Her mind was a whirlwind, emotions haywire as she followed after Adam. Alive. Adam was alive, even though she saw him... and she failed him... but he was walking in front of her.
Adam was alive. He asked weird questions and talked in a too-soft voice, but that was okay. He was alive.
How? How was he here? She had seen him die. Seen the blood, and felt the loss. Felt the emptiness. She had failed him. She had let him die. But now he was walking ahead of her, strong and determined. How?
With every step he took, her heart raced faster. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps. How could he be here? She had seen his death. The knife. The blood. The silence. It haunted her. Her hand trembled. She clenched it into a fist. Had to be strong. Had to be steady. For him. For herself. Couldn't let her emotions betray her. Not now.
Guilt. So much guilt. How could she let this happen? How could she fail him so completely? The memory of his death. A gaping wound. Fresh. Raw. She could still see it every time she closed her eyes. The way his body crumpled. The life leaving his eyes. But now, he was here. Walking. Breathing. Talking.
Gratitude. Fierce. Burning. He was back. Given back to her. Wanted to fall to her knees. Wanted to weep. Wanted to scream at the heavens for this miracle. But she couldn't. Had to remain composed. Had to be strong. Had to be the weapon he needed.
Tears threatened. Guilt and relief mixing. A mess inside her. Wanted to cry out. Beg for forgiveness. Tell him how sorry she was. But he would never accept her blame. He would comfort her. Again. She would break even more. His kindness. His understanding. Precious. Undeserving.
Hope. Fragile. Delicate. A tiny flame. Dared not let it grow too strong. But it was there. Refused to be extinguished. Adam was alive. Here. With her. Another chance. Would not waste it. Would protect him. Stand by his side. Ensure nothing took him from her again.
Every glance she stole at his back reminded her of the moment she had lost him. The knife, the blood, the silence that followed. The stump of her missing arm burned as she clenched her jaw to steady herself. She had to be inviolable, for him, for herself. She couldn't let her emotions betray her now.
Adam strutted. Marble floor. Heaven's promenade of gold and silver. Many looked at them. Hushed voices. Pointing at her. Smiling. Confused innocence in his direction. They did not recognize the First Man without his mask.
Lute paid them no mind. Psyche in pieces. Emotions on edge. Barely paying attention. Adam moving. One direction. Then another. He stopped. "This way," he said, seemingly guided by instinct.
He was Alive.
But still, the questions nagged at her. How was he alive? Why did he ask about Eve as if he didn't remember her? Each question is another layer of confusion, another twist in the emotional hurricane inside her. Yet, even these questions couldn't dampen the joy, the immense relief that he was here. Adam was Alive
That was all there was to it.
Their pace remained steady, and Adam continued to make bizarre turns through it all. But, it was only when the number of buildings and structures started dwindling and the crystalline limestone beneath their feet made its way to a cloudy floor did Lute's mind snap back to attention. No.... This path... Why was he here?
By the time it registered, they were at the Golden Gate, and Adam was talking to a dumbfounded and wide-eyed Peter, who had fallen from his pulpit. The Saint had scrambled to his feet and quickly approached the First Man. "A-Adam..?" he whispered, unbelieving, his eyes roaming the form of the man in front of him. "Is...Is that really you?!" A coincidence. He wouldn't. He wouldn't go back.
Adam merely tilted his head, and with a smile, he answered, "Who else might I be?"
Peter's hands, which had been hovering aimlessly, quickly enveloped the large man in a fierce hug. "Oh! It's a miracle! I thought we truly lost you!"
Adam returned the embrace with a gentle pat on Peter's back. "It seems even miracles have their place yet in this old man's life," he said softly, his voice carrying the warmth of a father comforting his child.
Peter pulled back, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "How did you...?" he began, but words seemed to fail him.
"Even I don't fully understand it. But I'm here now, and that's what matters." Adam shrugged lightly before, he leaned close to Peter.
Silence hung heavy between them, Adam's gaze unwavering as he studied Peter, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, suddenly, he raised his finger and pointed at the saint. "Adam...?"
"Peter!"
"Y-yes?!" Peter stammered, startled by the suddenness of Adam's attention.
"Open the Gate to Hell."
The words landed like a thunderbolt, the air around them seeming to still as Peter processed the request. His eyes widened in shock, and he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief.
"W-Why?" he managed to choke out, his voice trembling.
"Because I want to go there," Adam replied casually as if he were asking for a simple favor.
Lute felt her heart skip a beat, a cold shiver running down her spine. The memories flooded back, the image of the golden knife stabbing Adam replaying in her mind like a nightmare. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It was too much. Adam was alive, but the pain, the loss, it was still there, still as raw as ever.
In a flash, she was by his side, hands grasping his arms, her voice barely a whisper. "Why?" she asked, her voice breaking with emotion. "Well, to kill the serpent."
"I'm not doing that," Peter said firmly, taking another step back, his expression one of disbelief and horror. "No, no, no. This is madness."
"Peter, please," Adam implored, his voice softer now, filled with a sense of urgency. "Open the gate. Trust me."
Peter crossed his arms in an X in refusal, adamant.
"It's suicide!" Lute exclaimed, stepping forward as if to physically block Adam. Her voice was desperate, pleading. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him again, not after everything they had been through.
She was willing to stand up to him, genuinely concerned for his safety. Despite the vast difference in their strength, she knew he would never hurt her. Adam turned to look at her, a sad expression on his face, and for a moment, she dared to hope that she had succeeded.
"Lute!" He exclaimed.
"S-Sir!" Lute replied, snapping into position, an expression of hopefulness on her face.
"I have no intention of dying," Adam declared, his voice tinged with a grin, and as his eyes met hers, they underwent a stunning transformation. The brilliant gold that once illuminated them gave way to a calm blue hue, intersected by six striking red lines that seemed to pulse with a mysterious energy.
Then, she felt it. Spreading across the realm like a warm, protective blanket, enveloping her in a sensation that was both comforting and invigorating. It was as if the very air around her had come alive, pulsing with his power. At that moment, Adam's presence seemed to fill every corner of her being, offering a sense of security and reassurance that was almost palpable. Her mind became at ease. Thinking became easier. Her emotions were once again controllable. "Adam..."
His eyes spoke volumes, conveying a sense of unwavering confidence and determination. It was a smile that promised safety in the face of danger, and as she looked into his eyes, Lute found herself believing that everything would indeed be alright as long as he was by her side. "Gather the reinforcements and follow me." With those words, Adam vanished from sight, leaving Lute standing in the clearing, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination.
She turned quickly, her eyes scanning the area in a frantic search for him. Several dozen meters away, she spotted him, his forearms stabbing into the veil that separated Heaven from the realm of the damned, ripping it open with a strength that defied logic. "Sir!" Lute cried out after him. Adam glanced back at her, a confident grin on his face. "I'm relying on you!" he called back, before disappearing into the Firmament.
Turning to the only other person there, Peter, Lute intended to yell at him to call the Seraphim, but what she saw surprised her. Saint Peter, usually appearing ageless, seemed suddenly far older than his immortal body looked. At first, he stood there, staring at the spot where Adam had vanished, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, tears welled up in his eyes, tracing down his weathered cheeks.
"Those eyes..." Peter murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, his whole body trembling with emotion. He sank to his knees, his head bowing nearly to the ground in a gesture of reverence, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his feelings.
Lute approached Peter slowly. She knelt beside him, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. "Peter?" Peter raised his head slowly, his eyes meeting hers, filled with tears and wonder. "I... I am unworthy," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. His whole body shook with emotion, his tears flowing freely. "W-what is it?" lute asked hesitantly. What had brought the usually happy-go-lucky man to tears?
Peter raised his head slowly, tears and snot streaming down his face. His eyes met hers, filled with a mix of reverence and sorrow. "To... to think that I would ever see those eyes again," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I am truly ....unworthy!" Lute's confusion deepened, but then Adam's words echoed in her mind. He had trusted her to gather reinforcements. With a renewed sense of purpose, she repeated to herself, "Reinforcements," determined not to fail again.
As Lute stood, the weight of failure heavy on her shoulders, a surge of desperation coursed through her veins. She couldn't afford to fail Adam again. Her sisters, the exorcists, were her first thought. They had failed him once, but she would call them nonetheless. Yet, even as she reached for the communication halo, doubt gnawed at her. They were strong, but were they strong enough?
No, they already failed once. She already failed once.
Her mind raced, considering other options. The Seraphims. They were the strongest, the most powerful. They had to come. They must come. The fate of Adam, of everything, depended on it. She couldn't let him down, not again.
With determination hardening in her gaze, Lute turned to Peter, still on his knees.
"Peter," her voice was urgent, pleading, "you must call the Seraphims. Tell them it's an emergency. Adam needs their help, now."
But before Peter could answer, a soft yet commanding voice interrupted.
"For what purpose?"
Lute turned, her heart skipping a beat as she beheld the figure behind her. A being of ethereal beauty stood there, with cascading blonde locks, eyes like emeralds, and a stature that seemed to touch the heavens. Clad in resplendent golden armor, six majestic wings spread from her back, each exuding a divine radiance that filled the clearing.
Recognition dawned upon Lute, and she dropped to her knees, overwhelmed by the presence of the Archangel before her.
"Your Holiness," she whispered, her voice reverent.
The Archangel, upon whom the Exorcists were based.
One of the seven who served the Lord directly.
The strongest Angel in heaven.
The Commander of the Heavenly Host.
The Archangel who defeated Lucifer.
The Chief of the Virtues.
The Taxiarch.
As Michael approached, the very atmosphere seemed to change, becoming charged with a power that Lute could almost taste on her tongue. Each step was deliberate, each movement purposeful, exuding a sense of authority and command that left Lute feeling both humbled and emboldened.
"Be not afraid," Michael spoke gently, her voice carrying authority and compassion. "Rise, and state your plea."
Lute obeyed, her eyes filled with awe and urgency. "Your Holiness, Adam, the First Man, has ventured into the realm of the damned. He seeks to confront the serpent, and we fear for his safety."
"I see," Michael replied, her gaze penetrating yet understanding. It didn't escape Lute's attention how Michael didn't show any surprise at Adam's apparent resurrection, or at the state Peter was in. As Michael stopped before her, Lute felt a wave of awe and a profound sense of reverence wash over her.
"If that is the case, I offer myself as reinforcement," Michael stated simply.
Lute's heart leaped. The Archangel herself was offering to join them. With gratitude and determination, she replied, "Your Holiness, we are honored by your presence and grateful for your offer of aid."
Throughout the entire conversation, Lute couldn't help but notice how Michael never looked at her. Her gaze never left the spot where Adam had disappeared.
"Then let us hurry,"
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
The Gluttony Ring, the third Ring of Hell, was a place of indulgence and excess, where its inhabitants reveled in the pleasures of the flesh and the senses. It was considered by many to be the greatest of the Rings, boasting a benevolent master who ensured that the inhabitants were always well-fed and entertained. Endless parties and feasts were a common sight in the Gluttony Ring, with lavish banquets and extravagant celebrations held regularly.
Yet on that day, none drank and none partied. All eyes turned upward as Hell itself seemed to shake. Explosions and flashes of light echoed down, heralding the arrival of what seemed to be the apocalypse. The once joyous and vibrant atmosphere of the Gluttony Ring was now filled with fear and apprehension as the inhabitants gazed up at the chaos unfolding above them. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the air was thick with the smell of sulfur and burning flesh.
Despite their fear, the inhabitants of the Gluttony Ring could not tear their eyes away from the spectacle above. They watched in awe and terror as the floor of the Wrath Ring shattered and collapsed, revealing a scene of utter devastation. A massive black dragon, its wings tattered and body bleeding, was chained in golden bonds and dragged down by an Angel. Spears of Light ripped through the dragon's flesh and a torrent of Hell Flame exploded from its gaping maw.. The King of Hell, his throat crushed in the Angel's other hand, and his body crackling with black lightning and missing two of his wings, struggled futilely against his capture.
As the titans clashed in the sky, the Gluttony Ring below descended into utter chaos and destruction. Spells of immense power detonated with deafening booms, each explosion sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Arcane energies danced and crackled, painting the sky in vibrant hues of red, blue, and green.
A swirling vortex of flames tore through the air with a menacing roar, engulfing everything in its path. Spheres of Gravity struck the ground with explosive force, sending debris flying in all directions. Massive lightning bolts zigzagged across the sky before crashing down with a blinding flash, leaving behind a trail of devastation.
Amidst this storm of destruction, Beelzebub arrived from the distance, growing in size as she released her might and rage. She took to the sky amidst the chaos, her form looming large and terrifying as she unleashed devastation. Her roars shook the very ground, and with each flap of her wings, gusts of wind and debris were sent swirling.
Yet, amidst all this destruction and horror, it was the First Man's laughter that truly terrified them all.