"I'll remember you."
At the moment this fragment of Hell shattered, Satan's form materialized silently before Bul-Kathos.
As this small piece of Hell crumbled, his body, like a porcelain vase riddled with cracks, began to disintegrate, scattering across the desolate expanse.
"You'd better bring your friends next time. You're far too weak alone."
Satan was fading, his essence unraveling. Once he was reborn in Hell, a long journey awaited him to reclaim the fragments of his domain.
When Satan rose again, he would no longer be a Lord of Hell.
Stripped of this dimension's power, he would be reduced to a fledgling demon, forced to claw his way back to strength.
Though he retained Hell's authority, he no longer stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Mephisto and the other lords.
In Hell, weakness was a sin.
"You can't protect them forever."
Satan's expression remained calm, as if this dissolution meant little to him. For a being who had existed for countless eons, a momentary failure was trivial.
It was merely the starting point of his eternal journey, begun anew.
Losing this dimension only returned him to his origins. He believed he could surpass his past self.
"Barbarians never shrink from battle."
Bul-Kathos hefted the Hammer of Judgment from the ground, eyeing Satan with a steady gaze.
This demon finally carried himself with the dignity of a Hell Lord, no longer the scheming fool lurking in the shadows.
Power breeds confidence, but such confidence is fragile, like an overinflated balloon—easily punctured.
Only the conviction that persists after power is lost marks a true warrior.
A true warrior may fall, but they are never broken!
To Satan, Bul-Kathos' gaze seemed to search for the perfect spot to deliver the final blow.
A manic grin spread across the Hell Lord's face, as haughty as ever, as if he still reigned supreme.
"Purer than angels, more destructive than demons. I'm curious what your soul looks like."
Satan's laughter grew wilder.
Since their inception, the barbarian clan had grown amidst endless war. No one knew how many had perished in battle.
On Harrogath's sacred mountain, no one paused to mourn the fallen; they marched onward to fields of smoke and sulfur.
They grieved, they suffered, they felt despair. Yet no barbarian ever regretted their choices.
Whether forging steel as a blacksmith, healing as a physician, fleeing as a coward, or dying in the next moment against a demon horde—
No one regretted their path.
Barbarians never regretted. They never cowered before fate!
They lived as they chose, pursuing their hearts' goals, charging forward without hesitation!
The Nephalem fought for survival, justice, and truth, sustaining humanity's existence from humble beginnings.
Prophets foresaw the destruction of Mount Arreat, yet none abandoned it.
Mardoc glimpsed his end before battle, yet he chose to die at Harrogath's gates.
Bul-Kathos would shield his kin, but only if they sought his protection.
Satan's threats were, to him, nothing but empty words.
"So, mighty one, what is your name?"
Satan's mania subsided, his final strength restoring his initial elegance.
His pristine white suit was immaculate, his slightly stout frame standing tall.
His eyes were a blur, revealing neither sincerity nor cunning.
The faint curve of his lips painted him as a true gentleman.
Lucifer—this was Satan's true name.
In this moment, he seemed more angelic than Gabriel or Manny ever had.
Lucifer brushed the ash of his crumbling form from his suit, glancing at the wound on his waist.
"Bul-Kathos. Remember that name, demon!"
Bul-Kathos raised the Hammer of Judgment, aiming it at Lucifer's head.
"Next time we meet, I won't be this pathetic."
Lucifer's voice faded as the dimension collapsed and his body dissolved into nothingness.
…
"Alright, angels. Time to head back to the hot springs. Soak, clean up, and await your Lord's call."
Constantine, sporting panda-like black eyes, stood before them. The bruises Rumlow had given him the previous day had vanished under a blood potion's healing.
But the blow he took after drinking it left a fresh black circle on his face.
Constantine strode boldly to Manny, jabbing a finger "gently" into the angel's wounded side.
"Know what this is, angel? It's called pain."
Constantine grinned, eyeing Manny. He'd long wanted a way to send this watchful angel back to Heaven.
Angel, who had lingered in the corner, approached Gabriel, whose form was unsteady, his wings broken.
"Is our faith so worthless in your eyes? Is our devotion just a price to be paid with sacrifice?"
Her voice trembled as she scanned Gabriel's tattered wings.
"Your faith is what Heaven needs, but not every human is worthy of redemption. I still believe that."
Gabriel, stripped of power by Manny, was now little different from the girl before him.
"God is God. God is love. That shouldn't be confined or categorized!"
Angel spoke steadily, though her trembling body betrayed her turmoil.
"When you use faith as a bargaining chip, you cease to be the Lord's devout lambs."
Gabriel closed his eyes, speaking softly.
Matthew faced Gabriel, as if wanting to speak, but ultimately lowered his head to polish his hand-axe.
Luke, uninterested in philosophical debates, stared at a pristine kidney, wondering how an angel's differed from a human's.
Rumlow snapped photos of the ground's traces, then tweaked the camera's settings to take deliberately blurry shots.
After all, angels and demons were supernatural. It was normal for photos to capture nothing.
He needed evidence to report to Nick Fury.
And to show Pierce a glimpse of the mystical realm.
These weren't mutants or enhanced humans. This was theology.
"The moment faith becomes a transaction, it taints Heaven. Just like that angel over there."
Gabriel pointed at Manny.
"I get it. Power breeds ambition?"
Luke, finally hearing something he could engage with, looked up.
"Exactly."
Gabriel tilted his head back, speaking softly.
"God is God. God is love!"
Angel's voice rang with conviction, a pure halo enveloping her.
This light didn't come from Heaven but descended directly upon the world.
Gabriel's eyes snapped open, staring at Angel in disbelief.
"You may now be called Saint Angel Dawson."
Ancient One, holding Manny's wing, plucked its longest feather and handed it to Angel.
Heaven, corrupted by humans trading faith for protection, had long been steeped in filth.
That God had abandoned Heaven long ago, leaving no trace, and all matters since were handled by Heaven alone.
In centuries on Earth, Gabriel had never seen a human so divinely acknowledged.
"Let's end this farce."
Ancient One stowed her butcher's knife and, with a wave, reduced Manny to ash.
"Oh, dear Supreme Sorcerer, can I be your apprentice?"
Constantine sauntered toward Ancient One, grinning slyly.
(Chapter End)
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