(Beelzebub Arc – Chapter 5 of 7)
Lucen collapsed to one knee.
The glow of the arena faded. The walls, once made of bone and organ, crumbled into ash. A pale wind blew through the silence. The realm of Gluttony was gone.
But its weight remained in his bones.
The red seal of Beelzebub pulsed on his arm, glowing faintly beneath his skin like molten ink. It itched—not physically, but spiritually. The power granted wasn't peaceful. It was hunger in weapon form. His second Sin. One step closer to the throne of Hell.
And one more piece of himself missing.
Lucen stood slowly. Each muscle in his body felt heavier, stretched between light and shadow.
He had used Lust, Kindness, and Charity. Too much at once. His balance was slipping.
As he walked back into the mortal world—through the ruined alley where his body had disappeared days before—he saw his reflection in a broken store window.
He looked… older.
Not in his face. But in his aura. His eyes didn't shine like before. His expression was calm, but almost hollow. Like something had been carved out of him and replaced with silence.
Then came the whisper.
"How long will you lie to yourself, Zaqel?"
Lucen didn't flinch. He recognized the voice.
Morpheus.
In the reflection, the shadows behind him twisted—stretching into the form of the dream god. Eyes glowing like silver coins sunken in pitch black oil. A crown of smoke flickered above his head.
"You're becoming him."
"You say you fight to stay good. But with every sin you take in, you feed the devil you were born to be."
Lucen stared into the glass.
His reflection blinked.
But he hadn't.
"…I don't want to be him."
Morpheus tilted his head.
"Then stop collecting sins."
Lucen's jaw tightened.
"…You know I can't."
Silence.
Then, a soft chuckle.
"Then you better pray you never meet your brother Wrath unprepared."
With that, the shadow dissolved. Lucen stood alone again.
Until—
A sound.
Not a monster. Not a dream.
A phone.
His real-world phone was vibrating violently inside his pocket. The screen was cracked, half-dead, but it lit up.
"Scarne."
Lucen answered, expecting trouble.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Scarne's voice was sharp. Angry, but worried underneath.
"The cult's gone underground. But something worse is happening. People are losing control. I'm talking pure rage—on a mass level."
Lucen's heart sank.
It was starting again.
Beelzebub's hunger had barely ended… and Wrath was already stirring.
"I'll be there," Lucen said.
Scarne paused.
"You okay, man?"
Lucen didn't respond right away.
Then—
"No."
Click.
—
By the time Lucen reached the edge of the city, smoke was rising again. Not from fire—but from clashes. Civilians screaming at each other. Cops brutalizing peaceful protests. Children hitting parents. Lovers in bloody arguments.
Something was poisoning hearts.
And in the center of it all, standing calmly beneath a shattered billboard, was a man with coal-black eyes and a crimson grin carved across his face like a scar.
He wore no armor. No chains. Just a dark trench coat, gloves, and combat boots.
Around him… a ring of unconscious bodies.
Wrath had arrived.
Lucen stopped.
The man turned.
Smiled.
"Zaqel Fallmoon."
"Little brother. Did you enjoy your appetizer?"
Lucen didn't speak.
Wrath stepped forward slowly. Each step made the ground tremble. The air behind him shimmered like heat haze, even though it was cold.
"You were never meant to survive Beelzebub. But now that you have…"
He cracked his neck.
"I get to be the one to end your journey."
Lucen's fists clenched.
But he didn't raise them.
Instead, he asked quietly,
"…Do you feel anything at all?"
Wrath tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
Lucen stepped forward.
"When you burned those people. When you broke that mother's legs. When you made the children stab each other."
Wrath's face didn't move.
But his voice softened slightly.
"Yes."
Lucen blinked.
"I felt joy."
The wind dropped. The city went quiet.
Lucen looked down.
Then looked up again.
And said, quietly—
"Then I'm going to break that joy."
He summoned his three powers:
• Lust – to distort Wrath's senses.
• Charity – to shield innocents nearby.
• Beelzebub's Gluttony – to absorb Wrath's overflowing aggression.
The sky turned blood-orange.
The street cracked.
Wrath pulled off his gloves.
Revealing arms made of living fire.
"Let's see if Hell made you soft, little brother."
"Let's see if regret can win a war."
—
To be continued in Chapter 25.