V Tower - Vox's Penthouse
"As I was saying," Vox continued, pacing in front of his fellow Vees with his hands behind his back, "we need to capitalize on Charlie's image. Sinners see her as either a threat or a savior. We can mold that narrative to our advantage."
His penthouse was filled with screens showing different angles of the Pentagram's streets—live feeds from his strategically placed surveillance cameras. Vox watched them all simultaneously, his brain processing multiple streams of information at once.
"Yes, yes," Velvette said boredly from her spot on the sofa, scrolling on her phone. "The little princess is public enemy number one. We got it. Can you hurry up? I have a fashion show in thirty minutes."
"You're not grasping the full vision, dear," Vox turned toward her with a smile that showed too many sharp teeth. "It's not just about making Charlie look bad. It's about positioning ourselves as the logical alternative. The Vees as the true leaders of hell."
Valentino, reclining in a chair with his gun in his lap, snorted. "And this helps us conquer heaven how exactly? Because that part still confuses me, amorcito."
Vox sighed dramatically, turning to fully face Valentino. "Let me explain it to you again, but slower for those in the back—"
BOOM.
The energy explosion hit like an invisible nuclear bomb.
Vox was thrown backward with such force that his screen-head crashed against the panoramic window, cracking it. Every circuit in his body lit up simultaneously, overloaded by a massive wave of energy he hadn't asked for and couldn't control.
"AAAAHHHH!" His scream came out distorted, half voice half static as blue electricity sparked uncontrollably throughout his body. All the screens in the penthouse exploded simultaneously—a chorus of shattering glass and fried circuits.
Velvette was thrown from the sofa, crashing against the wall with a sharp scream. Her phone exploded in her hand in a rain of sparks and melted plastic. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Valentino had managed to deploy his wings just in time, using his four arms to grip different surfaces while the entire penthouse shook. His gun fell to the floor and slid across the tilted floor. "VOX! WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Vox screamed, struggling to control the electrical overload in his system. Blue sparks jumped from his screen-head, and his left eye displayed pure static. "It was like... like someone had plugged all of hell into a fucking nuclear generator!"
Shok.wav tank cracked with a terrible sound, water spilling over the sides. The pet shark emitted panicked sounds as the water level rapidly dropped.
"SHOK.WAV!" Vox crawled toward the tank, momentarily forgetting everything else. "Hang on, son! Daddy's coming!"
But before he could reach it, the ground began to tremble.
The earthquake hit with devastating force. The V Tower penthouse—one of the tallest and most technologically advanced buildings in the Pentagram—swayed like a ship in a storm.
Furniture slid across the floor. The few screens that had survived the initial explosion now crashed against the walls. The crack in the panoramic window spread like a spiderweb, threatening to give way completely.
"THE TOWER'S GOING TO COLLAPSE!" Velvette screamed, clinging to what remained of the sofa while the world shook around her.
"It won't!" Vox roared, though he didn't sound very convinced. "This tower was built to withstand anything! It's reinforced with the best technology infernal money can buy!"
As if the universe wanted to contradict him, another section of the window cracked with a sound like a gunshot.
Valentino had managed to reach one of the structural columns, wrapping around it with his arms and wings. "Amorcito, your 'best technology' doesn't mean shit if we fall from the thirteenth floor!"
The earthquake continued. And continued. Thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes of pure terror. Even knowing they were immortal.
Vox managed to reach Shok.wav, using his control over electricity to create a temporary containment field around the damaged tank. It wasn't perfect, but it would keep his pet alive until they could fix this.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the earthquake stopped.
The silence that followed was broken only by the sounds of falling rubble, water dripping from Vark's tank, and the labored breathing of the three Vees.
"Is everyone... is everyone okay?" Vox asked, his voice coming out distorted from the damage to his circuits.
"Define 'okay'," Velvette growled, slowly getting up. Her designer clothes were ruined, covered in dust and debris. "Because if 'okay' means alive but wanting to kill whoever's responsible for this, then yeah, I'm fucking okay."
Valentino untangled himself from the column, his wings trembling slightly. "What the hell was that? It wasn't a simple earthquake. I felt... something more. Something that made my skin crawl."
Vox stood up with difficulty, looking at the disaster that had once been his perfect penthouse. All his screens destroyed. His surveillance equipment fried. Years of work and millions of souls invested... reduced to scrap in seconds.
"Whatever it was," he said slowly, his right eye flickering as he tried to reboot his systems, "it came with a level of power I've never felt. And I've been in hell for decades."
He approached the cracked window—carefully, just in case—and looked out over the Pentagram. What he saw made his already damaged system almost shut down completely.
"Velvette. Valentino," Vox called, his voice unusually serious. "You need to see this."
The other two Vees joined him at the window, and the silence that followed was absolute.
Over Cannibal Town, a barrier of pure darkness had enveloped the entire district. It wasn't smoke or clouds—it was absolute absence of light, as if someone had cut a hole in reality.
"What... what is that?" Velvette whispered, and for the first time since Vox had known her, she sounded genuinely scared.
"I don't know," Vox admitted. "But whatever it is, it's wrong. Fundamentally wrong."
"Is that Cannibal Town?" Valentino asked, squinting as he tried to see better. "Rosie's territory?"
"Was Rosie's territory," Vox corrected somberly. "Now it's... whatever that is."
Velvette pulled out her spare phone—she always carried three—but even this one was slightly damaged, and began checking her social media. "The networks are exploding. Everyone felt that. Everyone's asking what happened."
"And what are we telling them?" Valentino asked, looking at Vox.
Vox didn't respond immediately. His mind—even damaged—was working at full speed, processing information, calculating angles, looking for ways to capitalize on this.
"Nothing yet," he finally said. "First we need information. We can't look ignorant when all of hell is looking for answers."
"So what?" Velvette challenged. "We just sit here with our thumbs up our asses while someone else takes control of the narrative?"
"No," Vox turned toward her, his smile returning—crooked and glitched, but there. "We're going to investigate. We're going to find out exactly what happened. And then..." his eye gleamed with malice, "we're going to use it to our advantage."
Then came the scream.
Everyone froze when the primordial roar resonated throughout the entire Pentagram. It wasn't simply loud—it was a physical presence that made windows vibrate and shook the air.
It was rage. Pure, distilled, primordial rage.
And definitely masculine.
Vox felt something he rarely experienced—a genuine chill of fear running through his circuits.
"That," Valentino whispered, his four arms wrapping around himself unconsciously, "didn't sound like anything I've heard before, almost like one of those monsters in movies."
"Because it isn't," Vox responded, ignoring part of his words, watching how the barrier over Cannibal Town pulsed with each second of the scream. "Fuck... why does this have to happen right now?"
When the scream finally faded, leaving that unnatural silence, Vox noticed something.
Inside the dark barrier, he could now see movement. Flashes of something—or someone—moving at incredible speeds. Violent shadows that appeared and disappeared behind the veil of darkness.
And occasionally, very occasionally, flashes of light. Like lightning or explosions contained within the barrier.
"There's a battle happening in there," Velvette said, reaching the same conclusion. "A massive battle."
"Rosie?" Valentino suggested. "Defending her territory?"
"Against what, that's the question," Vox murmured, his screen-eyes focusing and unfocusing as he tried to see more clearly. But the barrier distorted everything too much.
His phone—miraculously intact—began to ring. Vox looked at it and saw dozens of incoming calls. Other overlords. Industry contacts. All seeking answers he didn't have.
"Ignore them," he ordered when Velvette's and Valentino's phones also began to ring. "Until we know more, we say nothing."
"Vox," Velvette said slowly, looking at her screen, "I have a message from one of my contacts in Cannibal Town. It was sent just before the barrier went up."
"And?"
"And it says..." she swallowed visibly, "it says they saw someone. Someone who was supposed to be dead."
Vox turned completely toward her. "Who? Who did they see?"
"It doesn't say. The message cuts off there." Velvette showed the screen, and indeed, the message ended abruptly mid-word. "Suspicious that the energy hit them before they could send me the message and the barrier went up."
"Shit," Vox cursed, running a hand over his screen-head. "Shit, shit, shit."
"What are you thinking?" Valentino asked, knowing that expression.
"I'm thinking," Vox said slowly, "that whatever just happened is going to change the entire power balance in hell. And we need to figure out which side we want to take before it's too late."
He looked again toward the dark barrier, toward the barely visible flashes of violence within.
"Because whoever's in there... whoever caused all this..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
The three Vees watched in silence as the hell they knew began to crumble around them.
.
.
.
Carmilla Carmine - Weapons Factory
Carmilla Carmine was in her private office, reviewing manifests of angelic weapon shipments when the energy explosion hit.
The difference between her and the Vees was that Carmilla, with centuries of experience and an instinct honed for survival, reacted instantly.
The moment she felt the first wave of primordial energy, her wings deployed and she launched herself toward her daughters.
"CLARA! ODETTE!" Her scream resonated throughout the entire factory.
The explosion hit her mid-flight. Carmilla felt as if every bone in her body was being crushed and stretched simultaneously. The energy—ancient, terrible, fundamentally wrong—passed through her like a hurricane.
But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Her daughters were down on the production floor.
Carmilla landed awkwardly, almost crashing to the ground. Her legs—made of angelic steel—absorbed the impact as she ran toward the factory's main area.
"MAMA!" Clara appeared from behind a machine, with Odette right behind her. Both were pale but unharmed.
Carmilla hugged them tightly, her wings wrapping around them protectively. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"We're fine," Odette responded, though her voice trembled. "What was that? I felt like..."
"The worst chill of my entire life, I felt like I was drowning," Clara completed.
Carmilla didn't respond. She couldn't. Because that was exactly what she had felt too.
Then came the earthquake.
"Under the steel tables!" Carmilla ordered, pushing her daughters toward the nearest cover. "NOW!"
The entire factory shook like a house of cards. Heavy machinery slid across the floor. Shelves of angelic weapons overturned, throwing swords, spears, and daggers everywhere.
Carmilla covered her daughters with her body, her wings spread like an additional shield. She could hear metal twisting, concrete cracking, the distant screams of her workers in other sections of the factory.
The earthquake lasted an eternity. When it finally ceased, Carmilla waited a full ten seconds before moving.
"Stay here," she ordered her daughters. "Don't move until I return."
"Mama, don't—" Clara began to protest.
"That wasn't a suggestion," Carmilla said firmly. Her eyes—normally warm when looking at her daughters—were now hard as steel. "There are injured people who need help. And I need to assess the damage."
She stood up, fully deploying her wings. "Zestial," she murmured, pulling out her phone. The old overlord always knew what was happening in hell.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Carmilla," Zestial's voice sounded graver than normal, his ancient accent more pronounced. "Thou felt it as well."
"All of hell felt it," Carmilla responded. "What was it?"
"I know not with certainty," Zestial admitted, and that alone was alarming. Zestial always knew. "But the energy signature... 'twas most ancient. Of the kind I have not felt since the earliest days of hell."
"Origin?"
"Cannibal Town."
Carmilla stopped dead. "Rosie's territory?"
"Aye. And there is more. A barrier hath been raised over the entire district. Pure darkness. I cannot see through it, and I have been attempting."
Carmilla walked toward one of the factory windows that hadn't broken. From her elevated position in the city, she could see the distant barrier—a black hole in hell's red landscape.
"Is Rosie okay?" she asked, though she feared the answer.
"I know not," Zestial responded somberly. "The barrier blocks all. Magic, communications, even mine own abilities of observation. Whoever created it wishes not for anyone to see what transpires within."
"Do you have theories?"
There was a pause. "Several. None of them good."
Before Carmilla could ask more, she heard the scream.
That primordial roar that made every instinct in her body scream DANGER.
Carmilla gripped the window frame, her knuckles turning white. That sound... wasn't natural. Wasn't demonic. All she knew was that it was furious and dangerous, and something that touched a primitive part of her brain that remembered when humanity was prey, not predator.
"Did you hear it?" she asked Zestial when the scream finally ceased.
"Aye," the old overlord's voice sounded tense. "And it concerns me deeply. That was not the scream of a common demon."
"No," Carmilla agreed, watching as the barrier over Cannibal Town now showed flashes of movement within. "It was the scream of something that just awakened. Or was created."
"Or transformed," Zestial added somberly. "Carmilla, whatever is happening in there... 'twill end soon. And when that barrier falls..."
"We'll need to be prepared," Carmilla completed. "Zestial, convene an emergency meeting of the overlords. All who remain. We need to coordinate a response."
"And if Rosie...?"
"If Rosie survived, she'll join us," Carmilla said firmly. "If not... then we'll need to find out who or what took her territory."
She hung up the phone and returned to where her daughters waited.
"Mama," Clara said immediately, "what's happening?"
Carmilla looked at both of them—her precious daughters, the only thing in all of hell that truly mattered—and made a decision.
"Something has changed," she said simply. "Something fundamental. And until we know what, I want both of you to stay here in the factory. Under protection. Understood?"
"But—" Odette began to protest.
"It's non-negotiable," Carmilla said firmly. "If what I suspect is true, hell is going to become much more dangerous in the coming hours. And I'm not going to risk you."
She looked toward the window one last time, toward that dark barrier and the barely visible flashes of violence within.
Rosie, she thought, I hope you know what you're doing. Or that at least you survived to tell us what the hell just happened.
.
.
.
Eve - Ring of Lust.
The apartment was modest compared to what Eve had once had, but it was hers. A small refuge in the Ring of Lust, obtained thanks to a deal with Asmodeus. Being a capital sin, one would expect him to take advantage of her, but Asmodeus had been... surprisingly professional with her. Perhaps because, in a twisted sense, they shared a connection with Adam that neither of them had asked for.
Eve, in her sinful form, was a woman with pale gray skin, white sclera, and crimson eyes. Her hair was long and black, and she had two horns protruding from her head that curved backward. She wore a white dress, blue shorts that highlighted her soft thighs, and long stockings that covered her entire legs. One of her arms rested on her cheek and the other on the armrest of the purple chair she was sitting in.
[Imagen]
She sighed before touching the bridge of her nose, then grabbed the brush with her hand and began to look at the canvas in front of her for a few moments.
The canvas before her showed a garden—not Eden, never Eden, but something similar to it. Flowers she had invented from her memory, colors that only existed in her oldest recollections.
Art was her escape. Her way of processing millennia of pain and regret. Each brushstroke was a way to externalize the emotions that would otherwise consume her.
Today she had been painting without really thinking about what she was creating. Her hands moved of their own volition, guided by something deeper than conscious intention.
When she stopped to evaluate her work, she realized what she had painted.
Two figures. A man and a woman. Standing beneath a tree, with their hands intertwined.
Adam and I, she thought with a familiar pain. As we were at the beginning.
The memories arrived uninvited, as they always did.
She remembered waking in Eden, confused and new, not understanding what or who she was. She remembered the angels' explanation, how she had been created to be her beloved's companion.
She remembered Adam—sweet, clumsy, optimistic Adam—taking her hand and smiling at her with a warmth that made her feel safe for the first time.
"Hello," he had said. "I'm Adam. What's your name?"
She hadn't had a name at birth. The angels would give it to her, so she introduced herself with that name. Eve, the second woman, created from Adam's ribs.
At the beginning of creation, Eve was a beautiful woman, with fair skin, long brown hair, and eyes the same color as her hair. She wore nothing, for she did not yet know the meaning of shame.
[Imagen]
She hadn't understood why Lilith had left Adam. But she didn't question it at that moment, so she left her in peace.
She remembered her first days with Adam, him showing her the garden, naming animals with childlike enthusiasm. Both learning about the world and about themselves simultaneously.
She remembered the love that grew between them, it was a bit difficult, but the slight pain Adam felt for Lilith faded and he created with her something deeper. Companionship. Mutual understanding. The certainty that they weren't alone in creation.
And then she remembered the serpent.
Lucifer, though she hadn't known his name then. Beautiful, persuasive, with words that sounded like promises of freedom. He had appeared when Adam was busy naming animals in another part of the garden, when Eve was alone near the forbidden Tree, gathering some flowers.
"The Tree of Knowledge," he had said with that charming smile that made something inside her resonate—a spark of curiosity she didn't know she possessed. "Don't you wonder what secrets it holds? Don't you want to know what God is hiding from you?"
Eve remembered having hesitated. "But... God said that if we ate from the Tree, we would die."
"Die?" Lucifer had laughed—a musical laugh that sounded like freedom. "That's the lie, Eve. You won't die. God doesn't want you to taste the fruit because it would give you knowledge. It would make you like Him. Don't you see? He's lying to you because he's afraid of your potential."
The words had been like sweet poison, infiltrating her mind, making everything she had accepted without question suddenly seem suspicious.
"I can taste it first, if it makes you feel safer," Lucifer tried to reassure her with sweet words. "I really don't want to hurt you, but I think hiding knowledge is wrong and that the other angels insist on concealing it is suspicious."
Eve didn't know what to think. Sera, God's bearer, along with other angels made it clear they would die (even if she didn't know what dying was then, she suspected it was something bad) if they ate the apple, but Lucifer was also an angel and he was offering to eat it to reassure her.
"But Adam..." Eve had begun.
"Adam doesn't need to know yet," Lucifer had interrupted softly. "First you and I will taste it together with Lilith. We'll share this knowledge. And then, when you see it's safe, when you understand what freedom really means... you'll be the only one who can convince him. He loves you, Eve. He'll listen to you in a way he'd never listen to me."
And Eve—stupid, naive, arrogant—had accepted.
Lucifer had called Lilith, who had appeared with that knowing smile, as if she had been waiting for this moment. The three had stood beneath the Tree—Lucifer, Lilith, and Eve—with the apple gleaming like a forbidden jewel among them.
"Together," Lucifer had said, breaking the fruit into three pieces. "An act of solidarity. Of free will."
And they had bitten. All three. Simultaneously.
Eve closed her eyes, the brush trembling in her hand. Even after all these millennia, the memory of the taste made her feel nauseous. Sweet and bitter at once. And the knowledge that came with it...
God, the knowledge.
It had been like waking from a dream only to realize she had been blind her entire life. Suddenly she understood—she comprehended good, evil, manipulation, consequences, mortality, desire, shame.
And with that knowledge came rage.
Rage toward the angels who had kept them ignorant like cattle. Rage toward God for creating that tree and then forbidding them to touch it as if they were children incapable of making their own decisions. Rage toward Lucifer for manipulating her even while claiming to liberate her. Rage toward herself for being weak enough to believe it had been her idea.
But the rage wasn't only hers. She could feel it—a contamination in her soul, something the apple had left behind. Not just knowledge, but the capacity to hate in ways she hadn't been able to imagine before.
But above all, she remembered what came after.
The expulsion from Eden. The angels descending with flaming swords. Lucifer and Lilith being cast into hell for their betrayal.
And Adam...
Eve felt tears stinging her eyes as she remembered Adam's face when the angels had pronounced her punishment. She would be expelled. She would live in pain and hardship. She would give birth in agony.
But Adam hadn't eaten the apple. Adam was innocent.
The angels had given him a choice—stay in Eden, in paradise, alone. Or leave with Eve, share her punishment, live as a mortal on the cruel earth.
He hadn't hesitated for even a second.
"I'm going with her," Adam had said firmly. "Wherever Eve goes, I go."
And so he had. He left paradise for her. He chose exile, mortality, suffering—all for her.
The earth had been brutal. Without the garden, without easy food, without shelter. They had to learn to survive from scratch—hunting, farming, building. Eve remembered cold nights where they clung to each other for warmth. She remembered the hunger. She remembered the fear.
But she also remembered how Adam never blamed her. Never threw her mistake in her face. He simply... remained by her side.
"We'll figure it out together," Adam had said again and again. "Always together."
And they had loved each other. Despite everything—the expulsion, the suffering, the hardships—they had had each other.
But the apple had contaminated something inside her. The rage never completely went away. It burned in her chest like coals, flaring up each time things got difficult.
They fought. God, how they fought. Eve would scream about the angels, about the injustice of it all. Adam would try to calm her, reason with her, remind her of what they still had.
And then the children had been born.
Cain, her firstborn. Abel, the second. Aclima later, Azura and Seth after. And many others throughout her mortal life.
For a time, things had been happy... though there were complications, their life was peaceful. They had a family. They had a purpose.
Until Cain killed Abel.
Eve had to stop, dropping the brush as rage and sadness dominated her. She bit her lip hard until she drew blood, but she didn't care.
Abel. Her sweet Abel. Murdered by his own brother.
The way Adam had cried that night... Eve had never seen anyone break so completely. Her strong, optimistic, unshakeable husband—reduced to a trembling shell of grief.
And their relationship... something had broken between them that night. A crack that never completely healed.
Eve began to blame Adam for not protecting Abel. Adam withdrew into himself, unable to process his own guilt and pain. The distance between them grew.
And Eve's rage—that damned contaminated rage the apple had left in her soul—began to direct itself toward her own children in ways that terrified her.
Aclima. Her daughter. Beautiful, easy laughter, with eyes that shone with admiration each time she looked at her father.
Too much admiration. Too close.
The jealousy had been irrational, Eve knew it even then. Aclima was a child. Adam was her father. There was nothing inappropriate in their closeness, or at least nothing she had seen. Just father-daughter love. Nothing incestuous (though she didn't see that as wrong).
But the contaminated rage didn't understand rationality. It whispered dark things in Eve's mind—that Adam preferred Aclima over her, that her daughter was taking her place, that Eve was being replaced just as she had replaced Lilith.
Eve remembered that night with terrifying clarity. She had taken the kitchen knife, moving silently toward where Aclima slept. Rage and jealousy consumed her completely, clouding any other thought.
She doesn't deserve his attention. She shouldn't have it when I...when I...
She had been standing over her sleeping daughter—her own daughter, her own flesh and blood—with the knife raised, ready to...
The expression on Adam's face when he had entered was something she could never forget.
Not just horror at what she was about to do. But understanding. Recognition that the woman he loved—the woman for whom he had left paradise—had become something monstrous.
Eve had dropped the knife as if it burned. She had looked at her own hands as if they belonged to someone else.
Adam had tried to remain calm, but they had a conversation she doesn't like to remember. In the end he forgave her and tried to help her.
But Eve knew better, there was no way to help her, because...
That time hadn't been only with Aclima. Azura too. Any daughter who got too close to Adam, who smiled at him too warmly, who received too much of his attention—jealousy burned in Eve's chest like coals.
What have I become? What did the apple do to me?
One night she couldn't take it anymore, rage roared inside her and she fled. She left Adam, left her children, left everything. She couldn't stay. Because Eve knew that if she did and lost her temper at some point it would be something she would regret.
She spent decades alone, wandering, trying to find some kind of redemption or peace. She never found them.
She died alone, of an illness in her old age, forty years before Adam died. She had never seen him again.
And when she woke in hell...
Eve wiped the tears with the back of her hand, smearing her cheek with paint.
Hell had been a shock. But finding Lucifer and Lilith there... that had been something completely different.
At first it had been pure rage toward them. They manipulated me. They destroyed everything.
But the loneliness... God, the loneliness was worse than the rage.
Hell was chaos. It was constant violence. Apparently some of her other children died before her and caused chaos. At first she tried to use authority as mother of humanity... it didn't go so well, let's say, but being a primordial it wasn't hard to defend herself, not to mention that releasing the rage was liberating.
Obviously she didn't think it through because she drew attention.
So when Lucifer had found her, when he had extended an offer of refuge with him and Lilith... Eve had accepted. Not because she forgave them. But because the alternative—being completely alone in hell—was unbearable.
Years. Decades perhaps—time blurred in hell in strange ways. She lived with them, shared meals, listened to Lucifer's stories about the rebellion, Lilith's plans to build something in this place of damnation.
And there were moments—shameful moments Eve tried desperately to bury in the deepest part of her mind—where she almost...
Lucifer could be incredibly charming when he wanted. And Lilith, despite everything, understood things about Eve that no one else could. Both made her feel seen, desired, not completely monstrous.
Eve remembered that specific night too clearly. There had been wine—a lot of wine. Laughter. Shared stories about Eden that only the three of them could truly understand.
And then hands on her skin. Warm lips. The promise that she could forget, even if just for one night, all the pain and guilt.
Eve had let herself go. She had responded to the kisses. She had allowed them to undress her. She had been seconds from crossing a line she couldn't uncross.
And then, in that final moment, something inside her had cleared.
What am I doing?
It wasn't the voice of reason. It was Adam's memory. Adam standing beneath the Tree, choosing exile with her. Adam holding her hand during cold nights on earth. Adam forgiving her again and again even when the contaminated rage made her impossible to love.
Adam is on earth doing his duties. Alone. And I'm here, about to sleep with the people who betrayed us.
Eve had pulled away abruptly, pushing Lucifer and Lilith away. "No. No, I can't do this."
"Eve..." Lilith had begun, extending a hand.
"I said no!" Eve had screamed, gathering her scattered clothing with trembling hands. The disgust with herself was so strong she felt nauseous. "What was I thinking? How could I even consider...?"
"It was nothing," Lucifer had said softly, though there was disappointment in his eyes. "We were just adults seeking comfort—"
"IT WASN'T NOTHING!" Eve had roared, and for a moment, both recoiled at the fury in her voice. "Never mention it again! Never speak of this! Forget it even happened!"
She had left that night, locking herself in her room, crying until she had no more tears left.
The incident had created an uncomfortable tension among the three. Lucifer and Lilith respected her request—they never mentioned it again, never tried to approach that way again. But Eve could see the occasional glances, the way they sometimes watched her as if wondering what would have happened if...
It didn't matter. It couldn't matter.
Because then the news came.
Adam had died, his human body. It had expired.
Eve felt it in her connection, it stopped for a few moments as if he were asleep and then returned beating strongly. She felt the change in energy in her body, it was much warmer and comforting, different from the energy she felt when she was a primordial human.
Her world had stopped.
Lucifer had tried to find him immediately. He had used all his power as king of hell to search for Adam's soul, hoping—though he never said it out loud—to be able to speak with him, perhaps make peace after all this time.
Lilith had used her own connections, her information networks that extended through all the rings.
But they found nothing. Nothing.
Days had passed searching. Weeks. Eve had become increasingly desperate, screaming at Lucifer to search harder, to use more power, to do something.
It was Lilith who finally had suggested the truth none of them had wanted to consider.
"Maybe... maybe he went to heaven."
Eve had frozen. "What?"
"Adam was the first man," Lilith had explained carefully. "Created by God himself. He never ate the apple—his soul was never contaminated by knowledge. I also don't think he's capable of committing any major sin to condemn him... so maybe heaven decided he fulfilled his duty and claimed him."
The idea had been like a dagger in Eve's chest. Adam was in heaven. The place from which she had been expelled. The place to which she could never return.
He was forever beyond her reach.
And then, months later, information about Asmodeus arrived.
Eve had been in a bar in the Ring of Gluttony, drowning her sorrows in the most literal way possible, when a fallen angel had sat next to her.
Azazel. Old, bitter, with wings that had once been white but were now the color of smoke. He had fallen much earlier than Lucifer, for reasons he never fully explained.
"I know that look," he had said, pointing to her drink. "The look of someone who lost something important. And is now completely lost in life."
"I lost someone," Eve had admitted, too drunk to guard her words. "The only one who really mattered."
"The first man?" Azazel had guessed, because apparently all of hell knew her story. "I heard he went to heaven. A shame. I would have liked to meet him."
"You don't know the half of it," Eve had murmured.
"Oh, don't I?" Azazel had smiled—a humorless smile. "Do you know how Asmodeus was born?"
Eve had blinked, confused by the change of subject. "I don't know. Sins just... are born when their sin is committed for the first time or something like that, right?"
"More or less," Azazel had confirmed. "Asmodeus was born from the first act of lust that is considered a sin. Do you know what that act was?"
Eve had shaken her head.
And then Azazel had told her.
He had told her about how Lilith had managed to travel to Earth—something that shouldn't have been possible, but somehow she had done it. About how she had disguised herself as Eve using magic she had learned from her time in hell.
"According to what I could find out," Azazel had said, his tone deliberately neutral in a way that made each word hurt more, "she found Adam. She pretended to be you. And then..."
He had paused, taking a drink.
"She drugged him. She gave him something—wine, I think. He didn't know what it was, he'd never tasted alcohol before. She wasn't sober at that moment either. And when they were both drunk, when Adam thought his wife had finally returned to him..."
He hadn't finished the sentence. He hadn't needed to.
"She took advantage of him," Azazel had finally said. "She was disguised as you. He was drugged, unable to properly consent, believing you were you. And from that encounter... Asmodeus was born."
Eve had felt the world tilt beneath her feet. The way Azazel had told it—with those specific details about the wine, about Adam not knowing what he was drinking, about Lilith taking advantage of his ignorance—painted a horrible picture.
"And Lucifer?" Eve had asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"He doesn't know the details," Azazel had responded. "Lilith only told him that Asmodeus was born from a strange act of lust. I don't know what that idiot Lucifer assumed. But I suppose he assumed it was some kind of experiment to deliberately create a sin. He never knew Adam was involved, or that it was under those circumstances."
Azazel had stood then, preparing to leave.
"No one else knows. Not even Asmodeus really understands how he was born. I think Lilith suspects, but she's kept the secret all this time."
That from that act—that impure, twisted, unforgivable act—Asmodeus had been born.
Not as a baby in the traditional sense, but as an already-formed child, manifested directly from the essence of the act itself. That's how the capital sins were born—from the first act of their nature, taking form based on the circumstances of their creation, fortunately Adam's essence had affected the sin itself.
"Lilith has been watching him," Azazel had added, his voice laden with something that sounded between pity and amusement. "Behind Lucifer's back. As if she could make up for what she did by staying close to the outcome of that night." He sneered with a cruel smile.
Eve had felt nauseous. "Does Asmodeus know?"
"No," Azazel had shaken his head. "He only knows what Lilith has told him."
Azazel had left after that, disappearing into the night. Eve never saw him again. It was as if he had appeared only to deliver that horrible truth and then vanished.
But the truth remained.
And the rage... the rage Eve felt was different from the apple's contamination. This was pure. Justified. Burning.
Eve had returned to the residence she shared with Lucifer and Lilith. She hadn't planned anything. She only knew she needed to confront them.
Lilith had been alone when Eve arrived. Lucifer was at a meeting with other capital sins.
"Eve," Lilith had smiled, not knowing what was coming. "Are you okay? You look—"
Eve had hit her. Her fist crashed into Lilith's jaw with all the force she could muster.
Lilith had fallen backward, and on her face—for a fraction of a second—something passed that made Eve's stomach churn. It wasn't surprise. It was recognition. Immediate understanding.
A grimace of guilt that confirmed everything Azazel had told her.
"So it's true," Eve had hissed, advancing toward her. "What you did to Adam. It's true."
Lilith had stood slowly, touching her jaw but not trying to heal the wound. Her face had hardened—not with anger, but with determination not to show weakness. Not to cry though Eve could see how shame consumed her from within.
"Eve, you need to calm down—"
"CALM DOWN?!" Eve had roared, launching herself at her again.
The fight had been brutal. Eve wasn't a fighter—she never had been. But rage gave her strength. She threw herself at Lilith again and again, hitting, scratching, screaming accusations.
And Lilith... Lilith didn't defend herself.
She dodged when she could, pulling away from the most dangerous blows. But she didn't return the attacks. She didn't use her magic. Her face remained carefully controlled, without tears, though her lips trembled slightly with the effort of maintaining composure.
"DEFEND YOURSELF!" Eve had screamed at some point, frustrated by Lilith's passivity. "FIGHT LIKE THE BITCH YOU ARE!"
"No," Lilith had said, her voice tense but firm. "I'm not going to fight you."
"WHY NOT?!" Eve had demanded, hitting her again. Lilith's lip split, bleeding. "Because you know I'm right?! Because you know what you did?!"
Lilith had closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, there was something broken in them despite her controlled expression. "Yes."
That admission—that simple word—had made Eve lose control completely.
"Do you know what you did to him?!" Eve was screaming between blows. "Do you have any idea how he must have felt?! Believing I had returned! Believing we were finally together again! And all the time it was YOU!"
"I know," Lilith had whispered, and there was genuine pain in her voice despite her facade. "I know, Eve."
"NO, YOU DON'T KNOW!" Eve had grabbed a nearby vase and smashed it against the wall next to Lilith's head. "If you knew, if you really understood, you couldn't keep breathing!"
Lilith had clenched her jaw, refusing to look at Eve, because if she did she might see some tears accumulating in her eyes. "I was drunk. I don't remember... I don't remember everything from that night. But I know what I did."
"OH, HOW CONVENIENT!" Eve had spat. "You don't remember! But he will remember! He'll remember every second of how you betrayed him!"
Eve's fists found Lilith's face, her stomach, her ribs. Lilith staggered but didn't fall, didn't flee. Shame made her stay, accept the punishment, even while she struggled to keep her face composed, she could defend herself but didn't want to hurt Eve (though she had already done so and not physically). Still, when she was too injured her body began to regenerate rapidly.
That's when Lucifer had arrived.
"What is—?" he had begun, but stopped short seeing the scene before him.
Eve with her fists stained with red blood. Lilith bruised, bleeding, but standing with a carefully neutral expression that didn't completely hide the shame in one of her eyes, since the other was swollen and closed.
"Eve..." Lucifer had said slowly, processing. Then he looked at Lilith, and something in his expression changed—confusion, concern, seeing that the situation was quite serious, he felt a touch of fear about what was happening that had reached such disorder and aggression. "Lilith, Eve... what's going on?"
"ASK HER!" Eve shouted, pointing at Lilith with an accusing finger. "ASK HER WHAT SHE DID TO ADAM!"
Lucifer had frozen completely. Eve saw how his mind worked at a thousand miles per hour, just trying to understand the situation, but no matter how much he analyzed. He didn't know how things had reached such an extreme, honestly Lucifer was very confused, of course they had all been in a bad mood about Adam, but little by little things were beginning to calm down, but it seems he was wrong and now this situation was shit. That Lucifer didn't like.
Eve didn't know what Lucifer was thinking, but she couldn't help mocking the man.
But Lucifer said nothing about it. Instead, he had raised his hands in a placating gesture, his voice taking that tone he used when trying to de-escalate situations.
"Okay, okay, Eve," he had said, approaching cautiously. "I need you to breathe. I need you to explain to me what's—"
"SHE DISGUISED HERSELF AS ME!" Eve had interrupted. "She traveled to Earth! She found Adam! She pretended to be me and GOT HIM DRUNK! She gave him wine when he didn't even know what it was! And then she—!"
She couldn't finish, sobs interrupting her speech.
Lucifer had gone pale. Very pale. Eve saw how he swallowed hard, how his eyes went to Lilith seeking a denial that didn't come.
"Lilith," he had said, and his voice had lost all its usual lightness. It sounded tense, nervous, almost scared of the answer. "Please tell me that's not true."
Lilith hadn't responded. She had just looked away, her jaw clenched, struggling to maintain her composure.
"Lilith," Lucifer had repeated, more urgent now. "Look at me. Look at me and tell me Eve is—that this is a misunderstanding—"
"I can't," Lilith had finally whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't tell you that."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Eve saw how Lucifer processed that—saw the way his face went through a dozen emotions in seconds. Shock. Disbelief. Growing anger. And something darker, something that looked like fear of the implications.
"Are you saying," Lucifer had begun, his voice dangerously low, "that you... that Adam... while he was drugged? While he thought you were Eve?"
Lilith had nodded almost imperceptibly, still not looking at him, still fighting to maintain that mask of control.
Lucifer had run a hand through his hair, breathing deeply. Eve could see how he struggled with himself—part of him wanting to explode, part wanting to give Lilith the benefit of the doubt, part simply not knowing how to process this information.
"Okay," Lucifer had finally said, though his voice trembled. "Okay, I need... I need both of you to calm down. Eve, I know you're furious, and you have the right to be, but—"
"BUT WHAT?!" Eve shouted. "Are you going to defend her?! Are you going to tell me it was a mistake?!"
"No!" Lucifer had said quickly, raising his hands. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Just—shit—just give me a second to think—"
She had tried to get past Lucifer to reach Lilith again, but he had blocked her, grabbing her arms. Not with excessive force, but firmly.
"Eve, please," Lucifer had said, and there was genuine pleading in his voice. "Please, just... just give me a minute to understand what's happening. I need to talk to Lilith. I need to hear her version—"
"HER VERSION?!" Eve had struggled against his grip. "SHE ALREADY ADMITTED SHE DID IT! WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED TO HEAR?!"
"The details," Lucifer had said, and Eve saw how his gaze went to Lilith with something that looked almost like desperation. As if he were searching for some explanation that would make this less horrible than it sounded. "I need to know exactly what happened. Because if—if it's what I think—"
He had stopped, shaking his head. Eve could see how he avoided saying the name they were both thinking. Asmodeus.
"I was drunk," Lilith had suddenly said, her voice still tense but stronger now. "I don't remember everything. But I know that... I know what I did. And there's no excuse."
"No," Lucifer had agreed, his voice hardening, "there isn't."
But Eve could see the internal war in his eyes—the genuine anger mixing with loyalty to his wife, the shock clashing with the desire to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was a mess, and he clearly didn't know how to handle it.
"Lucifer, let me go," Eve had said with a cold voice. "Let me finish what I started."
"I can't do that," Lucifer had responded, though he sounded less certain now. "Eve, I understand your fury. Really. But killing her isn't going to—"
"It'll make me feel better!" Eve had spat.
Lucifer had held her, and Eve could feel how he trembled slightly—with anger, with nervousness, with the overwhelming pressure of a situation he clearly didn't know how to handle.
He had directed another look at Lilith—one full of conflicting emotions. Anger, yes. But also confusion. Disappointment. And an unspoken question that hung in the air between them.
"We're going to talk about this," Lucifer had finally said to Lilith, his voice tense. "You and I. We're going to have a long talk about what happened. And about..." he paused significantly, his eyes briefly going upward—toward where Asmodeus probably was at that moment, "...about everything else."
Lilith had nodded, and for the first time, a tear had escaped from her eye despite her efforts. She had wiped it away quickly, straightening her posture.
"Eve," Lucifer had said, turning his attention back to her, "I need you to leave. Please. I need time to process this, to understand what the hell is going on."
"Fine," Eve had said, her voice icy. "I'm leaving."
She had leaned closer to Lucifer, making sure he could see the sincerity in her eyes.
"But I want you to know something. If you forgive her for this—if you ever act like what she did was okay—then you're a monster too. And I'll never want to see you again."
Lucifer had held her gaze, and Eve saw something break in his eyes. "Understood."
He had released her then, stepping back with his hands still raised in that nervous placating gesture.
Eve had headed toward the door, but stopped just before leaving. She had turned toward Lucifer one last time.
And with all the force she could muster, she had given him a kick directly between the legs.
Lucifer—the king of hell, the most powerful fallen angel in creation—had doubled over with a sharp, surprised groan, falling to his knees as his hands flew instinctively to the affected area.
"That," Eve had said with a voice dripping venom, "is for not having the balls to find out the truth sooner. For letting me find out from a stranger in a bar. And for even thinking of giving her the benefit of the doubt after what she did."
She had left then, slamming the door behind her, leaving Lucifer on the floor gasping in pain and Lilith finally letting fall the tears she had been holding back, her mask of control finally shattered.
And she had kept her promise. She hadn't seen them since then, because she already knew the result of Lucifer's decision.
But she couldn't see Adam either. The shame was too much. Shame for abandoning him on earth. Shame for almost betraying him with his enemies. Shame for not having been there when he needed her most.
And the fear... the fear of seeing judgment in his eyes. The fear that he would hate her as much as she hated herself.
So she had hidden. In the Ring of Lust, of all ironies. Depressed and alone, trying to forget her entire past and trying to start a new life. God, she had tried to forget her entire shitty life and bad decisions. In a drunken state she slept with an incubus. He wasn't so bad, but he wasn't her Adam. She didn't drink alcohol after that.
Eve tried to form other romantic relationships, but they all ended in failure, how useless she was at forming a stable life. After a few years she ran into Cain, apparently a succubus had found him on earth. And they fell in love so he traveled to hell and stayed with her. Her son Cain had been calmer and more mature.
Cain asked her forgiveness on his knees. She didn't forgive him instantly, but Cain didn't insist on her forgiveness but gave her space. Still, after she accepted the forgiveness. Their relationship hadn't improved much.
A decade later. Coincidentally just when Cain's partner died of old age. Her daughter Aclima arrived in hell, through some information she found Cain's whereabouts. And stayed with him. Honestly Eve doesn't care about the reasons, love, brotherhood. She doesn't like her daughter, her behavior and other things, they soured her relationship with her. And therefore she couldn't improve her relationship with Cain... that and also that Cain looks a lot like his father physically (almost a physical copy, except for his eyes and the mark on his forehead). Better to keep her distance or she'll go crazy.
Anyway Eve doesn't care, to hell with them and their happiness. And it wasn't envy... no sir, it was just a brief disagreement.
Anyway, it was two months ago that she felt it, the bond had broken.
Eve ha felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. The primordial bond that connected her to Adam since her creation—that had persisted even through death, even through millennia of separation—simply... disappeared.
Adam was dead.
Permanently dead.
The devastation had been total. Eve had spent days locked in her apartment, unable to function, barely able to breathe.
He's gone. He's really gone. And I never had the chance to apologize. I never had the chance to tell him how sorry I am.
She spent two days trying to understand what had happened with Adam, that only after she had spent a week locked in her room getting drunk trying to die, but obviously failing.
After finding out what happened, she felt rage. Lucifer's damned daughter had made some kind of rebellion and it had gone so badly for the stupid girl that Lucifer intervened for her safety. And the comparison to when he stopped her from killing Lilith only fueled Eve's rage strongly.
So she went on to train her body, her desire for revenge boiled like a flame, but she couldn't do anything. With her deteriorated body, she hadn't done any training or exercise to maintain her body, fortunately as a sinner she didn't have to do much to avoid getting fat. God, that would be the worst thing that could happen to her.
So she trained all these days until today to recover her primordial body's shape. With Cain's help, though she asked him grudgingly and didn't beg, no sir. After all the mother of humanity doesn't beg... unless it's about Adam, of course.
But one day, specifically a few hours ago, the bond had returned.
Weak. Faint. But there.
Eve hadn't believed it at first. She thought she was hallucinating, that her pain had driven her mad.
But it was real. Adam was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he was alive.
And Eve had been gathering courage—trying to steel herself to search for him, to confront him, to finally say all the things she should have said millennia ago.
Just a little more, she had told herself. I just need to be a little stronger. I just need to find the right words.
But the right words never came. And now...
The pull on the bond was violent, painful. Eve dropped the brush, her hand flying to her chest as she gasped.
Something was wrong. Something was fundamentally wrong with the bond.
It felt... contaminated. As if something were trying to corrupt it, to twist it into something unnatural.
"Adam?" Eve whispered to the empty air. "What's happening to you?"
Then came the explosion of energy.
Eve was thrown backward, her easel toppling over, the canvas crashing to the floor. The painting—that image of Adam and her in their happiest moment—was smeared with the colors mixing into a gray mess.
But Eve barely noticed. She was overwhelmed by the wave of power flowing through the bond. Ancient power. Primordial. The kind that shouldn't exist.
And she recognized that feeling. She had experienced it herself millennia ago.
"No..." Eve gasped, tears beginning to fall. "No, Adam, no... what did you do?"
He had eaten the apple. It had to be that. It was the only explanation for that level of power, that specific energy signature.
Why? Why would you do it? You know what it does to you. You know the price...
The earthquake came moments later, less strong here in the Ring of Lust but still significant. Eve clung to the floor, her teeth chattering as the apartment shook.
But she didn't care about the earthquake. She only cared about the bond—that connection that was being twisted, changed, transformed into something she barely recognized.
She could feel Adam's agony through it. She could feel how his essence was being rewritten, how something fundamental inside him was being altered.
"Hold on," Eve whispered, as if he could hear her. "Please, hold on..."
When the earthquake finally ceased, Eve remained on the floor, breathing laboredly. The bond was still there, but it felt... different. Strange. As if Adam were the same person but completely changed at the same time.
And then, without warning, she felt an invisible hand grab the bond.
It wasn't Adam. It was something else. Something that shouldn't be able to touch that primordial connection.
"What—?" Eve began.
The hand squeezed.
And with a violence that made her scream, the bond was ripped out.
Not cleanly cut like when Adam had "died" the first time for a few moments. Destroyed. Torn from reality as if it had never existed.
Eve writhed on the floor, clutching her chest as she sobbed. The pain wasn't physical—it was existential. A part of her that had existed since her creation had been brutally removed. Eve grimaced from the agony she felt in her soul.
And then she heard the voice.
It wasn't external. It was directly in her mind, with the same violent intimacy with which it had destroyed the bond.
"Foolish coward."
The words dripped contempt, mockery. Eve shuddered as the presence—ancient, malevolent, completely inhuman—slowly withdrew.
But not without one last stab:
"You snooze, you lose what's most important."
And then silence.
Eve lay on the floor of her apartment, surrounded by ruined paintings and broken brushes, as she processed what had just happened.
Adam was alive. He had eaten the apple. He had transformed into something new.
And she had lost him. Because of her cowardice, because of her fear, because of her inability to simply go find him when she had the chance.
Now he belonged to... whatever that voice had been. That presence that could destroy primordial bonds as if they were threads.
Eve forced herself to stand. Her legs trembled. Her vision was blurred by tears.
But she had made a decision.
Being a coward wasn't an option. Not anymore.
If Adam was in trouble—if something had taken him, changed him, claimed him—then she would go find him.
It didn't matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter what she had done or failed to do. It didn't matter the fear or the shame.
He had chosen exile for her. He had shared her punishment when he didn't have to. He had remained by her side even when she had become a monster.
It was time for her to do the same for him.
Eve wiped the tears, squaring her shoulders. She approached her closet and took out the armor she had been designing—simple but functional, made of materials she had traded or stolen during her time in hell.
The angelic pistol she had obtained through careful contacts. The dagger she had forged herself.
It wasn't much. But it would have to be enough.
As she armed herself, Eve looked once more at the ruined canvas—that image of Adam and her in happier times, now stained and destroyed.
"I'm coming for you," she promised quietly. "This time, I'm coming for you. No matter what."
And with that, Eve opened the door of her apartment and stepped out into the chaos of hell, determined to find answers.
Determined to find Adam.
Before it was too late, but first she had to have a long talk with two of her children. The first murderer, and the first human to defect from heaven.
.
.
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