Chapter 72: Hatred
With the establishment of the Seven Deadly Sins, the world trembled.
As the various facets of Hell began to stabilize, their gaze turned upward.
Within the Pandemonium, the demonic host gathered together for the first time beneath Lucifer's throne to deliberate on how to exact vengeance—upon Heaven, and upon God Himself.
Among them were those who advocated for open war—chiefly Belial and Moloch.
They were the two demons originally most likely to secure a seat among the Seven Deadly Sins; now that the hope of becoming a Demon King was lost to them, they vied fiercely with one another to solidify their positions as Demon Generals.
"Military merit is the surest shortcut!"
Most of the elder demons were naturally gleeful in their malice; they glorified the chaos of war, banging gongs and drums amidst the clamor of the great hall, actively inciting the two rivals against one another—as if they feared nothing so much as a world at peace.
In stark contrast, the majority of the Fallen Angels chose to remain silent; indeed, they felt that their current existence was actually quite agreeable.
Their eyes flickered uncertainly as they strove to hypnotize themselves into believing that *this* place—Hell—was, in fact, the Heaven of old.
Even when stray sparks of hellfire occasionally rained down upon their blackened wings, they no longer reacted with the panic and terror of their former days.
One need only extinguish the flames before they could spread and consume them—a task they had performed so often it had become second nature.
Vengeance against God?
They dared not even entertain the thought.
The memory of that cataclysmic blow—dealt during their fall from grace—had not faded with the passage of time; the sheer disparity in power only served to deepen their sense of dread.
They stood no chance of defeating God; and since Heaven had ceased to trouble them, why go out of their way to invite further misery?
Asmodeus, acting as the voice of complacency, articulated the sentiments shared by the vast majority of the Fallen Angels.
The warmongers and the pacifists bickered furiously, yet among the Seven Deadly Sins, only Asmodeus had thus far stepped forward to offer his counsel.
Mammon, casting a sidelong glance at the figures seated beside him, shifted his gaze slightly before rising from his own seat.
Instantly, all eyes in the hall converged upon him. As the representative of the "new generation"—whether among the Fallen Angels or the native demons—his opinions carried immense weight.
Mammon offered no cryptic riddles or dramatic flourishes; he simply proposed that they adopt the Will of Darkness itself as their own guiding principle. "You can certainly make this place your paradise—there's nothing difficult about that." He gave a thumbs-up to a Fallen Angel who was calmly fanning the flames on his wings.
"With time, the scorching flames will merge with our very beings."
This was something Lucifer had once told him; indeed, everything he knew and understood had been learned from the King of Hell.
Captivated by Lucifer's magnificent bearing, he had subsequently spread this philosophy to the rest of Hell's denizens.
"Dwelling constantly on revenge serves only to waste time; it is far better to focus on the present."
He had never personally endured the agony of a Fallen Angel's plummet from the heights of Heaven; thus, he could not truly empathize with their hatred or their fear. Yet, he had nonetheless offered the most sound advice a demon could possibly give.
Accept reality. Abandon revenge.
Perhaps this was the best possible outcome for the Fallen Angels.
He was confident that he had accurately divined the true intentions of the one seated upon the throne; surely, a monarch of such radiant grace as Lucifer would not allow himself to remain shackled by a single past defeat or by the weight of enduring hatred.
Having finished speaking, Mammon took his seat. His words sparked a lively debate throughout the hall; yet, regardless of the specific arguments raised, the consensus invariably boiled down to this: Mammon was right.
However—quite unexpectedly—at that very moment, Lucifer, seated upon his throne, suddenly crushed the transparent crystal goblet he held in his hand.
The wine-red liquid spilled across the floor, instantly corroding the thick-piled carpet and causing faint wisps of smoke to rise into the air.
The entire hall fell into a deathly silence; no one dared to meet their King's gaze.
"Go on—why stop now?" A cold, sardonic smile played upon Lucifer's lips. Behemoth looked up uneasily, only to be immediately nudged back down by Leviathan.
She signaled for him to hold his tongue.
Lucifer's resentment toward Heaven—his hatred of the Divine—likely surpassed that of every other being present in that hall.
The greater his former glory, the more profound the ensuing fall; such a magnitude of hatred was simply beyond their comprehension.
How could they—who had never known the favor of the Divine—possibly hope to understand? "We can undoubtedly establish a new empire right here."
Amidst the absolute silence, only Beelzebub broke the stillness. As the Grand Vizier of Hell—a position second only to Lucifer himself—he was the only one who truly grasped the workings of Lucifer's mind.
'Even though His Majesty has consistently presented himself as the epitome of rationality,' Beelzebub mused inwardly.
He had not forgotten the scene from long ago: immediately after they had finished conquering Hell, the black-haired Demon King had impatiently declared his intent to exact vengeance.
The sheer madness in those blood-red eyes as they gazed toward the heavens had left Beelzebub feeling unsettled for a very long time.
Yet, contrary to his expectations, Lucifer had never once uttered the word "revenge" after his return. Beelzebub had assumed his master had let it go—until recently.
'In the end, it is *we* who have emerged victorious from this great upheaval.'
No matter the time or place, no matter how much time had elapsed...
Whether soaring high or lying in wait, never resting until his objective was achieved—*that* was the true Lucifer.
If his strategic maneuvering against the demons was executed with such unyielding resolve, then one must ask: how could a sovereign such as this ever abandon his desire for vengeance?
Perhaps the one thing that time could never erase was Lucifer's obsession.
A bittersweet ache rose in Beelzebub's heart. He did not, in principle, advocate for impulsive acts of revenge; yet, Lucifer had already exercised more than enough restraint.
He could no longer bear to watch his master constantly suppressing that inner madness.
They had to help him find a way to vent these emotions.
"Have you forgotten?" he asked, gazing at the Fallen Angels—beings whose true nature was inherently gentle. In stark contrast to Lucifer, the Fallen Angels had been ensnared by a life of ease; their initial hatred and fighting spirit had been dulled by comfort—much like his own.
Truth be told, he no longer harbored much hatred toward Heaven himself.
Where there is no love, there can be no hatred.
"He cast us down into this place, intending it merely as a prison to keep us under surveillance."
"We were never meant to live in freedom or ease; it was only under His Majesty's leadership that we were able to break free from our plight," he declared, using highly incendiary words to stir the hearts of the Fallen Angels—hearts that had long since grown complacent with the passage of time. "Our status remains that of prisoners exiled from Heaven! Why, then, do you squabble over whether to choose war or to settle for the status quo?"
"That is not what we should be debating! We have already suffered grievous losses—losses that once left us unable to rise again."
"All that humiliation was brought upon us by *him*."
Beelzebub noticed Lucifer watching him, as if signaling with his eyes for him to continue.
He knew he had struck the right chord; involuntarily, a look of profound sorrow surfaced in his eyes.
*Just how deeply did you love Heaven, that you now harbor such immense hatred?*
Lucifer had no intention of waging war; otherwise, he would not have appeared so indifferent—even impatient—while Belial and the others were voicing their opinions.
This made it clear that, in Lucifer's view, attempting to resist Divine Authority was an equally futile—if not outright foolish—endeavor.
"Until our vengeance is complete, our hearts should hold nothing but hostility and hatred."
As he spoke these words, he observed their gazes growing increasingly focused; realizing he had already won them over—at least in part—he felt a sense of quiet assurance.
"Hostility toward those favored darlings of his."
"We could, perhaps, launch an assault on Heaven itself. After all these years, we just might succeed..." Of course, the likelihood of such a victory was minuscule. Watching the crowd below begin to stir and murmur—unable to contain their impatience—Beelzebub remained unhurried and proceeded to present his second proposal.
Both angels and humans were targets of their vengeance. Heaven, shielded by the Divine Throne, remained far removed from the mortal realm—beyond their easy reach. Humans, however, lived right here upon the mortal earth.
"Why not drive *his* creations from the earth? Just as *he* once drove *us* out?"
To drive *his* people out of the mortal realm.
*The fundamental conflict stems from the existence of humanity.* He never allowed himself to forget that fact.
To exact vengeance upon humanity was, in essence, to exact vengeance upon God Himself—and *that*, surely, was what truly lay at the heart of Lucifer's intent.
Suddenly, applause rang out, following immediately upon Beelzebub's words. He turned sharply to look, only to see Lucifer descending from the high throne and walking toward the center of the great hall.
"Beelzebub makes a valid point," Lucifer declared, sweeping his gaze across the assembly.
"But have you considered a *third* possibility—one that lies beyond these two?"
As the words left his lips, seven flickering flames—each a manifestation of raw power—sprang into existence within his outstretched hand. The Seven Deadly Sins simultaneously felt a burning heat sear their hearts; involuntarily, they clutched their chests, instantly united in spirit.
Rather than merely expelling humanity, what Lucifer truly desired was this:
"To entice them to join us... to turn them to our side."
To ignite the flames of hatred within human hearts—to make them loathe Jehovah in the heavens.
*"Oh, the expression that will cross Your face then... how truly worth anticipating it shall be,"* Lucifer thought to himself with delight.
"Let Him regret ever having created them," he declared; his long black robes slashed through the air with the force of a gale, extinguishing every torch within the great hall.
He returned once more to his throne; his blood-red eyes were the only light visible to them now.
*This* was true vengeance.
"Let God's own favored ones rebel alongside them."
"And we need not expend a single soldier or weapon..."
Curse them to wither as easily as spring blossoms; curse their happiness to slip away as effortlessly as dust through one's fingertips.
He was the very creed of darkness, the undisputed sovereign acknowledged by the Abyss itself.
His words ignited a frenzy among the creatures of Hell. No need for blades or open warfare—they need only unleash the arts they knew best and revel in the game!
Excitement gleamed in the demons' eyes as they shared their innate skills with the bewildered Fallen Angels beside them.
How does one beguile a human? How does one provoke the Divine? How does one usurp humanity's faith?
"Let us establish our own seats of power right beside God's throne! Let them bow down and worship *us*!"
Ever since humans first began calling upon God's name, they had erected altars and temples to Him throughout the mortal realm; yet, no human had ever truly seen God's form, and the divine images enshrined within those temples had never once been consistent.
They exchanged every scrap of common knowledge they possessed regarding the mortal world, chanting it back and forth in mocking tones.
"How does one provoke Jehovah?" a Fallen Angel asked a demon.
*"Let ignorant humans worship *us* as their God."*
*"They are utterly foolish."*
*"They are utterly foolish."*
*"How does one provoke Jehovah?"* a demon asked an angel whose resolve was beginning to waver. "Tell me, what does He cherish?"
"The True God cherishes purity and pristine whiteness," the Fallen Angel answered, his voice distant and trancelike.
"Then let us offer Him defiled sacrifices—offerings utterly repugnant to the True God!"
"Bloody ones! Hairy ones!" the Demon cackled, making mischievous, mocking gestures.
"Let us cast them all into His holy altar!"
"You lot are truly childish," the Fallen Angel couldn't help but chuckle. Infected by the Demon's infectious energy, he felt the tension—which had gripped his nerves for his entire existence—gradually begin to ease; he, too, began to chant along.
"Though Jehovah is bound to be furious."
"Let Him be furious! To stand as His equal, to challenge Heaven itself—that is our ultimate goal!" The Demon danced with unbridled glee. "We have waited ten thousand millennia for this very day!"
"Let us use accursed things to defile the True God's sacred hymns and holy relics!"
"Let darkness eclipse the light!"
"Let man be sacrificed by man; for blood and tears are, after all, the finest of vintages!" They laughed and howled in frenzied ecstasy.
"How else might we provoke Jehovah?"
"Let the clamor of drums and gongs ring out ceaselessly through the night!"
"Let the wailing of infants never cease; let hideousness, savagery, and debauchery reign side by side!"
"How else might we provoke Jehovah?"
"Let His altars be utterly abandoned!"
"Let His holy temples gather dust, while mankind bows down in worship before the severed heads of beasts!"
Their fervor intensified with every word, their emotions spiraling into a state of frenzied, uncontrollable hysteria.
In their eyes, insignificant humans were nothing more than a mere concept—as inconsequential as a sheep or a deer.
Lucifer listened to their ideas—each more preposterous than the last—yet he offered no rebuke; instead, he encouraged them with eager enthusiasm.
"Excellent!" he declared, signaling for them to fall silent and heed his words.
"There exists a city in the mortal realm—one that perfectly aligns with our expectations. We can use it as our staging ground, a testing ground to gauge their reaction!"
Six hundred years had passed in the mortal world—six hundred cycles of shifting stars and changing seasons. The city of which Lucifer spoke was the very one built long ago by Cain—Adam's firstborn son—after his banishment.
The City of Enoch.
[Source: *Hebrew Mythology: The Arduous Chronicle of a World's Upbringing* by Dan Mu'ai]