Hell.
To be honest.
It was only because Crowley didn't pull out a contract that Ian didn't sign immediately, he had been looking for an entrance to Hell for a long time. It wasn't just the magic circle, Ian remembered promising his dad that he would build a prison in Hell.
The memory of the conversation with his dad was "already" vague, but Ian now remembered that he must have promised this, and he absolutely could not disregard his dad's promises.
"You're making me feel awkward."
Ian sighed.
He was also confused.
He had killed the other party's son, after all.
Could it be that the son was also an "above-ground" invasion mission?
That would be too absurd!
This feud must be buried deep in the other party's heart, and the other party must be waiting for an opportunity for revenge! Crowley, the Demon King, seemed oblivious to Ian's expectation and guess.
"Actually, these things are only categorized as worth it or not worth it. When it's worth it, no one understands human etiquette better than a demon." Crowley also seemed quite candid.
Ian raised an eyebrow at that.
This gesture made him look at least three seconds more mature than his actual age.
"I have a book and a trash can, they might be with you." If the little punk was caught by the other party, Ian figured his property must be in Crowley's hands.
This guess also seemed to be correct.
"Mr. Abyss Demon Barret, I remember this self-aggrandizing demon. It made a deep impression on me, not just its twisted mind, but also its poor undercover skills."
Crowley nodded, speaking with emotion. "However, that demon is very loyal to you, and it fooled quite a few of my subordinates by using Trigon's banner."
He had clearly always known about the Demon Bull Head's actions.
The previous so-called misunderstanding.
It was probably only a misunderstanding after certain things Ian didn't know about had occurred.
"As for that book..." Crowley hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a remote control. As he pressed the second button, a gilded birdcage slowly descended from the ceiling.
Inside the cage.
The Magic Book of Ian's Wrath was frantically crashing into the bars.
The pages flapped like angry bird wings.
"It seems to be very loyal to you too."
Crowley watched with interest as Ian pried open the cage with his bare hands. He watched Ian stuff the demon book, which immediately fell silent and turned back into Ian's Beloved Magic Book, under his belly.
The moment Ian took hold of the book, it became as quiet as a satiated cat.
"That's my personal charisma." Ian said without batting an eyelid. He used his daily quota of one honest word, which was a bit extravagant and wasteful.
Crowley noncommittally swirled his wine glass.
"I've had it for many years. This book is very special, but the power it possesses is somewhat..." He pondered for a moment, seemingly weighing his words.
"Useless."
Crowley finally used a single word to summarize it.
"That's because you didn't use it in the right way."
Ian pulled out the magic book he placed on his belly again.
"All the magic in my Great Ian Faction is created by it." He casually flipped open a page, and complex runes immediately appeared on the page. This book was genuinely useful for creating magic.
It didn't even require Ian to have any magical knowledge, it only needed Ian to clearly state the effect he wanted the magic to have, and it could create a perfectly structured magic for Ian.
This was definitely a divine artifact.
It was like a device that didn't require the owner to understand code, but only needed the owner to say what kind of game or app they wanted, and it would create the game or app itself.
Who wouldn't love such a treasure?
Perhaps demons like Crowley wouldn't love it.
"Using it to create something that didn't exist is not a good deal, the consumption of magical power is enormous." Crowley narrowed his small eyes and made a sharp comment.
He was relatively knowledgeable about magic.
Crowley possessed powerful magical abilities and demonic power. He could control dark forces, cast curses and prophecies, and commanded many mysterious rituals and spells.
"Magic power is like money. If you run out, you can find a place to earn more." Ian didn't care about this. He had a two-faced God-King, was all of Asgard far behind?
Hearing this.
Crowley looked deeply at Ian.
He was silent for a few seconds, a hint of inquisitiveness in his eyes. He slowly put down his wine glass and revealed a serious expression. "I once consulted Lucifer about this book."
"He told me that this book was 'something that fell off the wall'. My dear friend, can you tell me what wall that is?" Crowley's intuition as a demon merchant told him that the boy in front of him might know the answer to the question Lucifer didn't have the patience to tell him—in Crowley's view, perhaps the boy in front of him was also a species that "fell off a wall."
"Hmm?"
Ian paused for a moment.
He looked around the grand manor he had just acquired, his gaze sweeping past the gilded wall lamps and carved stair railings, finally landing back on Crowley's shiny, round face.
After weighing it.
Ian chose to be the generous Ian for the sake of the manor.
"It's a wall that surrounds the entire Multiverse. You can see it as the edge barrier of the Multiverse—it has many, many indescribable weird and wonderful things on it."
He said it.
But he didn't say it completely.
This kind of information wasn't very useful knowledge for Crowley and most people "in the story."
"So that's what it is..." Fine beads of sweat suddenly appeared on Crowley's oily forehead. He mechanically chewed an olive, the pit clacking between his teeth.
He muttered to himself.
The pupils in his eyes dilated.
"You used Constantine to lure this Angel?" Ian wanted to change the subject, so he walked back to the transparent cage, staring at the mutated Angel.
His fingertip lightly touched the surface of the cage, and tiny runes immediately lit up at the point of contact. Clearly, these runes were isolating any contact between the inside and the outside.
Hearing this.
Crowley twitched as if waking from a dream, and the olive oil stain on his tie glistened with the movement.
"Ah, yes." He pulled out a crumpled handkerchief to wipe his sweat. "It's not easy to capture a live Angel, even a... sick Angel is difficult for us demons to capture."
"But with Constantine, it's different. Actually, at first, I didn't realize the Angel following Constantine had a problem. It was Constantine who realized something was wrong with the Angel and wanted to make a deal with me." Crowley recounted how he discovered the Angel's mutation, he clearly tricked Constantine who wanted to trick him.
Crossroads Demons were not as easily fooled as other demons.
"Then this Angel must be the Black Angel Manny." Ian confirmed the Angel's identity through Crowley's information. This Angel had quite a role in the Constantine story.
The Angel Manny initially appeared as a supporter.
His mission seemed to be to protect and guide Constantine.
However.
In reality.
The Angel Manny had already committed two of the Seven Deadly Sins, which meant he was no longer a pure and flawless Angel. Such behavior was, of course, a huge problem for a celestial being.
Later, it was proven that this Angel was the leader of the evil organization, the Invunche Cult. Thus, the Angel Manny might have already become a hidden Fallen Angel at some point.
It was only because of his self-perception that he might still have believed he was doing the right thing, thus still possessing divine power and not exhibiting the typical characteristics of a Fallen Angel.
Angels were such a "subjective idealist" species.
Of course.
Even becoming a Fallen Angel would certainly be much better than becoming this Angel of Plague now—Ian felt he had found the Twitch, the Plague Source, belonging to the DC Universe.
"If this contamination can make Heaven fall, then aren't you demons worried?" Ian leaned in to observe the black threads moving under the Angel's skin.
"Aren't you afraid that the contamination on Manny will spread in Heaven, and then be transmitted to the human world by the Angels, and ultimately penetrate into Hell?"
Perhaps upon hearing his name, the Angel in the cage suddenly twitched slightly, his eyelids constantly fluttering, but under the influence of some sealing power, he failed to wake up.
"Afraid? Of course, I'm afraid, but what good does fear do? Fear only makes me lose judgment. Instead of being afraid, it's better to think about what changes it can bring to the world's structure."
"The Angels are bound to suffer."
"This will become a dark chapter for the Angels. However, we in Hell won't intervene, because I know one thing very well—someone will always deal with the Angels' problems."
"Lucifer just laughed about it, so we don't need to panic." Crowley finally recovered his composure. He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by nicotine.
Cigar smoke formed a small vortex above his head.
"Well, if Lucifer isn't panicking, then I won't panic either."
Ian was astonished at this and once again confirmed that Miss Death might genuinely not have found that notebook, as the notebook was hidden in the core area of Heaven.
"This contamination is like a maggot on the bone, once it's on you, you can't shake it off. But there are many ways to keep it off you, at least demons have many ways—I correct my previous statement: Heaven itself won't be harmed, but the Angels living in it may not be so lucky. This is the drawback of liking to use shared organs." Crowley once again gleefully quoted an adjective Lucifer had used before.
He lightly tapped the cigar in his hand, and sparks flew. Then, the Demon King gave Ian a popular science lesson about the Angels' shared "Great Library."
"Do you know where the Angels' authority comes from?" Crowley didn't wait for Ian to answer and immediately answered his own question. "The Angels' power comes from Heaven."
"That's why Angels become much weaker after falling from Heaven and losing their connection to Heaven. The Angels' power is essentially Heaven's public power."
"Every Angel can use it, just like their 'Great Library', every Angel can connect to it to gain the status of omniscience and omnipotence."
"Yes, that's right. The true source of the Angels' power is Heaven, and the authority they possess is shared. This means that if an Angel brings something that doesn't belong to Heaven into Heaven."
"That thing only needs to contaminate Heaven's database to spread to every Angel—and because it originates from Heaven's influence, the Angels have no right to refuse."
Crowley's joy was genuine, and his schadenfreude was evident. Ian had heard this from Lucifer, but Crowley's description was a bit more detailed now.
"Manny put that source of contamination into Heaven's 'Great Library' ?!" Ian connected the dots from the information and stared wide-eyed at the Black Angel in the cage.
He genuinely couldn't imagine how an Angel could cause such a disaster, just as he couldn't imagine why top-secret White House group chat information could appear on social media.
"God shouldn't have created Fallen Angels. Look, where there are Fallen Angels, there's trouble. This is the real dark humor." Crowley made a sharp summary.
"Is this the consequence of reading other people's shared knowledge without putting a condom on your brain?"
Perhaps, the invading species placed in Heaven genuinely realized it had found Heaven.
It effortlessly contaminated the higher species of this universe.
"Exactly! Not wearing protection makes it easy to catch diseases. The Angel can testify." Crowley seemed to love Ian's description, he immediately clapped his hands and burst into laughter.
"Wait and see. Next, Heaven will fall like nuns with gonorrhea—whooshing down from the sky." Crowley's tone was full of expectation.
Cigar ash drifted onto his pinstripe suit.
Ian didn't mind this.
As long as it didn't fall onto his own floor.
"Will real monsters be conceived within the Angels?" Ian stared at the new tumor on Manny's right wing—tiny human faces could be vaguely seen moving inside those translucent lumps.
While observing.
Ian's hand was blindly typing on his half-a-cell-phone. He knew this should be reported to the Justice League, specifically, to Batman and his dad, Clark.
"Who knows."
Crowley answered dismissively.
He once again displayed his demonic side. As a creature of Hell, he was not very concerned about whether the human world would suffer secondary contamination from the falling Angels.
Of course.
He might not care, but someone else did.
"Clickety-clack ~ Clickety-clack ~"
The boy's hands tapped on the screen.
To: Dad
CC: Batman
This is Sir Ian the Great, Head of the New Justice League. Urgent notice: you need to be aware of a potential public health crisis event in Heaven soon.
According to reliable intelligence (Source: A Fallen Angel losing feathers + a Rich Demon Executive), a Plague of Angels seems to have broken out inside Heaven due to a group sex event.
The initial assessment is that Angels, unlike me, don't like to wear brain condoms, and they will pay a heavy price for this. They will most likely fall like pigeons with avian flu!
Hope Batman takes adequate preventive measures.
And I hope Dad can supervise Batman and keep him from thinking about bombing Heaven first or thinking he can solve the problem by spraying disinfectant everywhere.
PS: I got another meal today. The latest manor I got is very nice. No other meaning, just want to show off.
...
Ian certainly couldn't think of any effective way to prevent the Earth from being contaminated by falling Angels, but he believed in Batman as always.
Batman always had a countermeasure.
"Clickety-clack ~ Clickety-clack ~"
The typing on the half-a-cell-phone continued.
Seeing this.
Crowley didn't intervene.
He only leaned forward anxiously. "You didn't mention who I am or where I am in your text message, did you?"
Crowley could hardly peek at Ian's text.
He only saw scattered bits of information.
Ian didn't look up and continued fiddling with his phone: "No."
"Phew—"
Crowley relaxed and leaned back onto the sofa.
The genuine leather made a fart-like sound.
"That's good. I wouldn't want to be targeted by Batman. That guy is much more famous in Hell than Superman." He pulled out the crumpled handkerchief and wiped his sweat again.
He didn't know if this was due to the vessel he was using.
Or if he just genuinely liked to wipe sweat.
"What do you mean by that? Superman is less famous than Batman?"
Ian looked up, displeased.
His golden eyes were mournful.
"I mean Superman is definitely going to Heaven, so what interaction could he have with Hell in the future? But Batman is different." Crowley made an exaggerated gesture of falling.
"Now everyone is betting on how many years it will take Batman to become a Hell Lord after he goes to Hell." His words were full of information and also showcased the demons' limited entertainment activities.
"So that's it. It makes sense. According to relativity, if Dad goes to Heaven, Batman must go to Hell." Ian instantly understood what the other party meant.
He felt that Crowley might genuinely be right.
It wasn't that he thought his Uncle Bruce was an evil person.
The main reason was that, compared to Crowley, Ian also knew some high-dimensional information—in this world, going to Heaven or Hell wasn't solely dependent on merits.
The ultimate destination, Heaven or Hell.
Ultimately, it depended on one's own inner judgment.
Just as God gave Angels self-recognition, God also gave humans the right to self-selection. Therefore, it was known that Batman, who always knew himself to be the Dark Knight, would have a hard time going to Heaven.
He knew he was fighting evil with evil.
Of course, perhaps Heaven would open a back door for Batman to keep him from messing up Hell or something, but that would only be if Heaven could maintain its purity.
"The Angels are contaminated, so Heaven must be affected, right?" Ian looked at Crowley, attempting to extract more information from the Demon King.
Crowley was happy to respond.
"No one can affect Heaven except God himself." He didn't even mention Lucifer. His firm stance made Ian look at him a few more times.
Ian certainly didn't agree with this response.
But he didn't refute it.
It was understandable, after all, Crowley was a post-acquisition demon, there was still a slight difference from a primordial demon, and his cognition might be inferior to Ian's on certain levels.
"In any case, this must be a big deal." Ian was about to pray to Miss Death, when a harsh ringing broke the atmosphere in the parlor.
It was Crowley's cell phone.
The ringtone was actually the classic Wayne Enterprises phone ringtone.
The copyrighted one.
This was certainly another tech product from the Wayne Group. He watched Crowley fumbling to pull out the custom-made phone, inlaid with many diamonds and gold edges, from his wrinkled suit inner pocket.
The screen prominently displayed the word [Boss]. Ian was somewhat surprised, not at the caller, but at Crowley's situation.
He feared Batman.
Yet he used Wayne Tech products.
And they were all Wayne Tech.
Did this demon really not think he had enough surveillance on him?
"My boss is calling. I'll go report on work." Crowley straightened his suit and gave Ian an apologetic look.
"Lucifer?"
Ian asked curiously.
Crowley smiled and nodded affably, walking toward the parlor door. Ian watched his back, then looked at the other tech products in the room.
Wayne Tech's smart temperature control system, Wayne Security's surveillance probes.
Hmm.
The audio system was also a brand under the Wayne Group.
"Sure enough, a Wayne fan, a die-hard fan."
Ian sincerely exclaimed. He didn't know if this was Crowley's attempt to build a relationship with the future Hell Lord Bruce, or if he was deliberately exposing himself to Batman's surveillance.
"Not a provocation, but a way to save trouble?" Ian thought that a demon who would gift him a manor must possess such wisdom. He pondered this as he approached the crystal cage again.
The human-bone piano made no sound to mock Ian, who was left alone.
A strange stillness permeated the air.
The boy's fingertip lightly tapped the semi-liquid barrier, making a subtle "thump, thump" sound, like a disturbance echoing continuously in the dim room.
The Angel Manny in the cage was trembling faintly.
The wriggling beneath his skin became more intense.
It was as if countless tiny insects were crawling through his veins. He was still unconscious, but his body was trembling violently. Ian didn't know the reason.
Even when he stopped tapping.
The trembling didn't cease.
"What kind of dream is this?"
Ian stared at the Angel Manny's hands constantly moving up and down.
He dared not think too much.
As he was observing the Plague Angel, in the smallest of the manor's fifteen toilets, a room of a hundred square meters, Crowley was bowing and scraping to his phone.
"Yes, yes, Hell is running smoothly. Riots are down by 37%, very, very stable." His eyes suddenly brightened. "Is that true, Boss! Thank you so much!"
Crowley spoke excitedly.
The sound of people dancing emerged from the other end of the phone.
"You deserve to be stronger."
Crowley's body fat suddenly trembled.
An invisible force surged from the phone's earpiece, pouring into his body through his ear canal. As Lucifer spoke, Crowley's aura and the power he possessed increased wildly.
The suit of this demon agent billowed without wind, and his tie twisted like a living thing. He closed his eyes, feeling the new power surging within him—power personally bestowed by Lucifer.
"This is great."
When Crowley opened his eyes again.
Lucifer had already hung up.
He saw a short-haired woman standing behind him in the mirror.
"Meg Masters."
The smile on Crowley's face didn't change at all. He looked at the reflection and spoke lightly. "I remember you've completed your task."
This female demon was the one who brought Ian here.
"Who is that boy?"
The female demon's red lips were pressed into a thin line.
She still couldn't forget the terrifying sense of oppression Ian gave her.
"I don't know." Crowley turned on the gilded faucet, and the water rushed over his newly empowered body. His hand was still trembling slightly from the excitement.
The improvement was in his essence.
Not this vessel.
Meg slammed the mirror, and cracks radiated from her palm: "You're lying! You gave the manor to him!"
The sound of water stopped abruptly.
Crowley slowly pulled out a towel embroidered with the Hell crest.
"It seems I have a spy among my subordinates."
His action of wiping his hands was as elegant as polishing an antique.
"Sure enough, my decision was correct. All of them must be killed." Crowley wasn't angry, because this manor was no longer his. He knew clearly who the female demon needed to compensate for her action.
A super-hero on the level of eczema.
This was the drawback of not searching the internet.
"I have the right to know the answer!"
Meg's scream caused cracks in the porcelain of the sink.
"I truly don't know."
Crowley sighed.
"I just divined about that boy."
He gave an answer.
The female demon's eyes turned pitch black.
"What did you see?"
The female demon stared intently at Crowley.
"The divination result?"
Crowley threw the used towel into the trash can.
A chewing sound immediately came from inside the bin.
"I saw nothing." He walked toward the door, looked back at the female demon, "All my Tarot cards turned into Demon cards when I performed the divination."
His tone was cautious.
Meg frowned in confusion.
"Was there a power interfering with your divination?!"
She didn't quite believe this claim.
Mainly because she knew the demon in front of her possessed a King's proxy status.
"No, no, no. If only it were just that."
Crowley's hand rested on the doorknob.
"Actually, this was a warning."
With that.
The chubby demon was about to leave.
"Wait!"
The female demon suddenly grabbed his arm. The next second, she was slammed against the wall like a ragdoll. An invisible force pressed her firmly against the spectral wallpaper covered with painful faces.
"Did you forget?"
Crowley's voice suddenly became extraordinarily cold.
"A Proxy King is also a King."
His eyes were blood-red, and his tone was full of pressure. Meg's throat made a gurgling sound, and smoke began to rise from her skin: "You know very well... what's hidden beneath this manor..."
Just as the female demon was about to say something.
Boom!
The entire manor suddenly shook violently.
An Angel's shriek pierced the air, scratching at the eardrums like broken glass. The female demon Meg struggled to slide down the wall, smoke still rising from her skin where the powerful force had burned her.
"What's happening?!"
She hissed.
Her blood-red nails dug into the marble floor.
Crowley didn't answer.
"The Good Show has started."
His chubby body pressed against the stained-glass window, his eyes wide, filled with excitement. Outside the window, the sky was undergoing a terrifying distortion—the previously clear blue sky was torn open by a jagged rift. Golden clouds and crimson shadows tangled and rolled within it, like the dissected blood vessels of a god.
It was as if.
The thing that truly existed "in the heavens."
Was about to fall into the mundane world.
"Stop shouting! Stop it!"
Meanwhile.
In the parlor.
Seeing the Angel Manny continuously screaming and roaring, Ian forcefully tapped the transparent cage. However, his attempt to stop him received no response from the Angel Manny.
"Aah aah aah aah ~"
He continued to shriek.
His mouth opened wider and wider.
The pitch rose and fell, the sound like thousands of choir boys' voices being stretched, torn, and reassembled—the holy melody was mixed with the viscous sound of flesh squirming.
Outside the window.
A blurry doorway was faintly visible, its edges glowing with an ominous golden light, like a burning wound, slowly opening. The Black Angel Manny's voice became even sharper.
He seemed to be... chanting a Holy Song that had become deformed.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666