Hell finest tongue - chapter 2
Lucifer's palace burned like a cathedral built from black glass — all shimmering spires and rivers of molten gold.
Marmon walked its bridges alone, hands in pockets, humming to himself as the embers licked his coat. He was here for an audience — a favor, really — but before he could reach the gates, he stopped.
Two figures stood atop the edge of the crimson parapet — feathers white as dawn, armor gleaming like starlight. Angels. Spies.
He smiled faintly, his tone soft, almost playful.
"Now, that's a bit rude, isn't it? Heaven's eyes in Hell's window."
The taller one, Ariel, turned sharply — executioner's mace in hand, her golden halo burning like a blade.
"You're far from harmless to notice us, demon."
Her wings flared — light seared the air.
Marmon sighed. "Demon? That's just lazy labeling." His eyes flashed purple for an instant. "Demi-sin, technically."
Her glare hardened. "You're all the same rot."
The ground split beneath them as holy light crashed downward — Marmon twisted aside, skin sizzling as the flare grazed him. He straightened, face calm, voice unshaken.
"You swing heavy for someone afraid to miss."
Her response was her mace, cracking into his ribs. Bones bent. His laughter echoed. "That hurt. You hit like a choir soloist."
"Die already!" she snarled, raising her mace again.
"Mm. Sorry, I can't." His head snapped back into place, neck bones cracking with a casual pop. "Sin's the one thing that refuses to die."
Then came the second light — a blade through his shoulder. Behind him, another angel — Raisin, breathless and proud.
"I–I did it!" he shouted, shaking, blood spattering his hands.
But when Marmon turned, his violet gaze met his.
And envy bloomed.
Raisin's pupils shrank. Thoughts began whispering — his own voice betraying him.
"If we beat him, Ariel gets the credit. Wait… what if she died here? Then I'd lead the legion… I'd be seen…"
He said it out loud.
Ariel froze, wings trembling. "What did you just—"
Marmon smiled faintly. "And there it is. My sin, in your voice."
The world folded.
Darkness swallowed them — a void stitched from envy itself. Ariel screamed as her halo flickered. Raisin vanished, his light devoured. When her vision cleared, she found herself tied to a chair made of black marble and envy's glow.
The interrogation room of no name.
Marmon stood before her, wiping blood from his lips. "You angels preach truth," he murmured. "So let's test that."
A sharp crack echoed — his hand met her face.
"Wrong answer," he said softly. "You're here to answer, not recite hymns."
She glared, blood trickling down her cheek. "Sinners can't be redeemed. You're chasing dreams in ash."
Crack.
"Wrong again. Tell me, then — do you even care about the ones you damn?"
Her jaw clenched. "Hell's nothing but garbage. Every soul there belongs in the pit."
She leaned closer suddenly, eyes glinting mockingly. "But you… you're interesting. Are you the reason Hell is hot~?"
He slapped her again, harder this time. "No flirting. I said—answer."
"You can't hurt us," she spat through a laugh. "Angels don't bleed. Your kind can't kill us. Your attacks do nothing."
Marmon's smile sharpened.
"Oh, that's the part you'll enjoy least."
He raised a dagger — not forged, but mirrored — demonic in shape, yet angelic in resonance. A blade stolen from divinity itself. He pressed it against her cheek and cut. Just a shallow line. Just enough.
Holy blood rolled down.
Her breath hitched.
"How—?"
"I copied your weapon's property," he said, licking the glowing drop from the blade. "Envy isn't desire — it's replication. I can take anything… and make it mine."
Her defiance melted into something else. Fascination, maybe fear.
"Fine," she hissed. "You want an audience with Heaven?"
Her wrists loosened — she freed herself from the rope which was binding her to the chair as she stood up, rubbing her cheek. "I'll give you one."
Marmon blinked, genuinely curious.
"You could've done that this whole time."
She smiled faintly, halo flickering.
"Yes. But you earned it."
The void closed around them, light and darkness folding together like old friends as she left him speechless
Though what left her speechless that when she appeared in normal world she saw raisin turned into chair by Lucifer seems like he woke him up since Lucifer seems sleepy though marmon convinced Lucifer to let raisin go as Lucifer chunkled sinisterly
"Sure thing son of Beelzebub you have a heart of an angle don't you?" which made marmon raise an eyebrows though he just nod but
Though in different pov in different part of hell
It didn't start in a throne room. It started in a company.
A company so far on Hell's outskirts that even lost souls needed a map to find it.
Stacks of papers. Broken furniture. A single fluorescent light flickering above as the boss, Pyro, repeatedly smacked his forehead against the wall.
Beside him, his second-in-command, Marso, copied him like a ritual.
Their accountant — who happened to be Marso's girlfriend, Alana — sighed, arms crossed.
"It's not that bad, guys."
The wolf-like girl lounging on a couch didn't even look up from her phone. "He says that every time he's broke."
Aka the goth of the group Luna said that
From the corner of the room, someone finally spoke — a smaller figure with violet skin, glasses halfway down his nose.
"Boss… I can actually draw a poster."
Pyro turned like someone had just confessed a sin. "Now the emo one wants to help? We're doomed."
But the violet-skinned demon ignored him. He pulled a pencil, a few quick strokes — and within minutes, a perfect, professional-level poster covered the old table.
Everyone froze.
"…Holy—shit bitch you could just do that and didn't?" Pyro blinked, leaning in. "You could do that this whole time?!"
The smaller demon rolled his eyes. "I wrote it in my job application."
"You what?" Pyro blinked again.
"I wrote artist, remember?"
"Oh," Pyro said sheepishly. "Yeah, I don't… read those. You looked smart so...i gave you the job"
Marso grabbed the crumpled file on the desk aka the j#b application and his jaw dropped. "Oh my— you're a son of Beelzebub?!"
The room went dead quiet. Even the buzzing light dimmed.
The wolf girl finally lowered her phone. "Wait. Beelzebub's bloodline? Why are you in the outskirts? You don't even look like one of them. You're… scrawny."
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away.
"My father disowned most of us a long time ago. I'm not important to him. As for my… talent," he smirked faintly, "envy's a funny thing. I just… copy what others can do. Drawing's the only thing I've actually learned properly."
Marso squinted. "So basically… you're like, budget royalty?"
"Pretty much."
The wolf girl tilted her head. "I met Marmon once. He was huge. You're his brother?"
He nodded quietly. "Yeah. He's… out there, doing something important."
Before he could continue, Pyro's phone buzzed — a harsh ringtone slicing the silence. He answered.
"Yeah?"
Mary's voice came through, tired but firm.
"I need help finding sinners who want redemption. You still run freelance operations, right?"
Pyro blinked. "Lady, we do killing jobs, not choir work."
"Do you do anything for money?"
Marso started to say "no," but Pyro clapped a hand over his mouth. "Yes. Anything. We'd even lickyour boot clean if it paid."
Mary chuckled faintly through the line. "Good. You'll be working for me, then."
The call ended. Everyone turned slowly toward the purple-skinned demon.
He blinked. "What? Why are you all looking at me?"
Alana crossed her arms. "C'mon, Angelo. You're Beelzebub's son. Your dad owns half the demon realm. Use that name. It'll open doors."
Angelo groaned. "Ugh… fine. I'll pull strings. But I'm not calling him. He's… weird about family."
"Good," Pyro said, lighting a cigarette from the wall's flames. "Because we're about to make redemption profitable."
The wolf smirked from the couch. "Hell's first rehab center run by criminals. What could go wrong?"
Angelo sighed, muttering under his breath,
"Everything."
In the rehab facility in the lab area which yes marmon requested a lab to actually start caring about the project or at least that what he make it seems
Anyway it was like
The lab smelled of iron and old ozone.
Faint purple sparks flickered from half-finished devices scattered across the tables — relics of demonic craft and celestial decay both.
Mary stood at the doorway, arms crossed, her voice sharp but not without awe.
"So... you actually did it," she said. "A meeting with Heaven. I thought angels would rather burn the sky than talk to us."
Marmon didn't look up. He was carving runes into a curved blade of black glass, the tip of his claw tracing steady lines that glowed dimly.
"They didn't agree," he murmured. "They just stopped refusing."
She frowned. "That's the same thing as agreeing."
"No," Marmon replied, straightening and setting the blade aside. His expression was unreadable under the dim light. "That's the same thing as being curious."
Mary took a step closer. "Then come with me. You're the only one they'd actually hesitate to smite on sight."
A short laugh escaped him — low, half-exhausted, half-amused. "If I go with you, it'll stop being a meeting and start being a war."
He looked over his shoulder, eyes faintly glowing violet. "Besides… I've got experiments to finish."
She raised a brow. "Experiments?"
"Let's just say," he said, adjusting his gloves, "if angels can bleed, I want to know why."
Mary sighed — partly in frustration, partly in admiration. "You're impossible, Marmon."
He smirked faintly. "That's why I get results."
As she turned to leave, the lights dimmed briefly. The hum of demonic energy deepened, and Marmon's voice followed her — softer, but laced with something almost human:
"Don't let them fool you up there, Mary. Heaven smiles while sharpening its knives."
She paused at the door, glancing back. "And Hell grins while hiding its wounds."
Their eyes met for a moment — hers alight with determination, his flickering between boredom and something heavier.
Then she walked out, her silhouette swallowed by the glow of the infernal hall.
Marmon returned to his workbench, whispering to himself as he pressed his palm against the black-glass blade — a pulse of purple envy energy coursing through it.
"Curious… just like me."
The scene faded with the sound of the blade singing softly, as though aware that soon, Heaven itself would answer.