Chapter 68: Sloth
Meanwhile, after departing from Heaven, Belial sought out a spot in the mortal realm rich in spiritual energy where he could sleep.
He lay upon a tree branch, with a canopy of dappled green leaves weaving a shifting pattern of shadows overhead to shield him from the scorching sun.
A gentle, warm breeze wafted by as he drifted into a deep slumber; these days of peace and ease seemed no different from his time in Heaven—yet that was merely an illusion.
With a resounding crash, a tremor shook the very earth—a vibration so intense that the nearby hills seemed to quake. He opened his eyes and turned his head toward the source of the disturbance.
It was a massive, hideous four-legged dragon, thrashing about in a frenzy.
Its rock-like hide repeatedly slammed against the forest, leaving a trail of shattered timber and splintered debris strewn across the ground at the woodland's edge.
After ramming the trees some three or five times, it paused, roaring from the perimeter as if intent on forcing its way inside.
However, the dense thicket could not accommodate its colossal frame. Yet, if it persisted in this manner, breaching the woods would be no difficult feat—though the forest itself would surely be lost.
As the dragon roared outside the woods, Belial's vantage point allowed him to see exactly what it was facing: a female elf with pointed ears, currently hiding within the branches of a tree.
Belial had no inclination to meddle in others' affairs; however, the racket the dragon was making was so deafening that he found it impossible to get back to sleep.
Covering one eye with his hand, he sat up on the branch. From the other eye—visible through the wide cuff of his robe—a dense, black mist began to coalesce. He cast a cold, disdainful glance at the dragon, and in an instant, his slender form vanished from the tree.
Evelyn had reached the brink of despair.
She cautiously craned her head out to steal a glance at the dragon outside—it was drawing ever closer!
This dragon had been chasing her relentlessly. As a Wood Elf, this forest was her home ground—her domain—and by all rights, it should have aided her escape. Yet, no matter how cleverly she concealed herself, this behemoth—whose hide was thicker than a fortress wall—always managed to track her down.
She could not fathom why this frenzied dragon was pursuing her. The bow and arrows slung across her back were utterly incapable of inflicting even the slightest injury upon the beast; on the contrary, they seemed only to incite it further. In that brief interval, the dragon had already located the tree where she had landed. It was as if its eyes were mere ornaments; Evelyn realized that it relied on its sense of smell for precise targeting.
She was certain it possessed eyesight, yet its nose proved even more acute than its vision.
It sniffed vigorously at the base of the tree. Just as Evelyn braced herself for a fight to the death, her vision blurred; a streak of black lightning appeared, shooting swiftly toward the great dragon.
The dragon—whose incredibly thick hide and massive bulk had vexed her throughout their entire chase—was thus effortlessly knocked flat by that "lightning bolt."
Evelyn covered her mouth, gazing unblinkingly at the young man who had descended from the sky.
"Oh, a Chaos Dragon?" Beleria observed the massive beast—which, despite his powerful strike, had not yet perished—and spoke its name aloud.
There were only two Chaos Dragons in the world; yet, the sheer magnitude of Leviathan's body dwarfed this comparatively smaller specimen.
Therefore, it could only be the other one: Behemoth.
Upon having its name called out, Behemoth let loose a furious roar. It glared wrathfully at the black-haired youth who had appeared so abruptly, baring the fangs at the corners of its maw.
"That hurt like hell! What do you think you're doing?" A gravelly voice rumbled from its drooling jaws, causing Evelyn to gasp softly.
This dragon actually possessed sentience?!
"If you possess a mind, you ought to possess a sense of decency as well." Beleria gave a light leap, dodging a swipe from Behemoth's tail, then spun around to clash with the beast once more.
"What business is it of yours? You're just meddling!" Behemoth spat contemptuously and charged headlong into the fray.
Flesh met flesh in a collision so violent it sparked with the intensity of clashing metal; the outcome was decided in a mere instant.
Beleria, fighting bare-handed, intercepted Behemoth's gaping maw. With a cold snort, he hurled the massive beast violently away.
"Why persist in tormenting the elf?"
Behemoth coughed up a mouthful of clotted blood, panting heavily as it lay sprawled upon the ground. Accustomed to reigning supreme and unchallenged across the land, this was the first time it had ever sustained such grievous injuries—no, the second. The black-haired youth pressed the edge of his hand against the creature's throat.
"You really ought to take a look in the mirror."
Behemoth remained unafraid; after all, its vital point did not lie in its throat. It turned its head to look at the female elf who had just leaped down from a tree—presumably, seeing that the beast had been subdued, she had finally emerged from hiding.
Yet, a look of disappointment flickered in Behemoth's eyes. Disregarding Belial's threats, it crawled forward until it stood directly before the female elf.
Evelyn stared at the great dragon in shock, her gaze fixed on the two bloody punctures in its neck—marks left by Belial's fingers as he had tried to restrain it. Yet, the dragon treated these wounds as if they did not exist; dragging Belial—who still clung to its back—and leaving a trail of bloodstains across the ground, it had struggled all this way just to reach her side?
"You... what exactly do you...?"
Behemoth paid her no mind; instead, it sniffed at the fig-leaf ornaments she wore, confirming that she was indeed the one it had been chasing all this time.
"Awooo—"
It threw its head back and let out a long, mournful howl—a sound that seemed to brim with absolute fury.
Then, with a violent jerk, it flung Belial from its back and lumbered away with heavy, dragging steps.
Both the elf and Belial were left utterly bewildered.
They stared blankly at the retreating figure of the sorrowful dragon, and for a fleeting moment, they were seized by the bizarre illusion that *they* were the ones who had been bullying the poor beast.
Regardless, a life debt demanded repayment. Snapping back to reality, Evelyn offered her heartfelt thanks to the remarkably handsome youth standing before her and invited him to be a guest among the elves.
Belial was slightly taken aback; the elves were a reclusive people—he had not realized they had become so hospitable of late.
"Please, don't mention it. You saved my life; it is only right that I, Evelyn, should repay the favor," she said with a smile. Giving Belial no opportunity to decline, she led him back toward the elven domain.
Long ago, the Elven King had been exiled by the gods to the desolate wilderness of the mortal realm. Taking nothing with him save for the Mother Tree of the Elves, he and the surviving elves—led by Atrides—had settled upon this barren, rocky terrain.
Today, however, the air here was thick with spiritual energy, and the land was alive with the songs of birds and the fragrance of flowers—a testament to the elves' meticulous care and cultivation. Evelyn introduced her homeland to Belial with a touch of pride; Belial listened with a detached air, yet inwardly he mused:
'The Elven Tree is an offshoot of the Tree of Life; with just a single one present, even the most desolate land can burst into bloom and bear fruit. The Deity, after all, did possess a soft heart—though these elves, evidently, do not see it that way.'
"Your compassion is something I have never been able to comprehend," he remarked, directing his words toward the Ninth Heaven.
"What?" Evelyn cast him a puzzled glance.
"Nothing," Belial shook his head. "I don't think I'll go after all."
He had lost interest in the Elven Lands; his naturally indolent nature took over, and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to simply lie down right where he stood—dragging his feet, utterly unwilling to move.
Evelyn had never witnessed such behavior before. With her home now clearly visible just a short distance away, she stood there, looking at Belial in utter bewilderment.
"Eve?"
Nom, the Elder of the Earth Elves, stepped out from the territory's boundaries only to spot the successor to her late friend, Esrai, crouching not far away.
"What are you doing? The King is looking for you... Angel Belial?" Nom stared in astonishment at the black-haired angel.
"Where on earth did you pick him up?" she asked Evelyn.
"I didn't exactly 'pick him up'... He saved my life, Grandma Nom."
"Don't call me Grandma! You are to address me as 'Elder'!" Nom's face grew long and stern. "Spending all day running around with those humans—what kind of nonsense have you been picking up from them?!"
With the assistance of the Earth Elf Elder, Evelyn successfully brought Belial back to their home. However, in doing so, she forfeited the opportunity to host him herself; Nom immediately escorted him directly into the presence of the Elven King.
"I actually stumbled upon a Seraph—Belial?!" she murmured to herself, her expression utterly dreamlike.
The elves were unaware of the news regarding Belial's departure from Heaven; the black-haired Seraph had looked exactly this way since the moment of his creation—a form that, in all likelihood, would never change.
Belial awoke from his slumber to find a slender figure seated opposite his bed.
The gentle and refined Elven King, Atrides, was sipping his tea; the pale green liquid within the crystal-clear glass cup shimmered with an amber glow.
"You're awake?" Atrides asked with a smile. Beria remained silent for a moment, only then confirming that this was no dream. And indeed—he wasn't exactly close with the Elf King; if he were to dream, it certainly wouldn't be about him.
Atlades took the cold reception in stride, showing no offense. Ten thousand years of existence had long since smoothed away his rough edges; though his countenance remained youthful, he bore the air of a man in the twilight of his years.
Old men are always eager to find a familiar soul to chat with, and so he offered a benevolent smile.
"Join me for a cup of tea, Beria."
They set up a small white round table in the lakeside garden, sipping on the elves' signature floral tea amidst the scent of blossoms and the shimmering green waters.
Several cups sat before Beria, each holding a liquid of a different hue; taking just a single sip from each would have been enough to leave him feeling completely sated. Beria disliked the insipid taste, and after downing a few cups, he felt as though he was exuding the scent of grass and foliage from every pore—inside and out.
"Are you satisfied?"
Beria shook his head honestly—a gesture that sent the Elf King into a fit of hearty laughter.
"You people... *you*, in particular—why is it that none of you seem to know how to appreciate the beauty of nature?"
As his laughter faded, his tone grew wistful. Beria couldn't be bothered to wonder whom Atlades was mentally associating him with this time; instead, he glanced around and noticed that there were remarkably few elves to be seen in the area.
Although the elven race had fallen into decline, a considerable number of elves had originally followed Atlades. Given that fact—combined with the presence of the World Tree and the passage of so many years—the current state of affairs simply didn't seem right.
"Oh, them?" The Elf King gazed into the distance, his eyes holding a faint, distant look. "They've all gone out."
"Are you aware of the recent stirrings in Hell?"
"The commotion Lucifer has stirred up is hardly insignificant; nearly every spiritual and demonic creature knows that Hell is currently recruiting for the ranks of the Demon Kings."
The tea Beria had been holding in his mouth was swallowed abruptly and involuntarily. His eyes widened slightly as he turned to look at the Elf King. Atlades poured another cup into Beria's empty vessel—seemingly oblivious to the look of utter refusal written all over the angel's face—and continued speaking. "And so, from the realms of the Void above to the abyssal seas below, the monsters roaming the mortal world suddenly multiplied."
"You were no longer in Heaven; no wonder you didn't know."
"The humans in the mortal realm were greatly terrified; being of humble station and limited power, they were helpless. Consequently, Heaven dispatched angels to aid them. My own kin—those hot-blooded youths—could not contain their restless spirits either; they grabbed their bows and headed out."
"And then... they never returned."
Belial ran his fingers over the intricate patterns etched into the crystal goblet, feeling he ought to say something to console the poor old elf. Yet, just then, he heard Atreides shift the subject.
"Most of them remained out there, intermingling with the children of men. In doing so, they begot a great many descendants who were in no way inferior to our own kind."
"Really?" Belial couldn't help but ask, sounding slightly incredulous.
Elves... intermingling with humans?
"Why the surprise? Perhaps the deep-seated ties between elves and humans... cannot be explained in a mere word or two." Atreides smiled faintly. Catching Belial's puzzled gaze, however, he offered no further explanation; instead, he steered the conversation in a different direction, remarking that even angels had been known to intermingle with humans.
*Now* Belial was truly shocked.
"How is that possible? Would *He* not intervene?"
After all, to ensure the angels maintained their purity of body and soul, God had specifically created the Pool of Reincarnation.
"The only one *He* truly cares about... is *that one*," Atreides said, the smile at the corners of his lips fading ever so slightly.
"You're wrong," Belial countered with a frown.
"It is simply that only the pure are able to draw near to Him."
From beginning to end, God had never forced anyone to do anything.
Although Belial harbored a dislike for God's favoritism toward Lucifer, he had no patience for those who, having already monopolized every privilege, still insisted on acting as if they were the ones being unjustly wronged.
He rose to his feet and bade the elf farewell.
Atreides asked Belial where he was headed; the black-haired angel cast a languid glance in his direction.
Unlike that muddle-headed Elf King...
From start to finish, *he* had remained perfectly lucid.
"Hell."
Belial had come to apply for the position of Sloth. Hell was bustling as never before. Although it had not been explicitly stated that the "Seven Deadly Sins" were positions of Demonic Lord rank, anyone who glanced at the publicly released roster—Lucifer, Beelzebub, Samael, Asmodeus—knew that the demons were no fools.
To stand on equal footing with *them* was certainly no laughing matter.
Consequently, every manner of fiend and monster flocked to join the fray; the area before the Gates of Hell grew clamorous—a din rivaling that of a bustling marketplace—yet most were turned away at the threshold.
The Gates of Hell embodied Lucifer's will; only those deemed worthy of his recognition were permitted to pass through.
Belial emerged from the throng of jostling monsters, gazing thoughtfully at the colossal bronze gates looming before him.
"Hey there, kid—opening those gates isn't exactly easy."
Spotting him standing there—his fair, handsome features a stark contrast to the grotesque, misshapen creatures surrounding him—a certain demon felt the urge to strike up a conversation. He offered a piece of well-intentioned advice:
"Right now, there isn't a soul alive who can budge them. Even the strongest demons in all of Hell have failed. Let me let you in on a little insider secret..." The demon glanced cautiously around him before leaning in to whisper:
"It's just a stalling tactic of Lucifer's. He has absolutely no intention of actually recruiting any 'Seven Deadly Sins'—he's merely dangling the idea to keep us demons pacified."
Belial's eyebrows arched at these words. A ball of energy materialized in his hand, radiating a pure, luminous glow.
"Well, that simply won't do. I've gone and taken it quite seriously."
"You... you're an *Angel*?!"
An *Angel*—coming to Hell to become a Demonic Lord?!
The demon nearly choked on his own tongue. He stared, utterly dumbfounded, as Belial pressed the glowing orb against the Gates of Hell.
"Sloth belongs to me," Belial murmured with a soft chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with sheer delight.
He briefly channeled the power of Light to offer a greeting to whatever lay beyond the gates; moments later, the luminous orb in his hand began to dim.
In the blink of an eye, he seamlessly shifted his power from Light to Darkness—executing the transition with such practiced ease that there was not a single moment of lag or hesitation. The demon rubbed his eyes in utter disbelief, completely unable to reconcile the figure standing before him—now radiating an aura of dense, palpable demonic energy—with the Angel he had seen just moments before.
"That's... terrifying," he murmured to himself. A pure, potent dark energy flowed from the Gates of Hell to Lucifer, with whom they were inextricably linked. The King of the Fallen Angels, seated upon his throne, cast a sharp glance in its direction before turning to address the Chancellor of Hell standing at his side.
"A guest has traveled far to visit us; go forth and escort him into my presence."
Beelzebub, inwardly wondering who possessed the audacity to warrant a personal welcome from him, had barely stepped outside the hall when he sensed a sudden, surging force bearing down upon him.
*Impossible—have the Gates of Hell opened?* A flicker of alarm crossed his mind as he glanced back over his shoulder.
*Did His Majesty open the gates?* He mused, though he swiftly dismissed the notion.
If it was not Lucifer who had done so, then the opener's capabilities far exceeded his expectations. Only those who wielded the power of the Seven Deadly Sins could unlock the Gates of Hell; since the remaining three powers still resided with Lucifer, this implied that the visitor had compelled the Gates to acknowledge him through the sheer force of his own power.
Steeling his resolve, he fixed his gaze upon the massive gates as they slowly began to part.
"Is that... you?" His eyes widened in astonishment as he beheld a face that was at once familiar and yet strangely alien.
"Belial!"
He gazed at the black-haired angel, unerringly recognizing the dark energy that swirled about his form. Suddenly, words became superfluous; he strode forward briskly and, in a surge of excitement, clapped Belial heartily on the shoulder.
"From this day forth, you are my brother—my sworn brother, Beelzebub's!"
Belial had actually taken the initiative to come down and seek them out! Beelzebub instinctively glanced behind him—though even he did not fully grasp the significance of that gesture—while Belial, for his part, saw right through that hollow, illusory hope.
Yet, he chose not to call attention to it; instead, he simply requested an immediate audience with Lucifer.
"Of course! I shall take you to him at once."
Within the darkened halls, the two black-haired Fallen Angels finally met.
Belial scrutinized the Fallen Angel he had not seen in ages; Lucifer appeared little changed from their past—his aura remained as formidable and commanding as ever.
Belial watched him in silence. Lucifer's confidence stemmed from his immense power; yet Belial had never once considered himself inferior to him—neither in the order of their creation nor in the magnitude of their abilities.
When they served the Light, he had grudgingly accepted being overshadowed by him; but now that they walked the path of Darkness, he would yield—or retreat—to no one. "Seraph—Belial, the time for your emergence has not yet come." Preceding these very words spoken by God, there was another utterance.
Though faint, he still caught that divine oracle—a sound akin to a sigh.
"The Original Sin of Sloth."
This was the true essence God had bestowed upon him.
He was, in truth, a creation of darkness that predated all else—a darkness older than demons, older than fallen angels, older even than Lucifer.
A blackness that pierced through the very evil of the world.