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Chapter 22 - Sacrificial Soul

After the discussion of the remaining prince of Hell, Mammon called Leviathan and asked to speak with him in private.

Mammon leaned in closer, his voice low and filled with intrigue, "Leviathan, do you know the reason why Beelzebub came out without informing anyone of us?"

Leviathan sighed, his expression showing both frustration and concern. "I don't know. He is a Gluttony, so he devours as much as he can without even thinking about the consequences of his actions."

Mammon furrowed his brow in deep thought. "But even if he's a Gluttony, he can just ask any of his servants to gather those souls for him."

Leviathan raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "So, what are you pointing out?"

Asmodeus leaned in closer, his voice hushed. "Maybe there's a Sacrificial Soul in that place. That's why he came rushing to the surface."

Mammon asked with suspicion, "Asmodeus, why are you here?"

Asmodeus grinned mischievously. "Hehe. I saw the two of you changing direction, so I followed you. But no worries. you can count me in whatever your hidden agenda is."

Leviathan inquired with a puzzled expression, "What precisely are you talking about? Are you suggesting the existence of a Sacrificial soul?"

Asmodeus smirked, "It was just a hunch. One of my underlings reported to me about it. A Sacrificial Soul in the area must possess the missing light that Beelzebub craves."

Mammon and Leviathan exchanged knowing smiles, their excitement building as they considered the implications of Asmodeus's revelation.

A Sacrificial Soul was a rare and coveted prize, sought after by both angels and demons alike, for it possessed an immense and potent energy that could greatly empower its possessor.

In the depths of the celestial realm, a whispered legend spoke of a rare and coveted prize – the Sacrificial Soul. This ethereal essence possessed the power to bestow unparalleled boons upon those fortunate enough to lay claim to it.

For the fallen angels, who had been cast down from grace, the Sacrificial Soul offered a glimmer of hope. Those who obtained it would experience a resurgence of celestial might. Their once-shattered wings would unfurl anew, bathed in radiant light, and their angelic forms would be restored. But the true marvel lay in their newfound abilities. They could mend wounds and heal afflictions with but a touch, even those teetering on the precipice of death.

In the shadowed realm of demons, the Sacrificial Soul was a coveted prize of a different sort. When a demon acquired it, their already formidable powers would surge to unimaginable heights. Their essence would resonate with an unholy fervor, and their malevolence would become an unrelenting force to be reckoned with. They would stand as paragons of darkness, eclipsing their former selves by a factor of ten.

This mystic essence was the focal point of desire for both angels seeking redemption and demons lusting for supremacy. It held the promise of transformation, a chance to transcend one's current state and ascend to new heights of power. It was an enigma that would shape destinies and ignite the flames of desire in the celestial and infernal realms alike.

The three demonic princes united under a cloak of secrecy, plotting their next move with the allure of the Sacrificial Soul beckoning them onward. To avoid arousing suspicion, Asmodeus, shrewd and cunning, veiled his true form beneath the façade of a common human. He shrouded his otherworldly aura, slipping into the realm of humans like a phantom.

With measured steps, he ventured forth, treading the earthly terrain with the subtlety of a shadow. His mission: to infiltrate the vicinity of Beelzebub's demise and unearth the enigma that had lured the gluttonous prince from the depths of Hell. The Sacrificial Soul, a treasure coveted by both celestial and infernal beings, was now their prize to seize.

Asmodeus concealed his diabolical essence, masking it with the mundane. He was prepared to navigate the complexities of this mortal realm, all in the pursuit of power and dominance. The game had begun, and the chessboard was the world itself.

In his human guise, Asmodeus stepped into the earthly realm, an observer in the grand tapestry of human life. Amidst the bustling city streets, he reveled in the vibrant mosaic of humanity. The sights and sounds of the mortal world fascinated him—their passions, their desires, their fleeting lives. A wicked grin curled upon his human lips as he took in the kaleidoscope of faces that surrounded him.

As he moved through the crowd, Asmodeus couldn't help but savor the intoxicating beauty of mortals, both young and old. To him, they were like exquisite works of art, each one a unique masterpiece crafted by the hands of the Creator. His senses were heightened, absorbing the alluring fragrances, the enchanting laughter, and the harmonious chaos of existence.

"Such a splendid creation," he mused to himself, his voice threaded with temptation. "The pleasures of this world are endless, and I shall indulge in them all."

In this guise, he was but a fleeting whisper in the chorus of humanity, a shadow that moved through the mortal realm, casting his sly gaze upon the unsuspecting souls around him.

As Asmodeus approached the scene, his eyes fixed on the distressing sight of the little boy, surrounded by a group of girls who seemed to take delight in tormenting him. Tears streamed down the boy's face, his spirit crushed by the relentless barrage of insults and thrown stones.

Without drawing any attention, Asmodeus blended into the human world, his demeanor that of a concerned passerby. His steps were calculated, and his features bore an expression of empathy as he neared the group of children.

"Hey there," he said softly, crouching down to the little boy's eye level. "Are you alright? What's going on here?"

The bullies momentarily stopped their torment to glance at the newcomer, their mischief-laden eyes meeting Asmodeus's. His voice carried an aura of kindness, but it held an undertone of something much darker, something that sent a subtle shiver down their spines.

The little boy, his tear-stained face a mix of confusion and fear, managed to choke out an explanation of the situation. Asmodeus listened intently, his mind racing with possibilities and hidden intentions.

"You're a bunch of little demons. playing with this little one."

He looked at those kids with threatening eyes, and the kids started crying and running away.

Asmodeus's words and menacing gaze worked like a charm. The bullies, their bravado shattered, quickly scattered in every direction, their cries now echoing with fear rather than mischief. They fled from the scene, leaving the little boy behind, still trembling but now free from their torment.

Asmodeus couldn't help but chuckle darkly at the sight of the fleeing children. Their screams of terror seemed to amuse him greatly, filling him with a sinister sense of satisfaction.

With the bullies gone, he turned his attention back to the little boy, who was still quivering. "Don't worry," he said, his voice once again laced with an unsettling mixture of kindness and something far more sinister. "They won't bother you anymore. What's your name, little one?"

The boy, slowly regaining his composure, managed a timid smile and replied, "I'm Tommy."

"Well then, Tommy," Asmodeus purred, "you should be careful around here. There are demons everywhere, you know."

Tommy's eyes widened, his fear returning. "Demons? But you're not one of them, right?"

Asmodeus chuckled again, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Oh, my dear boy, sometimes it's hard to tell, isn't it?"

The boy's gratitude quickly turned to apprehension as Asmodeus spoke, his innocent eyes widening in fear once more. He took a step back from the stranger, his trust in the mysterious man diminishing rapidly.

Asmodeus, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the boy's unease. His smile grew wider, revealing a set of unnaturally sharp teeth. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent light as he continued to address the trembling child.

"Ah, don't be frightened, my dear Tommy," Asmodeus purred, his voice dripping with honeyed malice. "I'm not here to harm you, not yet anyway. But who knows, you might prove useful to me."