In the abyssal depths of the underworld, where silence weighed heavier than stone and shadows coiled like serpents around forgotten pillars of blackened rock, Belial lingered. His eyes, burning with a hunger older than memory, were fixed upon Luzbel.
For centuries uncounted, his love had been a fire without flame, a desire that devoured but never gave warmth. He had adored Luzbel since the dawn of rebellion, since the very moment the brightest of Heaven's sons had fallen into the arms of darkness. Luzbel—magnificent, untouchable—had been his dream, his torment, his damnation. And yet that love, forbidden and twisted, had never been returned.
Now, from the deepest shadows, Belial watched the one thing he feared most: Luzbel's bond with Gabriel. It was not the purity of the archangel's golden wings that enraged him, nor the sacred fire of his eyes—it was the way Luzbel softened in his presence. In Gabriel's light, the once-proud demon revealed the remnants of the angel he had been. Belial's heart, black and burning, cracked with envy.
Why Gabriel? Why not me?
Every glance, every whisper, every stolen embrace between them was a dagger sinking deeper into Belial's chest. Gabriel's purity was a merciless mirror, reflecting all that Belial lacked and all he would never have. Where Belial was shadow, Gabriel was radiance. Where Belial's love consumed, Gabriel's love redeemed.
And so envy became his gospel, obsession his liturgy. His heart, starved of hope, brewed poison instead.
The Serpent's Whisper
Belial began to weave his web of deception with the patience of a spider. He draped his words in silk, each one delicate, almost tender, yet infused with venom. Whenever Luzbel wandered alone into the corridors of his domain—dark caverns where silence breathed like a living thing—Belial was there. Not seen, but heard.
His voice would ripple through the shadows like a distant echo:
"Can you truly trust him, Luzbel? He is light, and you are darkness. Do you believe Heaven would ever bless such a union?"
At first, Luzbel dismissed the whispers, his violet eyes hard with defiance. But Belial was relentless. His voice was patient as the tide, persistent as decay. He pressed deeper with every word, leaving stains of suspicion upon Luzbel's thoughts.
"What if Gabriel's touch is but pity? What if his devotion is only a test, a cruel jest of the heavens to break you further?"
The words clung like cobwebs. Luzbel tried to shake them free, but alone, when the silence grew loud, they returned. They writhed like serpents in his chest. His trust in Gabriel was strong, yet Belial's venom seeped slowly, drop by drop, into the cracks of his heart.
The Torment of Doubt
Nights became his torment. Luzbel, once unshaken in his resolve, now paced through his halls of shadow. The marble floors, cold and endless, echoed with the rhythm of his restless steps. His wings unfurled and folded again, feathers black as obsidian trembling with unrest.
When he closed his eyes, he saw Gabriel's gaze, bright as a dawn unending. But then Belial's words hissed again in his memory: What if he deceives you? What if angels never change?
It was a torture more cruel than chains, for it was invisible and intimate, tearing him apart from within. His love was a flame, but doubt was smoke, suffocating it.
Sometimes he pressed his palms against his chest as if to stop his heart from breaking. Sometimes he whispered Gabriel's name into the darkness, hoping the echo would return with reassurance. Yet always the silence answered with shadows.
Belial, hidden among the void, smiled. To him, this was sweeter than any embrace. His revenge was delicate, precise. To taint Luzbel's trust was to poison the very essence of his forbidden love.
The Confrontation
Unable to bear the weight of doubt any longer, Luzbel sought Gabriel. Their meeting place—once secret, once holy to them alone—was a glade on the border of the underworld, where Gabriel's light dimmed but never died, and Luzbel's shadow deepened but never swallowed all.
When Gabriel arrived, his golden wings gleamed faintly, like lanterns piercing the night. His presence carried serenity, the kind that could calm storms and silence wars. He smiled gently at Luzbel, but the fallen angel's expression was a mask of anguish.
"Gabriel," Luzbel began, his voice breaking, heavy with despair, "I must ask you something."
Gabriel's brow furrowed, concern shadowing his radiant features. He stepped closer, his hand half-raised in instinctive comfort.
"What troubles you, my beloved?"
Luzbel turned his gaze aside. He could not endure the searing purity of Gabriel's golden eyes. His voice was a whisper, torn between shame and need:
"I have heard… whispers. Belial has filled my ears with poison. He says the angels seek only to destroy us. He says perhaps… perhaps you are only playing with me."
The silence after those words was vast, almost unbearable. The forest itself seemed to pause, holding its breath.
Gabriel, however, did not falter. He stepped forward, closing the space between them. With a tenderness that seemed impossible amidst such accusations, he lifted his hand and cupped Luzbel's face. His touch was warm, radiant, and it spread like balm over the wounds of doubt.
"Luzbel," Gabriel murmured, his voice soft as a hymn, "you know my love for you is no lie. Belial seeks only to tear apart what he cannot have. He envies us, because he has never known love as we do. Do not let his shadows obscure what burns between us."
The Struggle of Faith
Luzbel closed his eyes, surrendering for a heartbeat to that touch. Warmth, sincerity, devotion—it was all there, in Gabriel's hand, in his gaze, in his very presence. And yet the serpent of doubt coiled tighter in his chest.
The seeds Belial had planted were not so easily uprooted. They grew like black vines, twining around his heart, choking him with fear. He wanted—desperately—to believe Gabriel, to fall into him and forget the venom. But doubt whispered still: What if he leaves? What if it is all a lie?
A sigh escaped his lips. "Forgive me, Gabriel. My heart is weary. Sometimes it feels as though I am breaking."
Gabriel drew him into an embrace, pressing his forehead against Luzbel's. His wings curved around them both like a shield. "Then let me be your strength," he whispered. "If you must falter, falter in my arms. If you must break, let me hold the pieces until you are whole again. That is love—not perfection, not certainty, but devotion in the face of fear."
For a moment, Luzbel believed him. For a moment, the vines loosened, and the serpent hissed in frustration. But shadows are patient, and Belial's poison was not yet done.
Belial's Triumph
From the darkness beyond the glade, Belial watched. His lips curled into a smile—cold, sharp, victorious. Though Gabriel's words had soothed Luzbel for now, the doubt remained. That was enough. Doubt was a seed that grew best in silence, watered by fear, fed by secrecy. And Belial would feed it well.
To him, this was more than jealousy—it was vengeance. If he could not possess Luzbel's heart, then he would see it torn apart. If Gabriel's light was the flame that warmed him, Belial's envy would be the storm that extinguished it. The game had only begun.
As their meeting drew to an end, Luzbel whispered brokenly, "It hurts to leave you, Gabriel. It tears me apart."
Gabriel kissed his brow gently, his voice like a prayer: "And it hurts me to let you go. But even if we must part, never doubt this—I love you, Luzbel, more than Heaven, more than eternity."
Their parting was agony—an embrace that lingered like chains, a kiss that tasted of sorrow and defiance. As Gabriel's light faded into the distance and Luzbel walked back into shadow, Belial's laughter echoed silently through the underworld, invisible yet omnipresent.
The serpent had bitten, and the wound was bleeding. And in the cruel alchemy of envy and love, Belial found his greatest triumph yet.