Arc 2: Beelzebub – Gluttony (Chapter 1 of 7)
---
Hell… was shifting.
Lucen stepped through the smoking gate Asmodeus had vanished into. The air behind him still carried warmth — desire clinging to his back like invisible perfume. Lust's domain was gone, but its scent stayed, soaked into the edges of his soul.
The whip around his arm — Velkaria — twitched. It hadn't cooled since the last battle. If anything, it felt warmer. Hungrier.
His steps slowed. His mind, once sharp, began to fog.
And Yara's smile… that ghost of a memory… still burned behind his eyes.
He exhaled.
Soft. Controlled.
But the doubt slipped in anyway.
He whispered it out loud.
"I beat Asmodeus… didn't I?"
The silence didn't answer.
Because he hadn't.
Not fully.
The sin had changed shape — not disappeared.
---
The world ahead was decaying.
Roses turned to pulp. Black sludge crawled over broken stone. The red sky cracked and dripped like blood left too long in the sun.
The path beneath him was no longer paved with bone. It was teeth now. And nails.
Rot filled the air — but not the sharp kind. This was sweet. Thick. Like syrup poured over meat left too long to die.
He kept walking.
And then he heard it.
Not footsteps. Not growls.
Chewing.
Wet. Sticky. Slow.
Followed by a swallow that shook the valley like thunder.
Lucen stepped into a place that had no name.
A graveyard of indulgence.
Mountains of rotten tongues. Chalices crushed under piles of melted gold. Thrones snapped in half.
Everything was bloated. Half-alive.
Some things still moved.
A pile of food twisted in agony, sobbing through human mouths. A broken feast table cried for mercy.
And then…
He dropped.
Not fell.
Dropped.
Like meat tossed into a pit.
A shape hit the ground before him — shaking it violently. Flesh jiggled. Honey and sweat glistened over folds of gelatinous skin.
A face rose.
If you could call it that.
Dozens of mouths. All over its belly. Chewing. Sucking. Praying.
"More…"
"Feed me…"
"Devour him…"
The creature's head was massive. Crowned with twisted gold bones bent into the shape of a feast table. Its eyes were slits. Greasy. Blind, but seeing everything.
Beelzebub.
The Gluttonous Devil.
His voice was like spoiled wine poured over rotting fruit.
"Zaqel Fallmoon… I knew your stench would reach me. The taste of Lust still drips from your breath."
Lucen didn't answer.
He gripped his wrist. Velkaria burned like a branding iron.
Too hot.
Unstable.
He tried to breathe. Focus. Summon Temperance — the next virtue.
Balance.
Clarity.
But it didn't come.
Nothing came.
"Still not over Asmodeus…" he muttered. "Still not clean."
Beelzebub laughed. A low, wet sound that shook the air.
He dragged a hand the size of a tower across the ground. Scooped a pile of writhing bodies into one of his mouths.
Didn't chew.
Just… absorbed.
"You reek of denial," he said. "Not self-control. You think resisting desire is victory? You're just starving yourself. I can see it in your eyes."
He leaned in.
"You're hungry, Zaqel."
Lucen's lips parted. He wanted to speak.
But Lust flickered in his mind. Again.
Images. Cravings. Not just flesh.
Recognition. Power. Worship.
The prayers of the cult…
They hadn't stopped.
He glanced back.
One of the glowing rings was still active — floating behind him like a halo made of sin.
"No…" he gasped. "I stopped it. I stopped—"
Beelzebub smiled. The mouths on his belly whispered louder.
"You think sin walks away because you told it to?" he said. "You carry it. Like a starving man carries the memory of food."
Then the ground cracked.
A tremor split the land beneath Lucen's feet.
Beelzebub rose higher.
Taller.
Heavier.
The weight of him made the ground collapse in folds.
"You're not ready for me, Zaqel," he said. "Not when you still taste like the last course."
Lucen reached for the virtue again.
Still nothing.
His virtues were quiet.
His sin was not.
Velkaria writhed. The prayer-circle glowed.
And across from him…
The Gluttonous Devil opened every mouth and smiled.
---
End of Chapter 20
Next Chapter:-CHAPTER 21: Mouth of the Fallen...