Chapter 22: The Target
Bruce led the helper he had hand-picked out of Hell and headed toward one of the Allied Forces' encampments stationed at the canyon pass. He sat astride his mount, gazing with keen interest at the lush green trees flanking their path; he even had the leisure to pluck a bouquet of flowers as they passed a thicket, weaving them into a wreath to wear upon his head.
However, in stark contrast to his own carefree ease, his traveling companion, Sidi, was far less amused.
"Is it really wise to be making such a spectacle of ourselves?" he asked, his voice laced with anxiety.
"Weren't *you* the one complaining to me about being underutilized—about your talents being woefully overlooked?" Bruce shrugged, finding Sidi's lack of self-confidence rather baffling.
Based on their past experiences, their charm had always proven utterly irresistible.
"That was just a passing remark—a joke! I never imagined you'd actually..." Sidi sighed, casting a look at his supremely self-assured companion.
"Everyone is watching this expedition of ours now. Do you really think we can pull this off?"
"Are you truly confident you can win Asmodeus's trust?" he asked again, seeking reassurance.
"Whether *he* trusts *me* isn't actually important; the one who needs to win his trust is *you*." Bruce effortlessly deflected the responsibility onto his companion. However, upon seeing Sidi's face turn ashen with shock, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement.
"You coward. I'll run through the plan one more time—just don't lose your nerve along with the details, or I'm going to have a real headache on my hands later." He pursed his lips and placed the flower wreath he held in his hands onto Sidi's head.
"I'll do my best to coax out the identity of the 'beloved' he's pining for. That's your cue to appear and pretend to be that very person—the one I've supposedly summoned forth."
"The object of his affection is almost certainly Lucifer. It's a high-difficulty challenge, I admit, but as long as you're wearing Lucifer's face, he absolutely won't turn you away! You've already practiced this part privately countless times; you just need to make sure you don't let your cover slip while we're there."
"If only it were as simple as you make it sound," Sidi muttered, his lips twitching nervously. That was the *Chief of the Seraphim* they were talking about! If he were to get caught... He shuddered involuntarily.
He'd be annihilated so thoroughly that not even a speck of ash would remain! "Just so we're clear! I'm certainly not going out there with you!"
"Don't worry, Sidi. Just play it by ear." He patted his white steed, coaxing it to slow its pace. To lift Sidi's spirits, Brice snapped his fingers; an organ materialized out of thin air, its bellows pumping as it began to play a cheerful melody all on its own.
"Look on the bright side! If we pull this off, we'll be bona fide Great Demons!"
"In that case, couldn't you just get off that horse—or at least let *me* ride it for a change?" Sidi demanded, barely suppressing his irritation.
"Absolutely not! I just love talking down to you like this!"
*That bastard!* Sidi cursed silently to himself.
And so, the two demons—plus one white horse—ambled leisurely toward the Angelic encampment to the south.
Meanwhile, on the other side of things, Asmodeus—the very linchpin of this entire conspiracy—was feeling rather apprehensive.
The reason was simple: he was being inspected again.
With the Angels having entered the war, Asmodeus—being a high-ranking Cherub—had naturally been appointed commander of a specific sector of the battlefield. Although his command didn't cover the critical front lines, it nonetheless encompassed a vital fortress. Inspections by his superiors were a routine occurrence—especially given his notorious reputation for a lax work ethic. However, since his record was neither stellar nor abysmal—and no major incidents had occurred on his watch—he had managed to bluff his way through the previous inspections. He never expected, however, that *this* time Lucifer himself would be the one to show up.
He had heard the visit was prompted by a victory on the front lines. Asmodeus couldn't quite fathom why a *victory* would suddenly cause his superiors to scrutinize his sector more closely, but he knew he had no choice but to summon every ounce of his focus to face Lucifer's inspection.
"I heard from Raziel that you've been doing excellent work here," Lucifer remarked, closing the report he held in his hands with a smile.
Spread across his desk lay a stack of military reports submitted by Asmodeus. As he gazed upon the Angel he had created with his own two hands, Lucifer felt a surge of paternal pride—the joy of watching a son he had raised finally come into his own.
"Keep up the good work. Don't let me down, As."
Although Lucifer's inspections were often a source of vexation for him, the one thing Asmodeus craved above all else was validation from Lucifer—a thought he entertained with a bittersweet mix of love and anguish. It hadn't been in vain—that near-fatal ordeal he'd endured when, upon hearing news of the impending inspection, he'd scrambled with extraordinary speed to purge the camp and his office tent of every item that shouldn't have been there. Now, leaning languidly against the desk before Lucifer, he reached up to toss back his long, mesmerizing blue hair and asked in a simpering, affected tone:
"Your Highness~ When can we go back to Heaven?"
"Speak normally. Don't lose all sense of decorum the moment I offer you a single word of praise," Lucifer chided sternly. This Cherub was a lost cause; no matter how many times he was disciplined, he simply couldn't be reformed. Consequently, Lucifer never had the face to bring him along to appear before God. Sometimes, he suspected that God's impression of Michael's griffin was actually more vivid than His impression of Asmodeus.
*I don't care!* The Cherub pouted, utterly unbothered by his superior's look of exasperated disappointment—the look of one who despairs that iron will never be tempered into steel. Just as he was seizing the opportunity to indulge in a bit more coquetry, an angel came rushing in.
"Your Highness, there is a demon outside asking to see you."
"A demon?"
"Asking for whom?"
Lucifer and Asmodeus fired off their questions in unison. The angel cast a cautious glance at Asmodeus before answering his supreme commander:
"It is a demon, asking specifically for His Highness Asmodeus."
Lucifer turned his gaze toward the blue-haired angel; he hadn't failed to notice the utter lack of surprise on the other's face the moment he heard of the demon's visit. Asmodeus, for his part, pretended not to notice Lucifer's scrutinizing stare.
"Oh my, which demon would actually be looking for *me*? They truly have a death wish. Your Highness, please rest comfortably here in your tent; I shall go and dispatch these unsightly demons myself." He gave a light tap to his forehead and strode briskly toward the exit without breaking his stride.
Once he had departed, Lucifer shifted his gaze downward to the angel standing before him—an angel whose head was practically buried in the ground—and spoke with an air of cool detachment. "What exactly does he get up to in his spare time? Tell me the honest truth."
Asmodeus, having stepped outside, felt annoyed—which demon, he wondered, had chosen *this* particular moment to come calling? He was a devotee of beauty; anything beautiful could make him stop in his tracks and linger. He was interested only in the essence of beauty itself—whether that beauty belonged to an angel, an elf, or a demon made no difference to him. Consequently, he had struck up acquaintances with many beings—demons, in particular—whom an angel really ought not to have associated with.
During the war, a few minor demons he had known in the past suffered defeat and fled to him, begging for sanctuary. Asmodeus granted them refuge within his small encampment, provided they promised never to cause trouble again.
He had kept this secret hidden from the Archangels who came to conduct inspections and patrols. However, now that Lucifer himself had arrived, Asmodeus realized he could no longer keep up the charade; he had hurriedly sent the demons away just moments before. Yet, deep down, he felt his conscience was clear.
The demons he associated with were, in his view, "good" demons—they harbored no ambitions for conquest. Setting them apart from the rest of their kind, Asmodeus had dubbed them "Bard-Demons."
The particular Bard-Demon who had come to visit this time was a sight that truly made his eyes light up.
He rode a white steed, preceded by a row of self-playing musical instruments—a truly flamboyant and stylish display. Alas, this was hardly the time for such theatrics.
Asmodeus stepped forward to silence the instruments—which were blaring away as if deliberately trying to ensure Lucifer couldn't possibly miss the racket—and shot a pointed look at the handsome, unfamiliar demon standing before him.
"You insolent demon! What do you think you're doing in an angelic encampment? Are you tired of living?"
"Your words wound me deeply," Balthazar replied, dismounting from his white steed and offering Asmodeus a bow that was both humble and respectful.
"Rumor has it that you are an angel who defies convention—one who never casts a judgmental or disdainful eye upon any demon."
"I am not! I do not! You're talking nonsense!" Asmodeus retorted swiftly. He stole a furtive glance back toward the large tent situated diagonally behind him; only after confirming there was no sign of movement did he breathe a sigh of relief. Then, with palpable impatience, he set about trying to hustle away this demon who clearly had no sense of appropriate timing or place. "Enough with the nonsense—hurry up and move!"
Bruce was left somewhat bewildered by Asmodeus's refusal to stick to the script, yet he remained undeterred; it was time to reveal his trump card.
"I can grant you your heart's deepest desire!"
"Oh, give it a rest! I could just as easily take *you* up to meet God right now!" Asmodeus scoffed. He had never encountered a demon so utterly lacking in social awareness—and no amount of good looks could make up for that.
Hiding behind a tree, the demon Sitri could barely bring himself to watch his comrade—who was currently being shoved along by an angel, horse and all. And this guy had the audacity to confidently tell him earlier that everything would go off without a hitch?
As if sensing his comrade's mortification, Bruce dug his heels in and came to a screeching halt, shouting repeatedly:
"Wait just a second!"
"I only have one question! Once I ask it, I'll leave!"
"Do you know who the most beautiful being in all Three Realms is?"
That question successfully brought Asmodeus's movements to a halt.
"Is that even a question?! It is, of course, His Highness Lucifer!" he proclaimed loudly. Were it not for Lucifer's presence in Heaven, he might have actually regretted being an angel.
*As long as you answer that, you're playing right into my trap!* Thinking this, a glint of cunning flashed in Bruce's eyes. He lowered his voice, feigning an air of mystery.
"In that case... would you like to have him?"
*My God! What kind of blasphemous nonsense are you spouting?!* Asmodeus was dumbfounded. Bruce, however, mistook his shock for intrigue and blithely continued speaking:
"I can help you obtain exactly what you desire!"
*Your Highness, please bear witness—I didn't say any of this! It has nothing to do with me!* Asmodeus silently pleaded in his heart, though a genuine spark of curiosity had nonetheless begun to flicker in his eyes.
"I have always had a weakness for beauty," Bruce declared. He noted Asmodeus's suddenly focused expression without surprise; he had long since thoroughly dissected Asmodeus's personality. Now that he had found the right rhythm, his words flowed with increasing ease and confidence. "Beauty—it is the pinnacle of aesthetics; it does not exist merely to serve carnal desire."
"Whether demons or angels, how utterly shallow they are! They either treat beauty as a mere plaything for their lusts, or they view it as a venomous, thorny wildflower—something not to be touched under any circumstances."
Asmodeus nodded, finding the demon's words profoundly sensible. This had been his own sentiment all along; Heaven treated matters of romance and sensuality with such hysterical aversion—it was utterly devoid of joy.
"That is why I could find no kindred spirit among them," Balthus remarked. Secretly observing Asmodeus's expression and noting his evident delight, the demon felt a surge of inward triumph. He gazed upon the beautiful Cherub with an air of deep, soulful affection.
"Until I heard of your illustrious name, Lord Asmodeus."
"Your renown has long preceded you throughout the realms of Hell; yet, having met you in person today, I am more certain than ever..."
"That you are the kindred spirit I have sought for so long!"
Asmodeus felt his heart flutter involuntarily. In all the time since his creation, he had never heard words that resonated so perfectly with his own soul. He felt a genuine, instinctive affinity for Balthus.
However, just as quickly, he sensed a gaze—one he had known since the very moment of his birth—that sent a chill running down his spine. The Arch-Seraph had arrived!
It was as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over him; he snapped back to reality in an instant.
"So, what exactly did you come to me for?" he asked softly, gazing with pity upon the demon who now had no hope of escape.
Utterly oblivious to the ominous meaning behind that gaze, the demon flashed a smile that was nothing short of beguiling.
"I have come to make your dreams a reality."
"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Balthus—a 'Purveyor of Romance' among demons. I can procure for you any manner of love your heart desires."
"Including that which you deem to be the most exquisite beauty across all Three Realms..."
"...Love itself!"
Asmodeus's eyelids began to twitch uncontrollably. To be honest, he *was* interested—but he simply couldn't risk it today, not with Lucifer making his rounds for an inspection! He let out a heavy sigh.
"Why couldn't you have chosen a more opportune moment to show up?"
*Love!* What a magnificent word—so magnificent, in fact, that he couldn't help but repeat it once more in the depths of his heart.
He was going to die of regret!
He was truly going to die of regret! Regrettable as it may be, if I don't want His Highness to break my legs...
After all, he has already given this demon numerous opportunities to escape.
[Provided by User] *Hebrew Mythology: The Arduous History of Raising a World* — by the Great Author Dan Mu'ai