Chapter 14: The Pen Snatching
Agares was dreaming, he was acutely aware of it.
Dreams are illusions, neither real nor unreal, beyond his control.
The surroundings flickered, light and darkness intertwined, possessing a transcendent beauty for a demon.
Agares recognized his location.
This was the Great Cathedral, filled with the power of darkness, where he was first born.
He couldn't help but look up, just as the deity on the throne looked down at him. He couldn't see the deity's face, but judging from the direction of the hem of the deity's robes, he was watching them.
Realizing this, his heart pounded, an uncontrollable joy almost overflowing his throat.
He saw the god reach out his hand, the beautiful, slender fingertips seemingly gleaming.
Agares was bewitched; his toes involuntarily twitched, he wanted to walk in that direction, but he was a step too late.
Baal swept past him like a gust of wind, the towering demon resembling a frail wild beast, sheathing its sharp claws and rubbing its furry head against the god's palm.
The god was undoubtedly pleased, though only for a moment, gently stroking the pointed horns on Baal's head.
Until Baal defiantly licked the god's fingers, they were suddenly plunged into the dark abyss, and the god never glanced at the other demons again.
Hell was as fiery as the demons' hearts, and as cold as their blood. They were a race of evil; the peace of heaven did not belong to hell. There was no humility, no yielding, only endless ambition tearing at each other in the chilling wind.
They were born to revel in the thrill of slaughter, their desire to trample their comrades underfoot surpassing all else.
Like vile creatures writhing in mud, they were without order, without restraint, utterly irrational.
Occasionally, Agares would hear news from heaven, but he never ceased his expansionist advance, never even considering stopping to look up.
He would unify Hell, until the day all demons submitted…
He would become the most excellent demon.
In the final moments of his dream, he saw himself holding a golden pen, standing at the head of all demons.
"You did well, Agares," the light on the throne extended its hand.
This time, no one walked ahead of him.
What a ridiculous dream.
He opened his eyes, and a pair of hands remarkably similar to those in his dream lay across his chest. Instantly, his brownish-yellow pupils narrowed to slits like a lizard's. The chaotic dream vanished from his mind. He grabbed the newcomer's wrist, trying to pin him down, but somehow couldn't.
After a chaotic struggle in the air, he looked breathlessly at the thief he had forcibly dragged onto the bed. The other's breathing was steady, and his calm demeanor showed no sign of guilt at being caught stealing; rather, it seemed to mock him. Poor stamina had always been Agares's Achilles' heel, and now, with his power growing, it was even more easily exploited. "How dare you!" he roared, turning half of the thief's body to see his face clearly. The instant he saw it, his heart skipped a beat, and his grip loosened involuntarily.
The god didn't move. He was capable of breaking free of Agares's grip—if it truly was a grip—he worried that any sudden movement would break the demon's arm, bones and all.
Sensing the demon's sudden hesitation, the god didn't seem particularly concerned, nor did he feel caught red-handed.
He sat down casually. The demon beside him shuddered violently. He glanced at Agares; he was still dazed.
This wasn't hard to understand. Hell was dark, and holy light was incompatible with it. Therefore, he had merely cast a confusion spell on himself. The higher the level of the demon, the easier it was to break the spell, and thus, the easier it was to be affected.
The god reached into Agares's robes again. His target was clear: the troublesome pen.
His actions jolted Agares back to his senses. He snapped back to reality, his face darkening as he pulled the half-exposed pen from his robes and gripped it tightly in his hand.
"You—"
He paused, shifting his gaze from the other's face.
"You came for it?"
Noticing the other's unwavering eyes fixed on the pen, Agares' heart sank. Even though he had anticipated this day, he still felt a surge of anger at having his treasure coveted.
"You already knew? Or is it..." He was the original owner of this pen?
Agares gazed at the other's intricately patterned silver robe—a color only worn in Heaven. He pondered the other's rank, his heart churning with turbulent emotions.
Compared to the elf, this person before him, in both appearance and bearing, undoubtedly captivated him.
"It doesn't belong to you," the god stated bluntly. The golden pen gleamed, as if overjoyed at its reunion with its master. Agares, unaware of a pen's thoughts, only felt its warmth in his palm. It had never felt so excited in his hand before, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.
"I have it, it is mine." Only by possessing it could he realize his ambitions.
"Even if it will turn you to ashes?"
"You should have noticed," the god said, gazing at the golden pen, a shadow of an elf gradually forming in his eyes.
"Your body is more weary than ever before."
Agares remained silent. Indeed, as a demon, even though his strength was inferior to Baal's, he had never needed rest before, yet lately he had been constantly so.
"Its original owner refused to acknowledge your right to use it."
Therefore, each use of the pen severely depleted Agares's energy, preventing him from using it for long.
"It does not belong to you," the god reiterated, his gaze still fixed on the shadow of the elf.
The creation possessed form but lacked a soul, yet Allen's remnant consciousness still clung to the golden pen. It had no thought, no sense of good or evil, like a pure white speck, acting only according to its own whims.
It floated happily around the god, no longer caring for the bewildered enemies below. The god, exasperated by its entanglement, casually withdrew Allen's faint aura.
"So what! Come and take it back if you dare!"
Agares grinned coldly, his狰狞 (zhengning, meaning ferocious/hideous) face tinged with Baal's madness. With a 'I see through you' gaze, he condescendingly grasped the 'angel's' frail 'body,' which had nowhere to hide.
"If you could take it back, you wouldn't be wasting your breath on me."
The god was somewhat troubled. He had come down to resolve the problem of the golden pen, preferably quietly and discreetly.
However, the demon, seemingly driven to desperation by being kindly warned of the consequences, was instead ignited by a surge of bloodlust.
And...
Without the elf's restraint, the golden pen, now ownerless, could be used freely by Agares.
He couldn't tell him.
The god, restrained, thought to himself.
Agares would undoubtedly do it; the god knew every creation he had made.
As if seeing Agares's carefree gait, though inappropriate, a slow smile flickered in the god's eyes.
"Why are you smiling?" Agares, wary of any disturbance, was suddenly startled to see the other's lips curve into a smile, as if he were happy. That complete lack of awareness of danger was a blatant disregard for his authority. Agares should have been angry, but the words that came out were softer than even he himself.
This was an unusual angel.
He neither feared nor loathed him; in the context of the relationship between angels and demons, this was rare.
And he was very handsome.
This thought resurfaced in his mind.
He leaned down, his breath quickening as he looked at the serene angel.
"What's your name?"
The demon was greedy and unrestrained; to get them to give up, he needed even greater temptations and benefits.
If he could no longer use the golden pen, he needed a user of it.
The god met his gaze for a few breaths, then quietly looked away.
"You don't suit my taste," the god politely rejected the demon's offer.
Being rejected before even speaking, Agares was understandably exasperated.
"This isn't my true form!!" He was originally a handsome young demon, but his personality dictated that he often appeared in the form of an old man. Like the angel Gabriel choosing a female form, he believed that the form of an old man was more dignified and would help him gain the demon's trust.
The saying that angels are all attracted to good looks is no exaggeration!
Thinking this, Agares transformed, gradually changing from an aged demon into a silver-haired demon. The transformed demon was indeed incomparably beautiful.
God was silent for a moment, then conjured a mirror and handed it to him. The demon in the mirror appeared exceptionally old.
"This is the Mirror of Truth; nothing in the world can hide its true nature before it."
Agares was incredulous and vehemently denied it.
"Impossible! I could never look so ugly and old!"
Then he followed the angel's gaze and saw the pen in his hand.
The golden pen had drained his life force; Agares had never been so clearly aware of this.
(You provide the author Danmu's [Hebrew Mythology]: The arduous journey of a world's creation.)