Chapter 795: Does Lucy have a dad?
The chamber doors slammed shut behind the archangels with a deep, solemn sound, as if the architecture itself breathed a sigh of relief for a few seconds of silence. The vastness of the hall remained still around them, filled only with the soft glow of the runes that traced the mirrored floor and the luminous circles that slowly orbited above Metatron’s head. Without Michael growling, without Uriel threatening spontaneous combustion, and without Gabriel muttering administrative insults, the atmosphere immediately seemed more civilized.
Metatron observed the door for a moment, making sure they were truly alone. Then he turned his gaze to Vergil and Lucy, and a slight smile appeared on his serene face, the kind of expression of someone accustomed to dealing with absurd crises and who had already decided not to be easily impressed.
"There," he said calmly. "Now we can talk like rational beings."
Vergil remained standing, hands in his pockets, an impassive expression.
"You clearly overestimate me."
Metatron let out a brief, nasal laugh, as if he had expected something like this. Then, he elegantly raised his hand and pointed to a side area of the chamber, where previously there had been nothing but empty space. Reality folded silently, and a large sofa appeared out of nowhere, made of pearly white fabric with gold details, soft enough to seem offensively comfortable.
"Sit down."
Vergil stared at the newly materialized piece of furniture for two seconds.
"Interesting. You conjure furniture during negotiations."
"Comfort reduces hostility by forty-two percent," replied Metatron. "The statistics are consistent."
"You measure that?"
"I measure almost everything."
Lucy had already let go of Vergil’s hand and was staring at the sofa as if it were a newly discovered magical creature. She circled around it, touched the side with her fingertips, and then raised her face to Vergil.
"May I?"
Vergil inclined his head slightly toward her.
"Sit down."
Lucy nodded with all the seriousness in the world, as if she had just received permission to assume an important position. Then she climbed onto the sofa with a small push and immediately sank into the cushions, her eyes widening when she realized how soft it was.
"He hugged me!" she declared, shocked.
Metatron seemed pleased with the reaction.
"It was made for that."
Vergil finally walked to the sofa and sat at one end with an upright posture, crossing one leg over the other. Even on an absurdly comfortable celestial piece of furniture, he still seemed to be sitting on an invisible throne.
Metatron remained standing for a few more seconds, watching Lucy swing her little feet in the air as she sank into the cushions. Then, with a simple snap of his fingers, three new objects appeared on a small low table before her.
A thick coloring book, with a cover illustrated with smiling stars and animals.
A perfectly organized box of colored pencils. And a steaming mug of hot chocolate, whose sweet aroma immediately filled the room.
Lucy froze.
Her enormous eyes moved slowly from one item to another, as if unable to decide which marvel to process first. Then she turned her head to Vergil in a brusque movement and stared at him in absolute silence, clearly asking permission with all the force of her childlike soul.
Vergil looked at the table, then at Metatron, then at Lucy.
He nodded once.
The reaction was immediate.
Lucy let out a small, happy sound and lunged forward, clutching the coloring book to her chest before opening the first page with almost religious reverence. Then she pulled out the box of pencils, opened it with determined difficulty, and was even more delighted to see dozens of perfectly sharpened colors.
"There’s real blue..."
"There are several," said Metatron.
She gasped.
Vergil watched the scene from the side, without commenting, though the slightest relaxation in his expression betrayed silent approval.
Lucy then looked at the steaming mug.
"Is it hot?"
"At the perfect temperature," Metatron replied.
She stared at him for two seconds.
"You’re terrifying."
"I hear that often."
Lucy picked up the mug with both hands and took a careful sip. Her face lit up immediately.
"This is liquid happiness."
Metatron seemed to consider the phrase seriously.
"Acceptable definition."
Vergil rested his arm on the back of the sofa.
"You deal better with children than with archangels."
"Children are usually honest about what they want," replied Metatron. "Archangels prefer to turn everything into a hierarchical dispute."
"Fair enough."
Lucy was already coloring the first page with absolute concentration. She chose a smiling dragon and began to paint it pink, gold, and green all at once, completely indifferent to chromatic coherence.
Metatron glanced discreetly at the drawing.
"Bold choices."
"He’s magical," she explained without raising her head.
"Understandable."
Vergil turned his face to Metatron.
"If you try to disarm me using hospitality, know that I recognize the strategy."
"If I wanted to disarm you," Metatron replied calmly, "I would have started by preventing the flood."
Vergil smiled slightly.
"A better answer than I expected."
Metatron then materialized his own chair before them, tall and elegant, sitting down with impeccable composure. His long, light hair flowed over his shoulders like threads of light, and the halos behind his head rotated a few degrees, adjusting silently.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
Lucy colored.
Vergil watched.
Metatron analyzed.
It was, strangely, a peaceful moment.
Until Lucy raised her hand with a red pencil.
"Handsome young man."
Metatron blinked slowly.
"Yes?"
"If I paint your wing, will you shine brighter?"
Vergil closed his eyes for a second.
Metatron took a few moments to answer.
"Technically... maybe." Lucy grinned from ear to ear.
"I’ll try later."
Vergil opened his eyes again and stared at Metatron.
"Good luck."
Metatron sighed, but there was genuine amusement in his gaze now.
"I’m beginning to understand why you brought her."
Vergil leaned back slightly.
"I didn’t bring her for entertainment."
"No," said Metatron. "But she still improves the room."
Lucy held up the finished drawing.
"Look! I made the dragon happy!"
Vergil glanced briefly.
"He looks dangerous."
"That’s because he’s happy," she explained.
Metatron nodded slowly.
"Another acceptable definition."
Then the celestial scribe interlaced his fingers on his lap and turned his lilac eyes to Vergil, finally adopting a more serious tone.
"Now that your daughter is busy, we can address the real reason for your visit."
Lucy immediately raised her head.
"I am a daughter?"
Vergil was silent for a split second.
Metatron realized too late what he had said.
Lucy looked at Vergil with pure, devastating hope.
The entire chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Lucy hugged the coloring book to her chest as if she had just received the greatest treasure in all the worlds. Her little fingers were already holding several pencils at once, undecided whether to start with red, gold, or an absurdly bright blue that seemed to shimmer on its own. The hot chocolate released small spirals of fragrant steam before her, and the girl alternated her gaze between the mug and the blank pages with the gravity of someone facing extremely important choices.
Vergil observed the scene in silence for a few moments. Then he approached and placed his hand on her head, caressing her hair with a delicacy almost contradictory to the reputation he carried. Lucy leaned slightly toward his touch and lifted her face, waiting for confirmation of something she couldn’t even explain.
"Of course it is," he said, responding to the animated glint in her eyes as if he perfectly understood the unspoken question.
Lucy smiled contentedly and immediately began coloring a crooked creature that might be a horse, perhaps a cloud, perhaps both at the same time. Then she took a sip of her chocolate and let out a small, happy sound.
Vergil then looked up at Metatron.
"I think we should go somewhere more private."
Metatron observed the girl for a moment, making sure she was truly entertained and comfortable. Then he nodded without hesitation.
"I agree."
He raised two fingers.
The space around them didn’t break, didn’t shine, and didn’t produce any dramatic spectacle. It simply changed its mind. In the blink of an eye, the vast celestial chamber vanished and was replaced by an entirely white environment.
Not white like marble. Not white like snow. White as a concept.
There were no visible walls, no ceiling, no defined floor, although both remained standing on some perfectly stable surface. The horizon stretched infinitely in all directions, soft and silent. No shadows existed there. No echoes. No wind. It was like being inside a page yet unwritten.
Vergil narrowed his eyes for a second and then let out a brief sigh.
"You like drama."
"You flooded my main corridor," Metatron replied serenely. "Each one expresses their personality as they can."
Vergil almost smiled.
The two remained face to face in that impeccable emptiness. Without the archangels nearby, without the theatrical weight of the celestial hierarchies observing every word, the environment seemed strangely more honest.
Vergil crossed his arms.
"First of all... apologies for the deluge downstairs."
Metatron raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Surprising."
"Don’t misunderstand." Vergil maintained his calm tone. "The intention was to converse. But those three listen less than ancient stones. If they aren’t threatened, they ignore any civilized attempt at dialogue."
Metatron remained silent for a full second.
Then he nodded.
"I agree."
Vergil blinked slowly.
"You agree too quickly."
"Because you’re right." Metatron sighed, and for the first time seemed less like a sublime entity and more like someone tired of managing difficult geniuses. "Sometimes I even have to threaten them myself. Gabriel responds to logic, Uriel responds to frustration, and Michael responds to his own image. None of the three respond well to common sense."
Vergil let out a small noise that might have been laughter.
"Admirable sincerity." "It’s a privilege reserved for rooms without witnesses."
For a moment, they simply studied each other. There was something curious about that encounter: two beings too powerful for ordinary conversation, both accustomed to carrying enormous titles and even greater problems, speaking like men weary of cosmic bureaucracy.
Metatron then tilted his head slightly.
"Now tell me. What matter does the Demon King bring with him to the point of invading Eden accompanied by a child?"
Vergil didn’t answer immediately.
For the first time since arriving, his posture lost a fragment of its usual arrogance. Not enough to seem weak. Just enough to reveal that it mattered.
He looked at the emptiness around him as if organizing rarely verbalized thoughts.
"I want to speak with the Heavenly Father."
Metatron maintained a steady gaze.
"I understand that part."
Vergil breathed slowly.
"Because... I don’t know what that girl is."
The silence that followed seemed to alter the texture of the infinite white.
Metatron didn’t react with theatrical surprise. He didn’t widen his eyes, he didn’t immediately question. He just listened, with absolute attention.
Vergil continued.
"I know demons. I know hybrids, mutations, broken souls, flawed reincarnations, conscious curses, fragments of deities, and aberrations produced by evil magic." His voice remained steady. "I know laboratory-created monsters and saints who should have been imprisoned at birth."
Metatron almost smiled again.
"An impressive list."
"She doesn’t fit into any of them."
Vergil looked directly at him.
"Lucy doesn’t possess a coherent demonic signature. She doesn’t possess a recognizable angelic essence. She doesn’t react like an ordinary mortal. Her soul..." He paused briefly. "...doesn’t obey patterns."
"In what sense?"
"She exists in a flawed way." Vergil spoke without any cruelty, only with precision. "As if it had been assembled by incompatible laws and yet functioned perfectly."
Metatron closed his eyes for a moment, pondering.
"Continue."
"I don’t know if she has a soul, if she has power, if she has a race; she seems only like a body..."
