Ailen harbored no worries about his mission; his target was merely an Archangel. What consequence was it that the Archangel wielded the Sword of Dawn? In the end, he was just an Archangel with a weapon, whereas Ailen himself was a Seraph leading two Archangels. The disparity in rank and power, not to mention the difference in combat experience, was not something that could be compensated for with a mere sharp blade.
In Mount Celestia, angels were divided into seven orders.
The novitiate, the fledgling angels, were the initiates of Heaven. Among them, some possessed exceptional qualities, lacking only time and training. After sufficient refinement, these novices would ascend to become Archangels, who typically commanded groups of ten in the celestial army.
From among these Archangels, the gifted would evolve further, ascending to become Seraphim.
For most angels, this was as far as they would go. Over the long eons, they would remain at the level of Seraphim. Only a select few could advance beyond.
Those Seraphim faced a three-pronged path: one led to the battle-focused Flaming Angels; another to the wise angels who oversaw the daily administration and educational affairs of Heaven; and the last to the Powers, who journeyed to the mortal realm, guiding the souls of the valiant to the upper realms.
These angels, each with their six wings of glory, were equal in honor.
Above them were the seven Archangels, the mighty eight-winged rulers known as the Dominions.
It could be said that within the armies of Mount Celestia, the Flaming Angels were among the mightiest warriors.
Thus, Ailen had no reason to fret over Captain Miserah. She was strong, drawing near to the rank of Flaming Angel. Perhaps in a few decades, she would ascend to that elite order.
Throughout the pursuit, Ailen maintained a relaxed demeanor, as if he was not chasing a dangerous traitor but merely enjoying a jaunt through Hell.
It was only a week later that Ailen's expression grew somber.
"Second-in-command? What's happened? Why have we stopped?" An Archangel inquired, puzzled.
"We've lost him."
"What?" The Archangel didn't grasp what Ailen meant.
Ailen squinted, re-examining the charred land. Apart from the fading "footprints," there were no significant traces to follow. And right there—where Ailen stood—the footprints abruptly vanished. "I'm saying, we've lost him. Our target, the traitor Valis, has vanished from this spot. His scent, the traces of his movements, the footprints—everything's gone. Wait, there's something off with the space here."
Ailen closed his eyes, attuning to the agitated magic and unstable space. Suddenly, a spark flickered in the darkness, and Ailen latched onto that fleeting insight.
So that was it. Understanding dawned on him, and he opened his eyes to sigh. "Spatial magic. He's escaped using spatial magic."
"So we're..." The Archangel hesitated to utter the word.
"The mission has failed. Heaven knows which plane he's fled to. Let's regroup and support Captain Miserah."
The same problem befell the four angels chasing Falling Star; they completely lost the mage's trail. Regretfully, the angels converged toward their captain.
Azazel laughed, turning to Ganzaleth. "Introduce our friends to the defenses of this fortress."
Ganzaleth promptly got to work. "The Bloody Fortress's moat draws from the nearby River Styx. The river's waters, as deadly as poison, are enough to chill the hearts of most who dare assail the fortress. The spears atop the walls are 'Torment's Spikes,' instruments of excruciation. A mere graze, even just breaking the skin, ensures a pain you'll never forget. Even the dead, pricked by it, would leap in agony. If we approach, you can hear the wails of the heads impaled upon the spikes. But now, they're not demon heads but devil heads. Couple that with the siege weapons on the ramparts and the numerous arrow towers, and if well-manned with ample supplies, this fortress could easily withstand an army of ten thousand."
Azazel, smug with pride, asked, "How about it? Isn't this fortress formidable? The defenses are unassailable, and I'm quite fond of it."
Valis exhaled deeply. "The defenses of this stronghold are indeed formidable. I'd like it too if I were its master. But we are the attackers, and to conquer the Bloody Fortress, we must face those dreadful defenses."
Azazel blinked. "I'm not the master of the fortress yet, but soon will be. Ganzaleth, go, make one final confirmation."
Obediently, Ganzaleth transformed into a raven and flew towards the Bloody Fortress.
Azazel addressed the remaining two. "In truth, Ganzaleth didn't even know there was a fortress here. All he told you he saw from the mage tower within the castle." Azazel glanced slyly at Falling Star, whose breath betrayed her despite her indifferent facade. He couldn't help feeling smug as he described the mage tower as if he had seen it himself: "It's a grand mage tower, right there beside the main keep. It has a library, laboratories with exquisite equipment, a perfect dungeon, and even a breeding chamber at the base. The facility is fully equipped. Imagine, such a vast castle defended by merely a hundred people. How could they possibly hold it? Even Ganzaleth, turned raven, could easily come and go. Taking this castle will be simple, and it won't require an assault. Trust me, I have a plan."
"I look forward to your plan, but let me be clear, that grand mage tower is mine," Falling Star tried to maintain an even tone, but ultimately failed.
Azazel replied with a laugh, "Of course, though I'll be visiting often. I hope you won't turn me away; I have quite an interest in black magic. Now, let me explain my plan..."
"Wait," Valis interrupted. "Why must we risk attacking that castle? I don't care for it. Even if we take it, then what? Move in?"
Azazel spread his hands wide. "Let me explain for our inquisitive Mr. Valis. First, you're my subordinate; you must listen to me. Second, I see this as an opportunity. I refuse to let us four wander Hell like stray dogs forever. We need bases, a home, a place with a roof. I'm tired of being rudely awakened by meteors falling from the sky in the middle of the night. We need to find shelter. Lastly, the castle is quite fine, and I like it." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "Even though those reasons may not endear you to the castle, consider this: within its walls are two Archangels. These Archangels will either perish by our hands, their heads impaled on 'Torment's Spikes,' wailing on the walls, or you save them from torment and make them your subordinates."
"My subordinates? I can have subordinates?" The thought seemed to strike Valis for the first time, and he paced excitedly. "Interesting, I like this idea."
"Indeed, you could even form an army, a legion of Fallen Angels loyal to you," the devil's voice seemed to rise from Valis's very soul, stirring his desires. "Imagine, you have no kindred in Hell, but we can capture some for you, no friends, but we can bring them too."
"Is that possible? The angels despise me; they call me a traitor," Valis asked, uncertain.
"Why not? Of course, it's possible. You could even become a father or mother to those angels, their sky, their god. Think of what we have—an endless flow of Stygian water from the fortress's front, endless!" Azazel sang with excitement:
Oh, the waters of Styx, oh, the waters of Lethe,
Take a sip, forget all woes,
Another sip, forget all sorrows.
Then drink once more, forget faith, forget parents, forget lovers.
What in this world can't be forgotten, what in this world is worth clinging to,
Come drink this water, come drink this water.
Let life begin anew.
Come drink this water, come drink this water.
I shall let my life begin anew.
"You mean, make them drink that water?" Valis furrowed his brow. "Have you drunk it? You seem to have forgotten some musical notes."
"Oh, never mind my singing; I've always been tone-deaf. Why not let them drink? Instead of dealing with those stiff-minded hardliners, we could make them forget everything and re-educate them. Turn these angels into our people. Their combat prowess remains; they just need to relearn. What do you think of this idea?"
Valis stared at Azazel, taking a while to respond, "The idea is terrible, I'd hate to do it, but it's better than impaling their heads on the 'Torment's Spikes' on the wall. I'll listen to you. Azazel, you truly are a devil."
Azazel shrugged, "Who says I'm not? Sometimes I even think I was a devil in my past life." He paused, then began to draw a magic circle on the scorched earth. Soon, pebbles and dirt came to life, gathering into the circle, forming a miniature model of a stone fortress under Azazel's direction: "Now, everyone, stay calm. I'm about to outline the plan. Once Ganzaleth returns from his recon, we'll proceed as planned. Here's what I have in mind..."