Lucas’s POV

The doors of the throne room groan open like something ancient waking from a long, uneasy sleep.

The sound echoes through the cavernous hall, reverberating off silver pillars and vaulted ceilings that disappear into shadow. The hall is vast enough to swallow armies, yet tonight it feels strangely hollow.

My footsteps carry across the black-and-white marble floor as I walk inside.

Each step reminds me of where I stand.

My father’s throne room.

My inheritance, or at least, it should have been.

The throne sits at the far end of the hall upon a raised dais carved from golden stone. Gold iron serpents' coil around the arms of the chair, their open jaws frozen in silent screams.

For centuries, that throne belonged to the ruler of the Seven Hells. To my father. Now it stands empty. But I am not alone. Three figures stand before the throne. They are waiting for me. The moment I see them, a warning ripples through my veins. Something is wrong.

I slow my pace but continue forward until I reach the center of the hall. The distance between us is deliberate—far enough to keep space between enemies, close enough to speak without shouting.

None of them bow. None of them move. They simply watch me.

My voice cuts through the silence.

“What is the meaning of this?” My words echo through the throne room. “Why have you summoned me?”

Mammon’s lips curl upward.

The serpent-like devil tilts his head as though studying something amusing. His golden eyes glimmer beneath the dim sunlight lining the walls.

“Oh Lucas,” he says lazily. His forked tongue flicks between sharp teeth. “You always were so formal.”

Beside him, Asmodeus sighs.

The sound is theatrical, exaggerated, and filled with boredom. Her beauty is unsettling—perfect features framed by cascading blue hair, rose colored lips curved in a mocking smile.

“You really should learn to relax,” she murmurs. Her eyes drift over me, assessing. “But then again… you’ve always taken everything so seriously.”

My gaze moves past them both. To the one who truly matters.

Beelzebub, the eldest and strongest among us. He steps forward slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow across the marble floor. His expression is unreadable like stone carved into the shape of a man.

“Lucas,” he says, his voice deep enough to vibrate through the chamber. “Do you know why we called you here?”

“No,” I reply evenly. “But I assume you’re about to tell me.”

Something flashes in his dark eyes as if amused.

“The lords are displeased.” Beelzebub chuckles. “That’s a polite way to say it.”

Asmodeus folds her arms. “They’re furious.”

My jaw tightens. “And why would that be?”

Mammon’s grin widens. “Because you’re weak.”

The word strikes the air like a whip. I feel something stir inside my chest. A slow-burning anger.

“Mercy,” I say furiously, “is not weakness.”

Asmodeus raises a brow. “Oh?” She tilts her head. “Then what would you call it?”

I meet her gaze. “Change.”

Beelzebub laughs. The sound is cold and hollow. “You think Hell needs change?”

“I know it does.”

Silence spreads across the hall.

“You show compassion to the damned. You release angels who trespass our realm.” Beelzebub eyes narrow. “Have you forgotten what we are!”

“I remember exactly what we are,” I reply. My hands tighten at my sides. “But I refuse to become what our father was.”

Mammon bursts into laughter.

Asmodeus covers her mouth, though her eyes glitter with delight.

Even Beelzebub smiles and asks, “You think this is about our father?”

“It is.”

“No, this is about you.” Beelzebub gaze hardens. “You are unworthy to rule.”

My pulse quickens. “Our father chose me.”

Beelzebub snorts. “Chosen?” He steps closer. Now the distance between us is gone. “You are a bastard unfit to sit on that throne.”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

My wings twitch beneath the surface of my skin. “You question our father’s judgment?”

“I question your blood.” His voice drips with contempt. “You are half angel.” The word burns. “A stain upon the throne of Hell.”

My heart pounds once. Hard. “My mother—”

“Your mother,” Mammon interrupts with a sharp laugh, “was a celestial whore.”

Something inside me snaps.

“Edith,” I growl.

The air trembles. Golden light flickers beneath my skin.

Beelzebub spreads his hands mockingly. “Oh yes, the noble angel. So pure. So righteous.”

His smile twists. “And yet she spread her wings—and her legs—for our father.”

Rage detonates inside me. My wings burst from my back in a blaze of golden feathers.

The throne room shakes. Power surges through the hall like lightning.

“You will not speak of her again.”

I move. Or at least—I try to. Before I can reach them, smoke explodes around me. A crushing force slams into my chest. The air leaves my lungs.

The world spins as I hit the marble floor hard enough to crack it. Pain explodes through my ribs. Before I can rise—A heavy boot slams onto my back. Mammon weight pins me down effortlessly.

“Well,” he hisses near my ear. “Look at that.”

His clawed fingers brush my wing. “Our little brother really does have wings.”

I thrash beneath him. He presses harder.

“A pity,” Mammon murmurs. “They’re beautiful.”

“Enough.” Asmodeus’ voice slices through the chamber.

Her boots click across the marble as she approaches. “We didn’t bring him here for entertainment.”

Mammon sighs dramatically but lifts his foot.

Chains appear in a swirl of black smoke. They snap around my wrists and ankles. Cold iron bites into my skin. I pull against them, but they don’t move.

“Take him to the dungeons,” Asmodeus says.

“Oh gladly,” Mammon grins.

But she tears a feather from my wings.

“Wait.” Her gaze drifts upwards.

My golden feathers shimmer with radiating power and magic.

Her smile grows cruel. “We can’t have him flying away.”

A cold dread settles in my stomach. Mammon’s claws extend long and razor sharp.

“Don’t struggle,” Asmodeus whispers. Her voice is almost gentle. “It will only make it worse.”

The first slash lands. Pain erupts across my back; a strangled cry escapes me before I can stop it. Another cut. Feathers scatter across the marble floor. Blood follows suit.

Mammon laughs. “Look at him,” he croons. “Still trying to be strong.”

A third slash tears through muscle. The pain becomes unbearable.

My vision blurs and the throne room fades.

When I wake, the world smells like rot. Cold stone presses against my cheek.

I open my eyes and find chains bind my arms above my head and ankles are bounded to the ground.

The dungeon cell is dimly lit by green fungus growing along the walls.

I try to move but pain explodes through my back once more.

My breath catches.

"My wings—"

What remains of them lies shredded behind me. Golden feathers turned dull with dried blood. Ragged stubs where wings once spread wide.

I close my eyes. Just for a moment.

“I won’t break,” I whisper.

My voice echoes weakly.

Time loses meaning in the dungeon. There is no sunlight. No sky. Only dripping water. Rats scratching inside the walls. Pain that never fades.

Days blur into weeks. Weeks into something longer.

Until one day, the cell door creaks open. Light spills into the darkness.

Three shadows appear.

“Well,” Mammon drawls. “Look who survived.”

I lift my head slowly. “You think chains will hold me forever?”

Mammon laughs. “Oh Lucas.” His eyes gleam. “We don’t need chains to control you.”

Asmodeus steps forward. “We have something better.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you want?”

“A ritual.” Asmodeus says.

The word sends ice through my veins.

Beelzebub continues. “We will bind your power to a mortal.”

I laugh hoarsely. “You’re insane.”

“A pregnant woman, her unborn daughter will carry your light.” Asmodeus says.

My breath stops.

The dungeon suddenly feels smaller. “You’d condemn an innocent child?”

Mammon shrugs. “We’re not condemning her. We’re using her.”

“And if you resist,” Beelzebub adds, “The girl dies.”

The chains around my wrists feel heavier.

The three open a gate, revealing a swirling portal.

And they drag me through.

Sunlight blinds me. Warm air fills my lungs. The smell of grass and flowers. The sound of human voices. When my vision clears, disbelief washes through me.

Students walk across green lawns. Laughter drifts through the air.

A college campus.

“You brought me to the mortal world?” I ask.

Mammon spreads his arms. “Welcome to our playground.”

Humans pass by us, completely unaware.

“Where is the girl?” I demand.

Asmodeus smiles. “You’ll meet her soon.”

They drag me toward a towering Gothic building. Engraved above the doorway reads, Cerberus Hall.

Inside, the air grows colder through the silent corridors.

We descend into the basement. The smell of decay thickens. Finally, we reach an iron door covered in ancient runes.

It opens revealing a hallow room. They throw me inside and slam the door shut.

The chains tighten and then—Pain. Agony tears through my body.

My celestial power is being ripped away. Drained and torn from my soul.

Time passed as days turned into months, months into years, and years into centuries.

I lie in darkness. Waiting for the moment my soul shatters. But something changes. A pulse that feels warm.

Alive but not mine. A child.

The mortal girl carrying my stolen light. And suddenly I understand something.

They didn’t just create a leash; it created a bond.

And bonds… work both ways.

For the first time in centuries.

In the endless darkness of my prison… hope flickers

And I swear to myself one day I will follow that light.

And when I do.

Hell, itself will tremble.