Paimon's derisive and inhospitable manner reverberated in the ears of Satan, who, akin to the embodiment of wrath, appeared on the verge of igniting with abhorrence. It was unmistakable that Paimon harboured something of great significance to divulge: the quest for the misplaced sacred weapon. In the presence of all the monarchs, he sought to exploit the weight of societal expectations to compel Satan into heeding his counsel, which, to everyone's awareness, resembled more like imperatives –yet, constrained by the aristocracy established by Lucifer during the reformation of hell twenty cycles past, he found himself forced to abide by those regulations.
—It seems that one of us takes pleasure in this situation at least. Pray tell, what does the majestic great horned owl desire this time?
—Your attempts at sarcasm do not affect me. However, since you inquire; there has been an occurrence in the fourth circle, seemingly originating from the circle of wrath.
—And I am certain you have come bearing counsel for me. —Satan's voice resonated with his discontent—.
—Indeed. —Paimon hesitated—. Fix it.
Paimon's voice resounded through the atmosphere, brimming with a certainty that had long eluded him. A weapon capable of inflicting harm upon their kind was not to be taken lightly, for it posed a threat that could not be ignored. However, the king's pride stood tall like an impenetrable fortress, separating him from his fellow infernal monarchs. Regardless of the commanding tone he adopted, his words fell upon deaf ears, for no soul relishes being dictated to or instructed on their actions. Paimon's counsel was akin to casting words into the wind, lost and disregarded.
Satan's countenance contorted with disagreement; his disbelief evident in his furrowed brow. The tension between the two adversaries was tangible, stretching across vast distances as they readied themselves for an imminent clash, be it through verbal sparring or physical confrontation. Time seemed to halt, granting them a moment to deliberate upon the most effective course of action against their foe. Yet, just as the hands of the clock threatened to resume their ceaseless march, the voice of reason interjected at the eleventh hour:
—I'm sure if anything needs fixing, Satan has it under control. —Says the voice—.
The man's voice reverberated through the air, gentle and soothing like a lover's touch. The two young men, who sounded like mischievous boys, halted in their steps at the sound of it. It was as if their mother had caught them in the act of their naughtiness and reprimanded them with a tender voice. The man was not tall, but his chiselled physique and alabaster skin made him appear imposing. His cheeks were adorned with two crimson circles that accentuated his maniacal grin and his razor-sharp teeth. His eyes were a deep shade of red, alluring like those of a serpent, and swam in a sea of yellow, while his golden locks gleamed like the sun. He dressed flamboyantly, sporting a grandiose ring and white garments adorned with scarlet motifs, reminiscent of the forbidden fruit that once beguiled Eve and Adam. His hat was a top hat, crowned with a serpent-like ornament that seemed to reach for the apple –also part of the hat. A black bow adorned his neck, and his attire seemed timeless, complete with large black boots and subtle black gloves that held the cane with which he separated the two misbehaving youths. Everything about him exuded trustworthiness, but one would never realize that they had fallen prey to his charms.
—Oh, Your Highness! —They both exclaimed—.
The kings in attendance were taken aback, for he was nowhere in sight, moving with a quiet grace.
—Your Highness, Lucifer. I assure you, there is no cause for concern. —Paimon humbly bowed—.
—Satan? —Lucifer turned to the other, appearing unaffected by Paimon's reassurances—.
—Fear not, your highness. All is well in hand. —He responded—.
In the realm of the Ars Goetia, Lucifer Morningstar reigned as the leader and supreme king. Once a favoured angel of God, he had fallen from grace, becoming the first to stray from the divine path. Condemned to be the judge and executioner of wayward souls, he held dominion over all that transpired within his realm. None could hide their deeds from his watchful gaze, yet he delighted in feigning ignorance, pretending to be unaware of the machinations of his subordinates.
As the battle drew to a close, Lucifer rose from his seat and made his way to the rear of the grand hall. Suddenly, his throne materialized at the foot of the steps, granting him an unobstructed view of the room and its occupants. The throne, as dark as the night itself, was adorned with colossal carved eyes on either side. However, the most awe-inspiring feature was its back, fashioned from innumerable feathered wings, each adorned with crimson eyes that seemed to peer from every conceivable angle.
With utmost grace, Lucifer settled himself upon his throne, and from the shadows emerged Lilith, his wife, to stand by his side.
Lilith Magne of Morningstar, the first woman and the precursor to Eve, was a figure who defied the will of God and rejected His commands to unite with Adam. Unlike Eve, who ultimately succumbed to the allure of the forbidden fruit, Lilith stood firm in her refusal to submit. Throughout history, Lilith was often associated with the darker aspects of femininity, such as adultery, witchcraft, and insatiable lust. Some even believed her to be the mother of all succubae and incubi, creatures of temptation and desire. If there was a term that could aptly describe her, it would undoubtedly be femme fatale for she possessed a captivating beauty that could ensnare any soul.
Her appearance, though undeniably human, surpassed that of her husband. With her black lipstick and piercing grey eyes, she exuded an air of mystery and danger. Her makeup, particularly the emphasis on her eyelashes, only served to enhance the allure of her gaze. Her nose, delicately pointed, added to her ethereal charm, while her skin, smooth to the touch, held an icy coldness reminiscent of death. Beneath a faint blush, her pale complexion hinted at a hidden vulnerability. Her golden hair cascaded down to her thighs, reminiscent of Lucifer's own locks, and she adorned her head with a crown that seemed to mock the crown of thorns worn by Jesus on the cross. Rising from her head were two long, crimson horns, curving in a graceful arc.
Lilith Magne of Morningstar, a woman of unparalleled beauty and defiance, left an indelible mark on the annals of history. Her story, shrouded in darkness and temptation, continues to captivate the imagination of those who dare to delve into the depths of her enigmatic existence.
Lilith, adorned in a resplendent pearl necklace and a glistening purple gown, graced the scene with her presence. Her matching gloves added an air of elegance to her ensemble. From the graceful curve of her neck to the delicate sweep of her legs, she was enveloped in a sheer cloak of fabric, concealing her pallid complexion.
Positioned at the king's side, Lilith exuded an aura of authority, as if she held the reins of power instead of him. The grandeur of the moment was undeniable, as all those in attendance bowed before them, acknowledging their status as the king and queen of the Ars Goetia. The arrival of additional nobility only served to reinforce their gratitude for the royal couple's presence.
Despite his revered status and the admiration, he commanded, Lucifer couldn't help but view everyone as his own offspring. In his eyes, each individual, regardless of their lineage, was an extension of himself. For once, even the creatures and demons, once celestial beings who willingly followed him into exile, were seen as part of his own being.
This truth was shared among all those present from the very beginning. As the final guests arrived, Lucifer's voice resonated through the hall, capturing the attention of all. With rapt attention, they listened to his words, hanging on to every syllable uttered by their esteemed leader:
— "It is a true delight to behold familiar countenances and the arrival of some unfamiliar ones at this Maledictum. When I initially summoned you all for this jubilation, I implored you to embody virtue and to bestow that virtue upon others. Moreover, I entrusted each of you with a portion of my realm, to fashion it in the likeness and semblance of that very virtue. Though it is premature to pass judgment on your endeavours, I beseech you to scrutinize yourselves and inquire whether you have fulfilled this charge. Ponder upon what you lack and what you possess in excess, so as to bestow upon others.
I have convened you for this very purpose, to introspect and assess yourselves. Numerous cycles have transpired since the untimely demise of Agares, and a few cycles since his grandson joined our ranks, now bearing his forebear's name. Let us employ this as a reminder that even in everlasting existence, the conclusion has its rightful place. As kin, it is prudent to safeguard one another rather than harbour animosity. Now, revel in the festivities, liberate your minds, and above all, let us toast to another cycle brimming with all that you yearn for and more!" —
The resounding applause filled the air as Lucifer's eloquent words echoed through the grand hall. The atmosphere was alive with merriment and camaraderie, as the attendees indulged in feasting and engaging in lively conversations. In this jubilant gathering, alliances were forged, and deals were struck, each king striving to secure the utmost advantage for their own realm.
Satan, eager to resume his discussion with Paimon, found his adversary mysteriously consumed by a newfound determination to be a paragon of virtue among demons. He refused to succumb to any temptation that might disrupt the harmony of this momentous occasion, for they were all basking in the presence of the illustrious Lucifer.
—Is there anything else you wish to convey, Paimon? —Inquired the individual, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity—.
Paimon, with a gentle nod, responded.
—There is no need for further elaboration. Should the burden prove overwhelming for your delicate disposition, I shall undertake the task of rectifying it myself. —With these fine and sarcastic words, Paimon gracefully retreated from the observer's line of vision—.
As the evening progressed, the atmosphere at the party began to settle into a state of normalcy. Paimon revelled in his triumph alongside Lucifer, while Octavia found herself in the company of Lilith. The rest of the guests followed suit, mingling and engaging in conversation. Leviathan and Tella found themselves engrossed in a discussion with Beelzebub and Cerberus, while Ronove and Forneus appeared to be offering something to Asmodeus. Malthus, Raum, and Bifrons seemed to be up to some mischief, while Andromalius attempted to eavesdrop discreetly. In the background, Andrealphus and Stella could be observed, the brother casting disapproving glances at his sister, while their parents were preoccupied with endless chatter.
If this continued, the evening would soon come to an end. Lucifer would deliver his final speech, and all that remained was to await the arrival of the extermination that marked the beginning of a new infernal cycle. However, it is evident that I share this information with you because something was about to occur. A nauseatingly ostentatious carriage was on its way, crafted from pure gold and adorned with sparkling diamonds and other precious gemstones. It could only belong to a Goetia, the demon who desired everything –Mammon, the embodiment of greed.
Mammon's insatiable greed knew no bounds. He coveted wealth, power, and the affections of both men and women. Anything one could desire, be it material or otherwise, Mammon sought to possess. And just as greed takes on various forms, so did Mammon. He was described as a shape-shifting creature, concealed within the guise of a jester's costume that resembled a triangular figure, shimmering in hues of gold, silver, and copper. Sinners whispered that his attire was indeed composed of these very metals, yet it moved as if it were fabric. With four independent arms, he could walk on two or more feet, his corpulence reaching its utmost limit. His voice carried a soft, distinct accent, with a peculiar inclination to elongate syllables and soften consonants, particularly the trailing "R" in his speech. Whenever he spoke, it seemed as if he were reciting lines like a court jester. Lastly, his countenance appeared as a simple white mask, with hollow sockets serving as his eyes and mouth, which moved in synchronization with his words, resembling a real face.
As he alighted from his carriage, the first thing his hand grasped was his trusty walking stick, a mockery of Lucifer's own, adorned not with an apple but with a mound of gleaming coins. It did not take long for him to make his way into the grand palace of Lucifer, and his entrance did not go unnoticed. Paimon himself, the second king of the fourth circle, halted him in his tracks. Paimon, who had been revelling with the other guests, wore an expression of both surprise and indignation. Never before had he graced such an occasion with his presence, and to arrive late and devoid of any remorse was a brazen display indeed.
—What are you doing here, Mammon? —Paimon showed his displeasure—.
—Paimon, you know we are all welcome here, my reasons are of no importance to you. —Mammon sounded condescending, as if the question was just the whim of a small child—.
—It matters to anyone who has to bear the smell of that pestilent swamp in which you rejoice.
—Big words for someone who smells like-
—Like what? —Paimon interrupted, challenging Mammon with a stare as he leaned his chest forward, wanting to appear more imposing than him.
—Another. —Mammon's eyes shortly glanced on Tella's general direction—.
Paimon's countenance twisted into a scowl as Mammon retorted with a wicked grin and a penetrating gaze. It was evident to Paimon that his foe possessed knowledge beyond what he was willing to disclose. Though only the two of them comprehended the veiled implications of that remark, the fact that Mammon was privy to it ignited a fiery rage within Paimon. After all the painstaking efforts he had exerted to ensure Octavia's silence, his failure was a bitter blow to his pride.
The atmosphere grew heavy with tension. Paimon clenched his beak, struggling to contain his fury as Mammon persisted in his defiance. The demon was well aware that there lay something more beneath those words, something Paimon was reluctant to acknowledge. Yet, Mammon's malevolent stare and smug expression served as undeniable proof that he had unearthed Paimon's secret. Paimon felt betrayed and humiliated, and he could not allow Mammon to escape unscathed.
Paimon's mind swirled with sinister and vengeful thoughts. He had gone to great lengths to ensure Octavia's silence, and now it seemed all his efforts had been in vain. A seething rage consumed him, fuelling his unwavering determination to find a resolution to this predicament. Mammon would not elude the consequences, not this time. Paimon was prepared to do whatever it took to safeguard his pride and reputation.
—Now stand aside, you are not the one I seek an audience with. —Mammon continued—.
At the same time Paimon responded by interrupting his way back between him and Lucifer.
—Nobody cares what you want; we know you want it all, you greedy spider.
—And what do you want? —Mammon strikes back by grabbing Paimon's beak and turning him in Tella's direction—. To purge your sorrows?
In the meantime; as he had done with Satan, Lucifer again interrupted the bickering created by Paimon, yielding the floor to Mammon, interested in his sudden appearance at the party.
—Enough, you two. To what do I owe your presence, Mammon?
The greedy fat man had no trouble pushing Paimon aside to face Lucifer; but still determined to show no respect whatsoever, instead of kneeling or bowing, Mammon simply switched to a foolish tone of speech.
—Your Highness, I come simply to offer a change for the hell of it that could result in a great opportunity to highlight the greatness of your kingdom.
—Mammon, my pride is higher than all your blandishments combined, state what you want. —Lucifer grumbled—.
—I want the great gates that separate sinners from us to be forever open at the beginning of the next cycle.
—And what do you want that for? —Lucifer looked confused—. Do you want to deprive sinners of their deserved punishments?
—Why would one need a reason to want something?
—Those words won't work on me, Mammon.
Still impressed by Mammon's request, Lucifer could not help but monologue again, now recalling the history of hell these past 20 "years":
— "When I arrived at this place, my duty was to administer chastisement and admonishment to all transgressors for all eternity, so that their souls may repent for their disobedience, just as I once did. The termination of their punishment and the chance to dwell among us is the recompense I bestow upon them, the second opportunity that was never granted to me and which my father denied them for countless ages. Without the infliction of punishment, what worth does the reward I offer hold –is it not a display of solidarity with their lack of virtue? Then, what significance lies in the repercussions of their actions?
Moreover, what authority do you possess to interfere in the affairs of Gamigin, who dutifully obeys Leviathan and his consort? Or the lesser demons who mete out punishment and safeguard the underworld? Furthermore, you seem to overlook the purpose of the exterminations that are carried out, which is to maintain a population purified of those who refuse to repent, and by reducing their numbers, create space for the new arrivals. How, then, do you propose to purify your own people of the unruly? Agares disregarded this and paid the ultimate price with his life.
Discover the virtue concealed within all of this, and perhaps I shall contemplate your request as an affront." —
—I offer you, then, that if I can have a king on my side, you will comply with my request.
—I give you one chance. —Lucifer replied—. Who do you wish to have defend your wishes?
While it was true that Mammon did not expect much resistance from Lucifer, yet he knew he must be prepared to negotiate in his own favour. Thus, he had knowledge of Paimon and Tella, for as one who covets all, he knows what others desire. It was sufficient to offer the information to the right person to obtain what he sought. It was then that Paimon comprehended Mammon's scheme, for he had already intended to request this very thing. He knew he must take a risk to emerge victorious, and there is no greater risk than the one taken when one shuffles the cards. Mammon's gaze upon Paimon only confirmed this notion, which only served to enrage the owl king, for he had been outmanoeuvred and had not even realized it.
—Paimon. —Mammon said after a moment of silence, only making the others wait to avoid obviousness—.
—All right, Paimon, defend Mammon's request. If you so wish. —Asked Lucifer—.
The room was filled with silence, no one could believe it –especially that as a lawyer; Mammon would choose the one he considers his worst enemy. While Paimon tried to figure out who gave him away, Tella herself? Octavia? Some servants?
His thoughts were consumed by the search for his error, knowing that if he failed to defend Mammon, he would be the one to reveal the truth of that fateful night of desire and betrayal to Lucifer. Moments ticked by, and Paimon remained silent, deep in contemplation of the words he would utter in defence of Mammon. He pondered, above all else, why Lucifer desired his support for Mammon's proposition.
Furthermore, the notion of unearthing the depths of hell weighed heavily on the minds of all the kings.
At long last, the silence was shattered, and Paimon's voice resonated through the air:
— "Virtue resides in the act of doing what is right, both for oneself and for others. To lead a life of true virtue implies that the individual governs their own actions and willingly engages in acts of goodness. Merely acting out of fear of consequences does not make one inherently virtuous. By depriving sinners of their punishment, they are liberated from external control, enabling each sinner to embark on their new life as they see fit. If they view it as a penance, they will strive for virtue and live in a perpetual state of remorse. However, if they perceive it as a blessing, they will be consumed by their desires and ultimately meet their own downfall.
Agares' demise serves as evidence that he recognized this truth in the sinners he condemned to his realm. Despite being aware of the risks, he took action. Had the condemned been virtuous, they would still be alive. Those who argue that this is proof of my error only reveal their unwillingness to genuinely pursue true virtue. Those who lack virtue, no matter how much they are punished, will never seek it. However, those who are presented with the opportunity do not hesitate to seize it.
To substantiate my claim, I lend my support to Mammon's proposal to permanently open the gates and allow the most determined seekers of a complete hell to endure." —
The room was hushed, some nodding in agreement with Paimon's words and finding sense in his argument, while others dissented. They had learned to exploit Lucifer's original system and dreaded that any alteration would permanently affect their powers and influence. But all were silently pondering the same question: would Paimon have convinced Lucifer?
The answer was uncertain, for Lucifer was not seeking a correct response, but simply for someone to speak up, in favour or against. And so, Paimon did, obtaining what he desired. He was proud of his demons, like a father observing his children grow and mature, discovering their own path. Lucifer had granted them freedom and a place to utilize it, he didn't want them to blindly follow him, but to take what he had given them and transform it into something new.
From his perspective, their infernal world was evolving just as God's world was. And while some feared change, Lucifer was proud that his children were willing to explore new possibilities.
Paimon, for his part, knew he had taken a significant step in presenting his idea before Lucifer and the other demons. He knew that not everyone would concur, but he was confident that his reasoning was sound and that, in time, the others would be able to see it too. But most of all, he hoped that Lucifer would agree so that Mammon could be prevented from carrying out his threats.
Meanwhile, silence persisted in the hall. No one dared to speak, waiting for Lucifer to deliver his verdict. But the Lord of Hell remained silent, observing his demons with an inscrutable smile on his face.
Finally, after a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, Lucifer spoke.
—Paimon, your notion is quite intriguing. —He spoke in a measured tone—. However, before I come to a conclusion, I implore you to furnish me with a comprehensive scheme of its execution and its impact on our present system. Furthermore, how dost thou intend to sway the rest?
Paimon's head inclined, a knowing smile gracing his beak. He had accomplished his objective, capturing the attention of Lucifer. Mammon, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, believed he had succeeded in persuading him as well. Now, Paimon had to toil diligently, crafting a robust and compelling plan that would sway the other demons and, most importantly, his master.
The silence shattered, replaced by a cacophony of voices as the demons engaged in fervent discussions, weighing the merits and drawbacks of Paimon's proposition. Yet, deep down, they all understood that the ultimate verdict rested solely with Lucifer.
Thus, the destiny of Hell remained uncertain, but a flicker of hope emerged, a possibility for transformation and progress. This prospect both thrilled and terrified countless demons simultaneously.
Paimon, with a composed demeanour, responded:
— "I propose that the fourth circle shall have the privilege of implementing this plan at their discretion. As Mammon has stated, it will be as effortless as leaving the gates ajar and welcoming souls as they pass through the hall to their final destination. Gamigin will then proceed with his duty of tallying the incoming souls.
The demons who were responsible for administering punishments will now join the security corps, alongside the hellhounds and presidents. I am certain that they will appreciate the additional support. Furthermore, The Baphomets will now be able to contribute to the health and treasury staff as well as other duties they see fit.
Lastly, the punishment grounds may be refurbished to facilitate the expansion of each king's territory, should they choose to participate. Our triumph will serve as an inspiration to others." —
—So be it. —Lucifer replied—. But Mammon, you will take care of the rest.
—So it shall be, Your Highness. —Mammon replied—.
Mammon found himself struggling to conceal his elation and wasted no time in approaching Paimon to express his gratitude. However, Paimon rudely thrust himself in front of Mammon, his eyes filled with anger and contempt. He cursed Mammon with a piercing glare but did so in silence to avoid arousing suspicion among the other guests. Paimon was furious with Mammon for manipulating him and wished to tear the greedy wretch's head off.
Mammon, however, had no intention of sticking around to give Paimon the opportunity to do so. He had achieved his goal and had no interest in the social obligations of the banquet. With a confident stride and a swaying gait, he made his way to his carriage and returned to his swamp to deliver the order and celebrate his successful plan.
For the remainder of the evening, Paimon was consumed by despair and paranoia, particularly towards his wife Octavia, who remained by his side. He watched everyone with contempt, more like an eagle than an owl. Meanwhile, Octavia focused her attention on Stolas, sensing that something way more terrible was about to happen compared to the childish quarrel between Paimon and Mammon.
As the party drew to a close, Lucifer delivered his final words, bringing the twentieth Maledictum to an end:
— "With the utmost certainty that you have sown the seeds of a prosperous and successful future, I commend each and every one of you for your unwavering commitment and dedication to this Maledictum. I am confident that your efforts will not go unnoticed and that you will reap the rewards of your hard work.
As the next seven days unfold, I implore you to take this time to reflect on all that you have learned and experienced here. Use this opportunity to evaluate your strengths and weaknesses and devise a clear plan for achieving your goals.
Remember that the next cycle will be pivotal in determining the outcome of your endeavours. Do not be disheartened if success does not come immediately, for it takes time and perseverance to achieve greatness.
As you depart in harmony, take with you the knowledge that you have been a part of something truly special and unique. The magic that has been created by your collective efforts is a testament to the power of unity and shared purpose.
Lastly, I extend my sincerest gratitude to each and every one of you for your unwavering commitment and enthusiasm throughout this Maledictum. Your contributions have been invaluable in making this event a resounding success. I eagerly anticipate witnessing your continued growth and prosperity in the days to come.
May the next cycle bring with it an abundance of blessings and success for all who have participated in this journey." —
Everyone erupted in thunderous applause, their hands clapping together in unison, as the resounding echoes filled the grand hall. The air was thick with anticipation and excitement, for the speech had captivated the hearts and minds of all who had the privilege to witness it. Slowly, one by one, the esteemed guests began to disperse, retreating to their own realms and dominions, preparing themselves for the challenges that awaited them on the morrow.
Amidst the sea of departing figures, Paimon and Octavia made their way towards the towering entrance. Yet, just as they were about to cross the threshold, a commanding voice pierced through the air, halting them in their tracks.
It was Lucifer.
Paimon and Octavia turned towards their sovereign, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
—Octavia, my dear. Could we please have a chat... In private?
Paimon, with a countenance still marked by anger and frustration, suddenly wanted to transform into a state of helplessness. However, his unwavering pride hindered him from doing so. Had all his efforts been in vain? Or was this merely an unfortunate twist of fate, occurring at the most inconvenient moment?
—Of course, your highness. —Octavia replied and walked towards him—.
Octavia's eyes betrayed her worry, for she had spent the entire evening suppressing her urge to reveal her husband's secrets, all for the sake of Stolas. Now, as she held the little prince close to her chest, she wondered if her efforts had been in vain. The hall was now empty, save for Lucifer and Octavia, who stood together in silence.
—I beg of you not to act out of emotion, but if you wish, I will not hinder you. Theia has entered into conversation with me about Paimon. And I propose that you be the one to judge him, so that this new cycle will yearn for virtue.
Lucifer looked concerned for Octavia, and somewhat hopeful for little Stolas, smiling like someone who is seeing his friend again after years of not seeing him, with a hint of nostalgia in his speech.
—Thank you, Your Highness, but... Could I ask for something else?
—Of course! It will be a pleasure to compensate you for a whim.
—Please look after Stolas.
Lucifer passed his smile to Octavia and then returned it to Stolas who was still in a deep sleep. After all, he knew everything, he knew what was, what is, and what could be.
—As of today, Stolas has my blessing.
—Thank you, Your Highness.
Upon Octavia's arrival at the carriage, Paimon presented an outward facade of tranquillity, his countenance betraying no hint of the tumultuous thoughts that consumed him. Though his demeanour seemed stoic, his mind raced with an intensity akin to a wild stallion galloping at an unimaginable speed. All while, with Stolas by her side, Octavia stepped into the carriage, and as the doors shut, the carriage resumed its journey.
***
In the days that ensued, each circle commenced their final preparations, sowing seeds that would sprout when new life emerged from the underworld into their realm. However, nothing could compare to the unfolding events in the swamps of Greed, deep within the fourth circle's shores. The sky, even in daylight, appeared to be in a perpetual dawn, as if the sun and moon were in a constant battle to illuminate or darken the surroundings, casting a bluish-green or greenish-blue tint like a cinematic filter. The air was dense, frigid, and damp, while the ground was always shrouded in a peculiar mist that could be seen from afar but never up close, as if the wind's moisture was playing tricks on one's eyes.
Despite the swamp's flora and fauna, Greed's backdrop was adorned with its own unique architecture. From the hills, one could see small houses and grand mansions in the distance. Clusters of dwellings and other structures simulated a village, while the vast bodies of water provided an abundance of bridges and harbours, connecting everything as if it were a miniature country, all coming together to form a single community.
The Mediterranean architecture, constructed with brick and stone, intertwined with contemporary influences, adorning the facades with intricate wrought-iron details and ornamental embellishments. Amongst these structures, a peculiar motif prevailed: the countenance of a jester, donning a hat, graced their exteriors. Though the eyes of this whimsical figure were hollow, they possessed an uncanny ability to track your every move, leaving an eerie void in the atmosphere.
Deep within this realm, nestled amidst the destitution and untamed wilderness, lay the abode of King Mammon –a sanctuary concealed within opulence. It appeared as if the remnants of a once grand empire had been forsaken, forsaking the life it once held. However, upon crossing the threshold of the palace, a peculiar perfection enveloped everything. It did not exude a sense of novelty or meticulous care, yet it remained impervious to the decay that plagued its exterior.
Externally, it may have appeared diminutive in comparison to the grandeur of Paimon's or Lucifer's palaces, perhaps even the most modest of them all upon closer examination. Yet, once inside, it revealed an expanse that seemed boundless, defying all expectations.
Furthermore, the atmosphere within the grand palace was heavy and electric, as though saturated with the very deceit that emanated from every nook and cranny. The hallways were adorned with exquisite paintings and sculptures, yet none of them appeared to possess a discernible purpose or connection to one another. They were merely objects amassed without purpose, as if the palace's owner had been consumed by an insatiable desire to collect anything and everything, regardless of its worth or significance.
Meanwhile, the chambers themselves were mazes of disorder. Opulent and extravagant furnishings were piled haphazardly upon one another, creating a suffocating and overwhelming sensation, even though one could move about freely. Each room seemed to be designed to ensnare those who dared to enter, as if the palace itself were a trap for those in pursuit of wealth and power.
The palace staff, too, were peculiar in their own right. The imps appeared to wear smiles upon their faces, yet their anguish was unmistakable. The damned, souls tormented by their own desires and ambitions, dutifully served their master, carrying out meaningless tasks devoid of purpose. The sharkins, the castle guards, stood watch over the shadowy corners of the palace, prepared to strike down any intruder who dared disturb the facade of false harmony.
However, the most disconcerting aspect of all was the pervasive sense of emptiness that permeated the palace. Despite the ostentation and accumulation of riches, there was no joy or contentment in the air. It was as if all these treasures held no true meaning, as if they were mere trinkets devoid of any genuine value. Instead of inspiring admiration and envy, the palace evoked a profound melancholy and hopelessness in those who beheld its grandeur.
The final attribute of this dreadful abode is the ghastly destiny that awaits the sinners who descend here, compelled to partake in the aesthetics of the place with humanoid features intertwined with distinct parts of sea creatures; unlike the other circles where the condemned took on more diverse forms and appearances. This peculiar quality of the swamp sinners caused many to deem them as inferior versions of the sharkins, not being born in the inferno and ensnared in this circle for eternity, which resulted in constant discrimination by the sharkins towards the damned of Mammon.
And on this morn, six days prior to extermination, Mammon revelled in his triumph –a triumph so boisterous among the Goetian rumours that it swiftly reached demanding ears; with a voice that demanded compensation for a job well executed; the same job that apprised him of the outcome of the Maledictum. Already this individual was being escorted through the corridors of the palace to a nook where Mammon awaited him with little enthusiasm.
A youthful sprite, scarcely attaining maturity –his locks as white as snow, freshly trimmed sideburns connecting with his horns of the same hue; adorned solely by ebony stripes. His horns, short and curved, culminated in a keen point, concealed beneath a somber grey beret. His eyes, akin to those of his kin, gleamed a vibrant yellow. Clad in formal attire, he donned a dark woollen suit, complete with a waistcoat, tie, and a handkerchief nestled within the breast pocket. From one of the buttons, the chain of a pocket watch dangled, hinting at its presence. An Irish beret, boasting a brief visor and a central button, rested slightly askew upon his head, exuding an air of confidence or perhaps defiance. Draped upon his frame was a lengthy coat, fashioned with broad lapels and sizable buttons, its navy-blue hue complemented by a hidden undertone of dark green. One might be forgiven for surmising that this coat concealed secret compartments or concealed linings, intended for the safekeeping of weapons or wealth. His feet were encased in gleaming leather shoes, securely fastened with taut laces. And lastly, his hands were shielded from the biting chill that pervaded Mammon's palace by a pair of supple leather gloves.
—Hey kid! I didn't expect to see you so soon. —Mammon greeted him in a voice devoid of enthusiasm—.
—I found out that a certain demon gave a lot to talk about this Maledictum, the same way I found out about the information I sold you. —The imp replied—. So, if you don't mind; I've come to collect.
Behind him stood a towering sharkin, surpassing the imp in height, yet not as imposing as Mammon. With his slender frame and crimson eyes adorned with peculiar white streaks resembling a circular outline, his lower teeth jutted out from his mouth, accentuating his prominent jawline. Clad in a similar attire, the only distinction was his choice of a hat instead of a beret, and a white tie in lieu of the customary red. He remained silent, his arms crossed behind his back, donning a stoic expression that never wavered, displaying indifference towards the unfolding circumstances.
His light green skin, adorned with darker stripes along his back, bestowed upon him the semblance of a tiger, while the markings on his head gave the impression of a neatly trimmed hairstyle. His tail, bearing the same hues, culminated in a white tip.
Although his demeanour exuded a youthful air, it did not rival the imp's youthful countenance, perhaps only separated by a few cycles.
—Sebas, I fancy this lad! —Mammon declared to one of the sentinels who had accompanied them—. But are you truly certain about your desires? I shall grant you the proposition, yet no further assistance. Ehh...
Mammon started to snap his fingers, attempting to recall the boy's name.
—Crimson, Your Highness.
—Crimson! Crimson. You captivate me, your father manages a substantial portion of my illicit trade, they perform admirably, to betray him, so… alluring.
—I desired something, you desired something —Interjected Crimson—. I do not believe it is necessary to justify myself for the sin of avarice.
The chamber they occupied contained two armchairs and a petite table betwixt them –it possessed a relatively spacious nature, yet the ambiance remained tense and suffocating. However, to demonstrate that he was not here for mere amusement, the youthful Crimson took a seat and commenced elucidating his scheme.
—Furthermore, what I requested is simple, designate us as your sole partners.
—And what of your rivals? Your father has always adhered to their boundaries, you traffic the narcotics, others traffic the firearms-
—My father shall be rendered powerless six feet beneath the earth, and the Mafiosi have lost a sacred weapon, if your memory serves you well. Unless you desire to face the wrath of that cannon in the hands of a treacherous soul, I implore you to take my words seriously.
—And what assurance do I possess if you were to perish in your endeavours?
—Rest assured; such a fate shall not befall me.
Mammon's laughter echoed throughout the grand palace. He was well aware of the formidable challenges that Crimson would face, an army of merchants and illicit traders operating in clandestine networks under his command. He admired their insatiable thirst for power, yet he knew their ultimate failure was inevitable.
—Well, for each family you eradicate, their share shall become yours. Such is the proposition I extend to you.
Crimson felt a surge of indignation, for the agreement was meant to grant him complete dominion. Now, he found himself insulted as his terms were being renegotiated before his very eyes.
—That was not the agreement we made!
—The terms have changed, my boy. Accept them, or I shall deliver you in a coffin as a message to those who dare to make demands of me.
Mammon's demeanour suddenly shifted, his presence seeming to expand and fill every corner of the room. Crimson attempted to appear unaffected by the threats, but no one possessed enough foolishness to challenge a Goetia.
—Then I shall commence with my father. —Crimson clasped Mammon's hand, sealing the deal—.
As quickly as he had grown in stature, Mammon returned to his natural size, accepting Crimson's hand.
—Excellent! Now, be on your way.
***
Meanwhile, a level above, within the fiery depths, amidst a gathering of furious souls, they revelled in their own unique ways. This particular circle, if anything, was the most vibrant and animated in all of the infernal realm. For while pride and desire were inherent traits of humanity, it was their shared inclination towards anger that truly bound them together.
Above, the sky burned with a reddish hue, casting its fiery glow upon a land tinged with a yellowish tint. The scorching heat permeated every inch, making its presence known to all. This realm was adorned with towering mountains, mystical cenotes, sprawling valleys, and treacherous caves –a landscape that encompassed every imaginable feature. Many condemned souls likened this place to a desert, where anger thrived and flourished.
This was the fifth circle, vast and desolate, reminiscent of the untamed wild west of American history. It truly lived up to its reputation, with small towns scattered far and wide. Within these settlements, the inhabitants were predominantly involved in show business, farming, or other occupations commonly found in the literature of that era.
It was also believed to be the dwelling place of the imps, those mischievous creatures that infested every corner of hell. Though imps were found throughout the infernal realm, it was widely acknowledged that the finest and purest of their kind hailed from this very circle, blessed under the watchful eye of their king, Satan.
However, one must not mistake this fifth circle for the seventh. Dante himself elucidated the distinction between anger and violence, as the seventh circle begins after one has traversed the remnants of a great chasm, formed by the earthquake that shook the earth upon Christ's demise. This marked a significant divergence from the upper regions of the Inferno. In truth, the damned souls within the last three circles were condemned for their malicious intent, for they had tainted their actions with malevolence.
Verily, the initial six circles doth represent the transgressions of human nature, whilst the final three circles are the sins committed with malice and aforethought. Thus, it is evident that man is inherently wrathful, yet he hath the power to choose whether or not to succumb to such wrath.
Now that you have a picture of wrath, picture Barbatos in deep discourse with Satan regarding the issue of the holy firearm.
—If we don't get the weapon back in time, they will use it in extermination against us; or worse, on some exorcist, and then Lucifer will surely intervene. —Barbatos said in despair—.
—Quiet Barbatos. —Satan looked relaxed—.
In the midst of seething anger, a final gathering unfolded, where Barbatos, Leraje, and Satan convened. The palace of the wrathful king appeared oddly out of place, yet paradoxically, it harmonized flawlessly with its surroundings. The castle, constructed from stones of a yellow hue, blended seamlessly with the arid earth and desert flora. As the stones ascended, their colour deepened, casting an ominous shadow. The entrance, a weathered wooden door, when shut, formed a pentagram, concealing the secrets within. Once opened, a staircase emerged, leading to the elevated plateau where the true castle resided. Beyond the second wall, a hidden marvel was unveiled—a church.
The architecture was nothing short of captivating. The first wall, adorned with a wooden gate, melded effortlessly with the natural landscape. The second wall, reminiscent of a bygone era, evoked images of medieval times, complete with watchtowers at each corner, where vigilant archers could stand guard. And the church, the heart of this enigmatic palace, exemplified the grandeur of Gothic design. Its towering windows, adorned with intricate stained glass, bathed the interior in a kaleidoscope of crimson and golden hues. The floor, adorned with crimson and ebony carpets, created a striking contrast against the ashen stone walls.
Within the sacred space, one's senses were overwhelmed by its magnificence. Towering stone columns reached towards the vaulted ceiling, where resplendent stained-glass windows allowed streams of sunlight to filter through, casting a mesmerizing glow. At the center of it all stood an altar of black marble, adorned with flickering black and crimson candles, their flames dancing in the air. Resting upon the altar was an ancient tome, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and scriptures inscribed in an unknown language. Flanking the altar, statues of demons and infernal creatures stood, their contorted expressions and piercing gazes instilling a sense of unease.
In this hallowed sanctuary, the meeting of Barbatos, Leraje, and Satan unfolded, amidst an atmosphere charged with fury and anticipation.
—Let us review what we have learned thus far. Leraje, if you please. —Satan requested—.
—Yes, Your Majesty. According to Furfur's reports, the weapon was last seen in the mines. Valac confirmed this after the Maledictum. —Leraje replied, producing a map that appeared to be hand-drawn and depicting the area surrounding the mines—. We can either do things properly or we can follow protocol.
—And which do you suggest? —Satan inquired—.
—With all due respect, Your Majesty, let us do it properly. We shall wait for the extermination and then collect what remains. —Leraje proposed—.
—What guarantees that the weapon will still be there by then? —Barbatos interjected, growing impatient—. I can take my earls now. We shall go to the mines and retrieve the weapon.
—As soon as they catch wind of your arrival, they will move the weapon, Your Highness. —Leraje warned—.
—He is correct, Barbatos. If you alert them to your intentions, they will panic. The mines are overrun with the condemned, a species that is both cowardly and cunning. —Satan added—. We must do this correctly.
—Leave it to me. —Leraje concluded the meeting—.
Leraje rose from his seat and departed from the palace, conjuring a portal as he vanished from sight.
***
Back in the land of Greed, within the territories of Paimon, he found himself lost in thought, pondering how Mammon had come to know of his adultery. The pieces of the puzzle did not fit together. Octavia, his wife, was always under his watchful eye, and the child she bore did not even talk. No imp was present during the quarrel that sparked after the affair was discovered. Even on the night of the adultery, Paimon had opened a portal for Tella to return to her circle without arousing suspicion after being caught in the act. The only possibility was that Tella had spoken, but if that were the case, she herself would be responsible for the manipulation and not a third party. Mammon's plan only applied to Greed, and neither she nor her husband had voted to be part of the experiment, so it was not a conspiracy. He could only think of a spy or informant of some kind, someone who could see or hear without being seen or heard. But that would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, as each circle could hold a population larger than that of one or several cities. Tracking down the culprit would be a fruitless endeavour. Finally, Lucifer's private conversation with Octavia, for no apparent reason or motive, especially when she was not conversing with other Goetia beyond her royal duties nor was she dining with other women, all these factors only served to increase his paranoia and suspicion.
At last, when he resigned himself to the realization that he could not entirely conceal his deed, he perceived no other recourse but to take action. He found himself faced with two choices: to execute his plan during the extermination or to carry it out thereafter. Should he opt for the former, he could skilfully veil his tracks amidst the chaos and bloodshed that inevitably transpire during this fleeting interlude between the final eve of the old era and the inaugural dawn of the new. And if he were to choose the latter, he could also diminish the number of fresh transgressors, thereby impeding the prosperity of Mammon's enterprise and, in turn, pre-emptively creating vacancies as the gates would remain ajar. Naturally, this alternative would attract attention, a commodity he already possessed in abundance, much to his chagrin.
Reluctant to acknowledge his own defeat and apprehensive of the potential for further ignominy, he evaded confronting the repercussions of his actions and the trepidation that they would incessantly haunt him in the days to come. Ultimately, he resolved that the night would mark the culmination of it all, for better or for worse.
Meanwhile, in a distant corner of the grand palace, Octavia tenderly nestled Stolas into his crib, finding solace in their reunion. The young lad clung tightly to his mother's delicate fingers as she bid him goodnight, and gradually, his weary eyes surrendered to slumber, drifting away into the realm of dreams.
Octavia's heart was filled with a gentle warmth as she beheld her son's radiant smile, a sensation that accompanied her to bed, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. It was a love that flowed solely from a son to his mother and reciprocated by a mother to her son.
***
The final days preceding the annihilation transpired devoid of any further commotion. Commands were issued, instructions were imparted, snares were set, and deceptions were contrived –akin to the customary resolutions made on the eve of a new year. Demons, Goetia, and other unearthly beings ensured that every element was meticulously arranged.
Despite the significance previously bestowed upon this "annual" occasion, it was rather disconcerting to observe the prevailing tranquillity across all echelons of hell. It appeared as though it were just another ordinary day –even the condemned souls, who had already endured death once, their punishment, and a subsequent existence, were prepared to cast their final gaze upon the crimson sky that had been their constant companion throughout countless days and nights. Those few who had harboured apprehension for an extended period had already sought refuge in seclusion, leaving the remainder to face their impending demise, perchance even by their own hand.
At long last, Adam and his companion Lute emerged from the depths of antepurgatory, accompanied by their faithful exorcists. They had spent an entire cycle finding solace in the tranquil Garden of Eden and had successfully traversed the treacherous path of the seven turns. Each turn represented a sin that they had diligently atoned for: Pride, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony, and lust. It was a sacred ritual, a testament to their righteousness and their divine authority to pass judgment upon those they deemed deserving of eradication. As the scriptures proclaimed in John 8:7, when they confronted Jesus with their relentless questioning, he rose and spoke these words, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."
Adam, the first of his kind, had inherited a divine mantle after the demise of God and the fall of the holy trinity. He now stood as an Archangel, leading the celestial army and safeguarding the realm of heaven. Despite his exalted position, he remained inherently human, with all the flaws and virtues that came with it. His demeanour often veered towards arrogance and confidence, a testament to his immaturity that had blossomed after the holy war. He approached his role as an exorcist with a casual air, relishing in the authority he held over his subordinates, particularly Lute. Some whispered that this behaviour masked his deep-seated disdain for women, a result of the harm inflicted upon him by Lilith and Eve. Like his fellow archangels, Adam possessed wings of pure gold and adorned himself in a flowing white robe. This garment concealed the remnants of his human form, marred by the original sin. To further obscure his visage, he wore a black mask adorned with long, ebony horns that culminated in golden tips. A five-pointed halo hovered above his head, resembling a regal crown. And behind this facade, he concealed his true emotions and expressions, projecting only a faint yellow glow.
Lute, the lieutenant of Adam, was a fearsome figure in the battle against demons and infernal creatures. With a heart stained in blood and devoid of remorse, she carried out her duty with unwavering determination. In her own words, it was the final command of the Almighty that she faithfully executed. Always by Adam's side, who kept diminishing her as a mere woman, yet she held a deep respect for him as the chosen son of God, the first creation in His divine image.
Unlike Adam, Lute adorned herself in the attire of the celestial militia, reminiscent of the armour worn in the days of old. Her wings, dyed in a metallic grey hue, matched the colour of her garments. A sword was her constant companion, a weapon she preferred over modern firearms, for it allowed her to engage in each exorcism with a personal touch, relishing in the intimacy of the act.
To mirror Adam's visage, Lute donned a mask adorned with black horns and a single beaked halo, a stark contrast to the golden halo that graced Adam's countenance. Behind the mask, her hidden face projected a white light, a striking juxtaposition against the darkness of her disguise.
Before one could comprehend the unfolding events, the exorcists descended upon the depths of hell, mercilessly slaying any being that dared to cross their path. The true essence of the tale I have recounted to you was laid bare for all to witness. Meanwhile, the Goetia pursued their own targets, seeking to consolidate their power and influence, whether through direct or indirect means. The rest simply followed the current, swept away by the tides of fate.
***
In an instant, an unprecedented pandemonium erupted under the cover of darkness. The air was filled with the deafening sound of explosions, jolting the senses of all those who were unfortunate enough to be in close proximity to the mines. It was within these very mines that the sacred weapon was rumoured to be concealed. The devastation that ensued was of such magnitude that it transformed the once well-constructed caves into nothing more than a desolate tomb.
For those who were oblivious to the existence of this weapon and the illicit activities surrounding it, this calamity served as yet another consequence of the rampant violence that plagued their lives. However, for those who were privy to the truth, it served as a chilling message, a stark reminder of the dire repercussions that awaited them for their malevolent deeds. Yet, for one particular child, it became an everlasting reminder of the truth that lay hidden beneath the chaos.
Whispers spread like wildfire, as everyone claimed to have caught a glimpse of him, but no one could ascertain the veracity of these accounts. Some believed him to be the mastermind behind this heinous act, while others insisted that he was the sole survivor. Nevertheless, the descriptions of this enigmatic figure remained consistent. He possessed a physique unique to the sinners', with skin resembling the colour of desert sands, adorned with a tail and horns reminiscent of an imp. Mounted upon a black colt, its fiery mane billowing like molten lava, he galloped through the dust, disappearing into the vast expanse of the horizon. Unimaginatively, he came to be known as The Ghost of the Desert. However, in due time, the depths of hell would once again call him by his true name.
***
All the while. In the treacherous swamps of Greed, an illusion of order prevailed. The exorcists entrusted with the responsibility of overseeing the fourth circle, under the watchful eye of Paimon, found their duties to be relatively effortless, owing to his unwavering dedication. Typically, their endeavours involved monitoring the neighbouring territories, such as the swamp belonging to Mammon, as well as a few modest fortresses scattered between there and the realm of the owl king. However, everything changed when the chosen condemned man, whom Paimon had cunningly concealed in Mammon's domain, unexpectedly sprang into action.
With calculated intent, Paimon had strategically placed him within Mammon's realm, and precisely when the exorcists commenced their mission, this condemned soul, as a mere puppet, began to take on Paimon's remote orders.
The accursed one unleashed his wrath, instilling fear and chaos among the exorcists and the nearby inhabitants. The extent of the devastation was so immense that the marshes transformed into a disarray of mud and debris.
Caught off guard by the sudden outburst of violence, the exorcists made desperate attempts to subdue the condemned man. Alas, their endeavours proved futile, as the power of the damned proved too formidable. His uncontrolled fury swept through everything in its path, leaving behind only ruin and desolation. The pandemonium was so overwhelming that when young Crimson entered his father's chamber accompanied by the sharkin he had convinced to aid him, the clamour that ensued went unheard. Which culminated in a clear victor: the young imp and his insatiable ambition.
When the exorcists could no longer contain the seemingly invincible sinner, they were compelled to seek assistance. However, as everyone was preoccupied with their own duties, the responsibility fell upon the Goetia. And who better to vanquish a mighty sinner than an infernal king?
Within Paimon's palace, the malevolent king prepared himself to depart, fully aware of the events unfolding with his instrument. Explosions and cries of anguish echoed in the distance, as Octavia endeavoured to soothe the inconsolable little Stolas.
—I shall return shortly; I desire the child to be asleep upon my return. —Paimon commanded his wife, his tone cold and cutting—.
Octavia did not deign to respond, gently rocking Prince Stolas in his cradle while masking the cacophony with her own voice until he succumbed to slumber. Soon after her husband's departure, all sounds ceased, and an eerie silence, even more unsettling than the cries of desperate souls, enveloped the surroundings. With a deep breath, Octavia knew that the time had come.
She cradled the slumbering prince in her tender embrace, marvelling at the serenity that graced his countenance in his tranquil repose. A mother's love radiated from her eyes, as she bestowed upon him the warmest smile her heart could muster. With gentle caresses, her delicate fingers brushed against his tousled locks, and she meticulously adjusted his nightclothes, ensuring his utmost comfort. Though her heart ached with an indescribable pain, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes, she staunchly refused to disturb her precious child's slumber.
Yet, as she sensed the approach of an ominous presence, a foreboding crept into her being. In a final act of devotion, she tenderly placed Stolas in the prince's stead, whispering words of profound beauty into his ear. With a heavy heart, she watched him as she accepted her fate, stepping forward to face her executioner. This figure, devoid of any transformative experience brought about by condemnation, moved silently towards his destined end, his body drenched in the crimson hue of spilled blood. Somehow, he managed to traverse the path noiselessly, akin to the stealth of death itself.
—I forgive you. —Octavia's voice resonated, her words directed towards the condemned man, recognizing him as naught but a puppet manipulated by a coward—. Willingly, she enfolded him in her compassionate embrace, and as the black flames engulfed them both, her words to Stolas reverberated through the air, a testament to her unwavering love.
— "Dearest, the time has come for me to depart, and it may be an extended separation. Sadly, the decision is not mine to make, and I sincerely hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Whenever you feel my absence and long for my presence, remember that I will forever be your guiding star, watching over you from the celestial heavens. Goodbye, my cherished Stolas." —
Amidst the endless cycle of demise, the soul is ultimately obliterated and merges with the cosmos. It assumes no shape, no form, no identity. Neither does it experience any agony, misery, nor affliction anymore.
And when not a single speck of ash remained and the last droplet of tear had touched the floor, Stolas was seized by an excruciating pain so abrupt that it jolted him awake. He wept inconsolably, as he had never wept before, and called out to his mother for the very first time.
Startled by the heart-wrenching cries emanating from the prince's chamber, Rym and Raél hastened to his side, striving to pacify him. They were taken aback to discover that neither the mother nor the father was present. Bewildered, they failed to comprehend the situation as the anguished wails of a crying child filled the air.
Summoning someone who would never respond to his pleas, Stolas yearned for the serenity he so ardently craved.
Perchance, if God, even in death, is as benevolent as they say, he would permit his daughter's soul to heed the son who called out to her for the very first and last time, "Mummy".