Chapter 824: Fallen Angels on the move.
Amon remained seated on the main throne of the lower hall, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair and his fingers slowly pressing against his temples. His expression was not exactly angry. Nor was it ordinary surprise. It looked like the face of someone who had just discovered that every political calculation built over centuries had been destroyed by a single person in less than one night.
Before him, Sepphirothy stood with her arms crossed, appearing far less concerned than the situation required. She had already explained what had happened in the Abyss, but Amon still seemed unable to accept the full scale of the problem. Five of the Seven Deadly Sins had been killed. Wrath had disappeared long ago without leaving a recognized successor, and Pride had officially remained dead since Lucifer’s fall. To any reasonable person, that meant a fundamental part of the infernal order had just collapsed.
Amon massaged his temples harder and breathed slowly before looking at Sepphirothy. "How did we get to this?" he asked, with the tired voice of someone who already knew the answer but still hoped to hear a less absurd explanation.
Sepphirothy merely shrugged. "They kidnapped Sapphire, imprisoned me, put Lilith in a coma, and tried to use the Horsemen of the Apocalypse in some stupid ritual. They deserved it."
Amon closed his eyes for an instant. "You speak as if that solves the political problem."
"It solved the Sin problem."
"It created several others."
She did not answer immediately. She simply continued watching him, showing no regret for what Vergil had done. In her view, the Sins had been given countless opportunities not to cross that line. They chose to cross it anyway. The outcome was their responsibility.
Amon let out a long sigh and allowed his hands to fall onto the arms of the throne. "Once the angels and fallen angels discover we no longer have any active Deadly Sins, they will interpret it as weakness. They may attack before the Underworld can reorganize its structure."
Sepphirothy tilted her head slightly. "I said the former wielders died. I did not say the Deadly Sins were extinct."
Amon’s expression tightened immediately. For several seconds, he simply stared at her, as if trying to decide whether he had heard correctly. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
Sepphirothy sighed, already realizing she would need to explain something she considered fairly simple. "Vergil kept all the Authorities."
The silence that followed was complete.
Amon did not move.
Sepphirothy continued, because his lack of reaction seemed to require clarification. "Lust, Greed, Envy, Gluttony, and Sloth. All of them were absorbed. Besides that, he also awakened the Authority of Wrath."
Amon’s eyes widened almost comically. "A-all of them?"
"All of those."
He leaned forward on the throne, completely forgetting his earlier exhaustion. "So Vergil possesses six Authorities of the Deadly Sins at the same time?"
"Yes."
Amon remained silent for several seconds, organizing the information in his mind. "Only Pride is missing."
Sepphirothy nodded. "Only Pride."
Amon relaxed slightly and exhaled like someone who had finally found a less problematic piece of information. "Right. Pride probably cannot return after Lucifer’s death. At least that means we will not have a complete gathering of all seven Authorities within the same bloodline."
Sepphirothy looked at him in silence.
Amon noticed.
His relief vanished immediately.
"What?"
"Pride is with Lucy."
Amon froze.
The sentence seemed far too simple to carry such an absurd consequence. He blinked once, then again, before asking with almost painful slowness, "The little girl?"
"Yes."
"The child who draws crowns on animals?"
"The very same."
"She has the Authority of Pride?"
"Vergil said her soul was formed from fragments of Lucifer’s soul. So technically, yes. Pride remains within her."
Amon went completely rigid.
For several seconds, the hall became so silent that the distant crackle of the wall flames seemed too loud. He looked at Sepphirothy, then at the empty space ahead, and finally sank into the throne. All the tension left his shoulders at once.
"So not only has Wrath returned," he murmured, almost speaking to himself. "We also still have Pride."
Sepphirothy nodded.
Amon sank farther into the chair, his face taking on an expression of absolute defeat. "That damned Vergil."
Sepphirothy raised an eyebrow.
"How does he get all the good things?" Amon asked, now genuinely offended by the cosmic distribution of advantages. "Authority of Death. Six Deadly Sins. A child carrying Pride. Sacred energy. Demonic energy. Angelic and demonic wings. A spectral dragon. And he still has enough time to maintain an absurd number of wives."
"Is that envy?" Sepphirothy asked, without hiding her slight amusement.
Amon pointed at her. "Do not make jokes about Sins right now."
"You started it."
He returned to massaging his forehead, trying to recover some level of rationality. "This changes everything. If the Authorities did not disappear, then the political balance still exists, but now it is concentrated in one person."
"And in a child."
"Do not make the sentence worse."
"I was not trying to."
Amon took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling of the hall. "The angels will find out. The fallen angels too. Neither side will ignore this. Everyone will want to confirm whether Vergil can use the Authorities or merely keeps them sealed."
Sepphirothy uncrossed her arms. "Then they should keep their distance."
"You know that will not happen."
"If they try to touch him or Lucy, they will probably die."
"That is exactly the kind of answer that turns diplomatic tension into war."
"It works."
Amon looked at her, but gave up on arguing before he even began. Some people simply could not understand politics without viewing it as an unnecessary stage before violence. Sepphirothy was one of them.
Far above the central regions of the Underworld, in a territory isolated from the demonic courts, a second conversation was taking place. The hall of the fallen angels had a different architecture from ordinary infernal grandeur. It was dark, functional, and built to convey discipline. There were no excessive ornaments, only pillars of black stone, narrow windows, and ancient symbols carved into the walls, records of wars that had never truly ended.
Azazel sat on an elevated chair at the back of the hall, silently watching the woman kneeling before him. His expression remained calm, but there was obvious seriousness in the way he kept his eyes fixed on her. Raynare kept her head lowered, one hand resting on her knee, awaiting orders with obedience that looked perfect only at first glance.
Azazel had already received enough information to understand the new situation. Five former Sin bearers were dead. The Authorities had not vanished. All of them had been absorbed by Vergil, together with the Authority of Wrath and the position of Horseman of Death. The conclusion was simple: ignoring him was no longer an option.
"I want you to approach Vergil," Azazel ordered.
Raynare slowly raised her face. Her eyes showed immediate interest, but she remained silent, waiting for the rest.
"Only approach him," he continued, emphasizing every word. "Observe. Speak with him. Find out how he intends to use the Authorities and what the internal situation of his territory is. Nothing beyond that."
Raynare tilted her head slightly. "Understood."
Azazel kept his eyes on her. "No assassination attempts."
"Naturally."
"No manipulation."
She did not answer immediately.
Azazel narrowed his eyes. "Raynare."
"No manipulation," she repeated.
"No provoking wives, relatives, subordinates, children, dragons, sentient swords, or any other creature connected to him."
The list seemed prepared in advance, and that did not go unnoticed.
Raynare gave a small smile. "Do you truly expect me to cause that many problems?"
"I expect you to cause more, which is why I am being specific."
She lowered her head again, pretending perfect submission. "Understood, my lord."
Azazel remained silent for a moment, studying her. There was something about Raynare that never allowed him to feel completely at ease. She was efficient, intelligent, and capable of performing delicate missions, but she also possessed a worrying tendency to confuse personal desire with strategic opportunity.
"If I learn that you tried anything against him," Azazel began, without raising his voice, "you will not need to worry about Vergil."
The pressure fell over Raynare instantly.
The air in the hall became heavy. Her wings contracted by reflex, and her entire body was pressed against the floor as though an invisible mountain had been placed across her shoulders. Azazel’s expression did not change, but the energy spread through the room made it clear the threat was not empty.
"I will deal with you myself," he concluded.
Raynare breathed with difficulty, keeping her head lowered. "Understood, my lord."
The pressure vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
She remained kneeling for several seconds, slowly regaining control of her breathing. When she finally raised her face, her expression looked obedient, but something was wrong in her eyes. It was not fear. Nor was it resentment.
It was excitement.
A quiet madness mixed with curiosity and a desire she did not even try to hide completely. Vergil’s name, the power he now possessed, and the stories of what he had done in the Abyss seemed to have produced in her exactly the effect Azazel feared.
Raynare brought one hand to her chest and smiled.
"I will only approach him," she said.
Azazel kept watching her.
He did not believe her for a single second.
"Leave."
Raynare stood and bowed respectfully before walking toward the exit. Her steps were calm, but the smile remained on her face as she crossed the dark corridor. In her mind, the order had already begun acquiring interpretations of its own.
Approach.
Observe.
Speak.
No assassination.
No manipulation.
She could obey.
Probably.
Behind her, Azazel remained seated, feeling a headache begin before the mission had even started.
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