Chapter 58: Inspiration
What manner of mindset could possibly compel one to bear such heavy shackles upon oneself indefinitely?
Fallen Angels remain angels still—bound by principles, fettered by the past; left to their own devices, they could never break free.
Weakness does not stem from a lack of physical strength; rather, true power is born of a strong and indomitable spirit.
He was no savior, yet they stood in need of him.
Upon realizing this, Lucifer hesitated no longer. In an instant, he leveled Samigina's encampment, demolishing the towers where Samael and the other captive Fallen Angels were imprisoned.
Amidst the eerie crimson mist, his figure appeared and vanished like a phantom; yet, in the eyes of those angels—who had endured such torment and humiliation—he was their one and only.
"Your Highness..." As his azure eyes met those blood-red orbs, Samael trembled from head to toe, so overcome with emotion that he could not utter a single word.
*You have returned!*
It was the stroke of midnight—the hour of revelry for the demons.
The Angelic Coliseum opened its gates precisely on schedule, and, as was their custom, the demons manning the arena herded all the captive angels into the circular stadium.
The performance would commence once the garrison troops arrived; after all, Beelzebub and Asmodeus were angels of a different caliber—without the presence of high-ranking demons to keep order, the lesser demons dared not release them into the arena just yet.
Mammon made his way to the very heart of Pandemonium. The area was thronged with demons, who sat clustered around the perimeter of the circular arena, gazing down into the pit with expressions of feverish excitement.
"I hear there's a real 'big guy' on the roster today."
"They hauled a giant, one-horned dragon out of the Abyss—it breathes venomous fire and possesses strength beyond measure!"
Overhearing the demons' chatter, Mammon decided to join in the excitement and chimed in with a question:
"So, who's going to be the dragon's opponent?"
Upon hearing his youthful, naive voice, the demons burst into raucous laughter. ㊣ωWW.メ伍2⓪メＳ.С○м҈
"You must be new here. The opponent is obviously that angel in the cage on the left! He's already racked up twenty-nine consecutive victories; today is absolutely going to mark his thirtieth consecutive win!"
"Wrong! I think it's the one in the cage on the right! Just look at the state the guy on the left is in—today's Dragon opponent could probably swallow him whole in a single bite without breaking a sweat. Where's the fun in that?"
"That won't do! I came here specifically to witness Beelzebub's thirtieth consecutive victory!"
"Who cares what *you* want? Today is definitely going to be Asmodeus versus the Dragon! I want to see Asmodeus fight!"
The two demons began to bicker. From their argument, Mammon realized that the black-haired Fallen Angel—imprisoned in the left cage, his face smeared with blood, his body covered in wounds, and his demeanor akin to that of a wild beast—was Beelzebub; while the angel in the right cage—with his vacant gaze, looking as if his soul had already departed this world—was Asmodeus.
The presiding demon ran through his script, only to discover that the garrison troops—who were supposed to have arrived long ago—had, for some inexplicable reason, failed to show up yet. Meanwhile, the demons in the audience were on the verge of tearing the place apart with their clamor.
"Just announce the start already!" shouted many of the demons; they had waited long enough, and their patience was wearing thin.
The presiding demon hesitated, casting a glance toward Beelzebub in the cage. After watching these two for so long, he had come to realize that both angels were utterly broken—their hearts dead, their fighting spirits extinguished. There was absolutely no need to fear them attempting to escape or causing any trouble.
Besides, given the state they were in, surely nothing could go wrong.
Urged on by the demons in the stands, the host quickly announced that today was the day the Fallen Angel Beelzebub would attempt to secure his thirtieth consecutive victory.
A deafening roar of cheers erupted instantly from the crowd of demons.
Beelzebub, inside his cage, remained utterly unresponsive; only his blood-red eyes stared fixedly up at the sky.
It had been a very long time since he had last eaten, and just as long since he had enjoyed a moment of proper rest.
As a former Seraph, even after his fall, he still retained vestiges of his former power; yet, no matter how formidable one's abilities might be, they could not withstand such relentless, prolonged torment.
Today, perhaps, would mark his absolute limit. Beelzebub offered no response; instead, it was Asmodeus—who had been in a daze for quite some time—who finally stirred. He gripped the iron bars before him and spoke to the presiding demon in a hoarse voice:
"Let me take the field!"
Beelzebub was on his last legs; to go out there again would mean certain death.
Asmodeus resented him for leading Lucifer astray, yet he had also witnessed Beelzebub's conduct over the recent period.
In truth, the Demon Kings held Beelzebub's capabilities and sense of responsibility in high regard.
However, Beelzebub had rejected every demon who extended an olive branch to him, choosing instead to remain by Asmodeus's side within this cage, enduring the "Demon Games"—a brutal spectacle that grew crueler with each passing day.
Hearing this, Beelzebub glanced across at him and murmured:
"You're no match for that dragon."
"Neither are you," Asmodeus retorted with equal sharpness. They exchanged a smile, recognizing the same sentiment reflected in each other's eyes.
"We're going to die, aren't we?"
"Is that even a question?"
"Where do we go after we die?"
"Will we emerge from the Pool of Reincarnation?"
"I hope not."
"As long as His Highness is there, anywhere is fine."
"True enough," Beelzebub said softly. "In a little while... I'll be heading out first."
"You two had better wait for me." Asmodeus's eyes grew red-rimmed; unable to hold it back, a single tear escaped and fell.
"No way... no way! Do you guys actually believe he's dead?" Mammon leaped down from the spectator stands and walked with a sprightly step toward the two cages, looking down imperiously at the fallen angels seated within.
Beelzebub and Asmodeus stared blankly at his face.
*His Highness?*
Mammon had seen Lucifer when he was but a child; ever since then, his subconscious had driven him to grow in a way that mimicked his idol. Consequently, his features—his brows and eyes—bore a striking resemblance to Lucifer's. The two angels, unaware of the true reason behind this, simply recognized a faint familiarity in his appearance and, based on that alone, identified him.
*So that's it... It turns out you, too... have fallen?*
"You actually fell for a demon's lies? He's absolutely furious, you know!" Mammon continued to babble on incessantly, but the fallen angels could no longer hear his words. It's alright.
As long as you're alive... that's all that matters.
As long as you are still here... it is enough.
Their gazes were vacant, their faces streaming with tears; they looked just like children weeping after being scolded by a young devil.
"...You really don't need to be crying *this* much..." Mammon looked at them with disdain. Were all angels really this sentimental?
"Sir! You are not permitted to enter this area!" The presiding devil approached, intending to escort him out, but Mammon merely raised an eyebrow; a single raised finger was enough to halt the devil's movements completely.
"They are already in such a state—why force them to fight against monsters?" As a fellow devil, Mammon could not fathom the twisted amusement his brethren derived from this—much in the same way they could never comprehend his own obsession with gold.
News of a devil intruding upon the arena quickly reached the ears of the overseer. The triangular-headed devil from earlier rushed to the scene and—unsurprisingly—spotted Mammon's figure amidst the chaos. He forced a smile.
"Have you come here looking for trouble?"
At his words, several devils standing behind him immediately stepped forward, their towering frames closing in to encircle Mammon.
"Not at all. I simply feel that if you continue doing this, they are going to die."
*And then you'll die, too,* Mammon added silently to himself.
"That merely proves their uselessness," the overseer devil replied in a deceptively cordial tone. "If you wish to avoid meeting the same fate as them, then I suggest you come with us and leave this place."
"Let them go," Mammon said.
"Impossible." The overseer devil wasted no further breath on pleasantries. "Since you refuse to heed our warning, you shall have to bear the consequences entirely on your own."
"Release the Horned Dragon!"
"What a nuisance," Mammon grumbled with exasperation. Just then, a pair of arms reached out from behind him, sweeping him up into a full embrace. He stiffened in shock, feeling a sudden wave of nausea.
*Ugh, he reeks!*
"It's alright, Your Highness." The Fallen Angel held the black-haired devil in his arms with aching tenderness; he had never realized that, following his fall from grace, His Highness had become so incredibly petite.
"Beelzebub will never force you to do anything again," he vowed, clutching the black-haired devil close as tears streamed down his face. With a deafening roar, the cage holding Asmodeus exploded.
A tall, lithe angel emerged from the billowing smoke; in just a few swift moves, he pinned the smoke-breathing dragon beneath his heel.
Whether demons or fallen angels, every spectator outside the arena wore an expression of utter shock.
Beelzebub and Asmodeus—casting aside their previous lethargy—now appeared so revitalized they looked capable of taking down ten giant beasts in a single breath.
Wearing a smile that was both radiant and sorrowful, Asmodeus gazed at the black-haired demon currently held in Beelzebub's embrace.
Nothing else mattered anymore.
As long as His Highness was alive.
"You may do whatever you wish," he said.
Their words caused Mammon to cease his struggling; he couldn't help but turn his head to look at them.
"Really? I want lots and lots of gold—can you give me that?"
"For you! It's all yours!" Beelzebub rummaged through every inch of his person, yet he couldn't find a single scrap of gold.
Asmodeus fared no better; all their gold and gems had long since been confiscated by the demons.
"I'm sorry," Beelzebub sniffled. "I don't have any on me right now."
"In that case, let's put it on account for now." Mammon showed not a shred of disappointment; instead, he eagerly whipped out a pen and a strip of parchment, urging Beelzebub to write an IOU. At the same time, he handed a piece to Asmodeus: "Don't just stand there gawking—you write one too."
"I'll dictate, and you two write exactly what I say."
"Write: 'On [Date], Beelzebub/Asmodeus owes Mammon [Amount] in gold.'"
The two angels dutifully wrote it down, though they paused in confusion when they reached the name "Mammon."
"Mammon?" Beelzebub froze.
"Who on earth is that?" Asmodeus looked equally bewildered.
"You're not His Highness?!" The realization finally dawned on them; with a loud *thwack*, they flung the writing materials from their hands and shouted in unison.
"You guys really are dense..." Mammon frowned, then bent down to pick up the IOUs from the ground, tenderly blowing the dust off them.
"I never actually said I was him, did I?" Having said that, he cast his gaze beyond the confines of the arena. "He has arrived."
Asmodeus emerged from his cage; his effortless defeat of the great dragon had made the demons realize something significant.
These cunning creatures possessed an exceptionally keen sense for danger; the more intelligent among them—such as the triangular-headed demonic steward—had already begun to flee.
'This is a disaster! Of all times to erupt into chaos, why did it have to happen today—precisely when the garrison troops are away?' he thought to himself, rushing frantically toward the East Gate in hopes of finding Samigina to come to their aid.
In their efforts to trap the angels, the demons had encircled the area with iron caltrops, leaving only two gates open—one to the east and one to the west. Now, they were reaping the bitter fruits of their own machinations.
To the east, Samael and his skirmishers had already formed a tight cordon around the perimeter. They captured every demon that attempted to escape—treating them exactly as they had once treated the Fallen Angels: binding them one by one, shackling their hands and feet, chaining them together in a long line, and herding them into the coliseum.
Leading this operation was the demonic general, Samigina.
"Samael?!" Beelzebub nearly cried out in shock; yet, in the very next instant, he could no longer contain himself.
"Your Highness!!"
A long-hafted glaive, trailing along the ground, struck sparks amidst the darkness; the metallic screech of cold steel scraping against stone drew the attention of the angels.
Lucifer stepped out from behind Samael, wielding Samigina's weapon in his hand. He walked into the midst of the Fallen Angels and cast his gaze across this assembly of beings who were once the cherished children of Heaven.
Amidst the throng of demons, his visage alone had not lost its original radiance.
Three months had passed, yet he remained as luminous and dazzling as ever; only his short hair—tossing freely in the wind—seemed to have acquired a new air of wildness and haughty defiance compared to the days of old.
The angels gazed upon him, then turned their eyes upon themselves, feeling nothing but profound shame and inadequacy in his presence.
In the absolute silence that fell upon the scene, the former Arch-Seraph stood atop a towering stone pedestal.
His single, soft sigh—resounding like a peal of thunder—struck deep into the very core of their hearts. "How long will you wallow in this despondency?"
"Do you still remember that you were once the angels who defeated a myriad of demons?"
"Is there a single one among you who is a worthless piece of refuse?"
Lucifer's words caused the angels to hang their heads; deep sorrow surfaced upon their faces.
For they were no longer angels; they possessed no powers, and they were—to all intents and purposes—worthless refuse.
Yet, from within the coliseum, Lucifer's voice rang out once more—his words, amplified by layer upon layer of echoing resonance, grew ever more potent.
"True, we have lost our angelic powers; yet we still possess our hands, our feet, and our wings. Most importantly, we still possess our own wills!"
"No one shall mock us!"
"No one shall bully us!"
"So what if we are Fallen Angels?"
"Are we truly such worthless refuse that, having fallen from the heights, we cannot rise again?"
"If Fate will not favor us, then we shall seize control of Fate ourselves!"
"Pick up your fallen weapons!"
"Defy the Heavens above!"
"Defy the Earth beneath!"
"If even a shred of your former pride remains, then stand with me—and drive out those demons!"
"Cast aside the moral shackles that bind us! In this sulfurous land, thick with the smoke of battle, let predation become our very nature!"
"Become beings more terrifying—more ferocious—than the demons themselves!"
"We have nothing left to lose!"
For having nothing, they would create everything.
Failure was merely the chance to begin anew.
Lucifer's words dispelled the anxieties and doubts that had long plagued the angels; gradually, they rekindled their dampened spirits. Courage rose once more in the eyes of the Fallen Angels. From the pile of armaments gathered by Samael and his scattered troops, they selected weapons that felt true in their grasp. As Lucifer's voice faded, the glint of ten thousand cold blades and sharp swords cast a shimmering light into every corner of Hell.
Their fighting spirit soared, and fury blazed forth from their eyes.
They had lost the powers they once held so dear, yet the weapons in their hands still roared with the clamor of battle. In that instant, the roars unleashed by the Fallen Angels reverberated across the heavens—so powerfully, in fact, that even in Paradise, where preparations for the investiture ceremony were underway, the commotion from Hell was distinctly felt.
[You are providing the work] *Hebrew Mythology: The Arduous History of Raising a World* by the renowned author Dan Mu'ai.