Chapter Text
Jeonghan was seated in his study, the ambient light casting an eerie glow over the ancient texts and artifacts scattered around. He waited patiently for his general to return from his patrol of Earth and the borders of Hell. A knock echoed through the chamber, interrupting the silence.
"Enter," Jeonghan commanded.
A tall, lean figure stepped inside, dressed in attire similar to Mingyu and Minghao but adorned with the general's emblem. He bowed deeply before his ruler. "Sire, the newest recruits for Hell have all entered, and the borders are clear of any unwanted problems," he reported.
Jeonghan nodded in approval, his face void of any emotions. "Well done, Wonwoo."
Wonwoo straightened, his expression as stoic as Jeonghan's. "There is another matter that requires your attention, sire. The angel might need to be taken care of."
Jeonghan's curiosity was piqued. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes narrowing. "In what aspect do you think he should be taken care of, Wonwoo?"
Wonwoo met Jeonghan's gaze without flinching. "I paid a visit to the angel. He looks like he could die any second. I would recommend letting him be fed."
Jeonghan considered this, his expression unreadable. "Interesting," he mused. "Very well. Have the angel fed and tended to, but keep him under strict watch. I want to know everything about him. Dismissed."
Wonwoo bowed again, then left the study with swift, silent steps, leaving Jeonghan to ponder the implications of his newest prisoner and the potential he held.
----
Wonwoo and Minghao entered the dimly lit prison, carrying a tray of meager food. The air was heavy with a sense of foreboding as they approached Seungcheol's cell. Minghao deftly unlocked the door, and Wonwoo stepped inside, followed closely by Minghao.
Seungcheol lay still, appearing almost lifeless, his breathing shallow and ragged. Wonwoo, with a demeanor as cold as the dungeon itself, kicked Seungcheol's shin sharply, jolting him awake. Seungcheol's eyes fluttered open, meeting the gaze of Wonwoo, a new unfamiliar face whose expression was devoid of any warmth or compassion.
Minghao, meanwhile, began to untie one of Seungcheol's chains, pushing the tray of food towards him with a casual indifference. "Eat if you want to live," Minghao's voice was chillingly matter-of-fact, leaving no room for negotiation.
Seungcheol's body felt heavy and unresponsive, as if weighed down by invisible chains of despair. He tried to move, to reach for the food, but his muscles refused to obey, leaving him frustrated and helpless.
The new man spoke next, his deep voice sending shivers down Seungcheol's spine. "If you won't eat now, you won't be getting any more food," his tone was menacing, his words a reminder of Seungcheol's dire situation.
Desperation clawed at Seungcheol's chest as he attempted to muster the strength to move. But his body remained unyielding, as if frozen in place. Just as Minghao was about to kick the tray, Seungcheol managed to croak out, "Please don't, I'll e..eat," his voice barely audible, laced with fear and resignation.
Wonwoo, noticing something, touched Seungcheol's free hand, and to Seungcheol's surprise, his hand responded, allowing him to reach for the food. He ate hurriedly, his hunger driving him, while Wonwoo and Minghao watched, their expressions unreadable.
As Seungcheol neared the end of his meal, a surge of defiance welled up within him. He tried to grab the bowl to throw it at Minghao, but before he could, his hand froze again, reminding him of his captivity. Wonwoo warned him sternly, "Don't you even dare, angel," before rechaining him and leaving with Minghao, who cast a final, menacing glare at Seungcheol.
----
As Minghao and Wonwoo walked back from the prison, the dimly lit corridors echoing with the sounds of their footsteps, Minghao spoke up, breaking the silence. "Sire froze his sense of control, didn't he?" he remarked, glancing at Wonwoo for confirmation.
Wonwoo nodded thoughtfully. "It seems so. His lack of control could work in our favor," he replied, his voice low and calculating.
Minghao raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Wonwoo's implication. "You think it's necessary to exploit his weakness?" he inquired, curious about their leader's intentions.
"It's not necessary, but it's definitely advantageous," Wonwoo stated with a hint of satisfaction. "We'll keep a close watch on him. His powers may be suppressed for now, but we can't afford to underestimate him. He's still an angel, after all."
----
As the night dragged on, Seungcheol could only guess the time by the faint sense of exhaustion creeping over him. In the dark confines of his prison, there was no natural light to mark the passing hours, and in hell, where darkness was perpetual, time seemed to stretch endlessly.
He was keenly aware of his body's gradual weakening. Angels drew their strength from light, and without it, Seungcheol could feel his powers waning. His injured wing, in particular, was causing him considerable discomfort. If he didn't find a way to treat it soon, he feared he might lose it altogether.
Amidst his physical distress, thoughts of his comrades in heaven plagued his mind. Was Jun safe? What about Jisoo? The uncertainty gnawed at him, adding to his sense of helplessness in the bleak darkness of his cell.
----
The ruler of the underworld stood at the highest balcony of the palace, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. His eyes, a striking shade of gold, betrayed no emotion as he surveyed his domain. Mingyu stood a few steps behind him, hands clasped behind his back, waiting silently.
Without turning, Jeonghan spoke, his voice cutting through the stillness, "Do you think, Mingyu, that the angel falling into hell was a mere coincidence?" His tone was grave, cold, carrying a weight of significance. Jeonghan's question lingered in the air, the city below seemingly holding its breath in anticipation of Mingyu's response.
"I know you're aware, sire, that it's not a coincidence. I also believe he knows something about this," Mingyu replied calmly.
"I know that, and I trust he will tell us when the time is right," Jeonghan responded calmly. Mingyu nodded in agreement.
After a little more monitoring, Jeonghan turned from the balcony and said, "I want to pay a visit to the angel."
Jeonghan and Mingyu made their way through the dimly lit corridors of the prison, the air heavy with the scent of damp stone and decay. As they entered the cold, dark cell where Seungcheol was held, they saw him lying unconscious on the floor. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows around the room, emphasizing the angel's weakened state.
Mingyu knelt down beside Seungcheol, gently lifting one of his limp hands. "Sire, the angel is too weak," he observed, his voice filled with concern. "He may not survive much longer if we keep him here."
Jeonghan studied Seungcheol's face, his expression unreadable. He then reached out and touched the angel's broken wing, his fingers tracing the delicate feathers. "We could just let him die," Jeonghan murmured, his voice echoing in the cold, damp cell. "But something tells me that it's not an option right now."
He stood up and turned to Mingyu. "Prepare a chamber for him," Jeonghan ordered. "Where he can rest and recover. But make no mistake, Mingyu, he is still our prisoner."
With that, Satan turned and left the cell, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked away, leaving Mingyu to attend to the unconscious angel. Mingyu stayed for a moment, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol's still form before signaling to Minghao with a brief mental command, he ordered the chamber prepared and unlocked the chains.
With a flicker of power, Mingyu conjured a small, flickering flame that danced dangerously close to Seungcheol's fingers, causing him to jolt awake with a gasp of pain. Seungcheol's eyes snapped open, wide with confusion and fear as he realized he was being dragged to his feet. Mingyu's grip was firm and unyielding, his movements rough and urgent as he propelled Seungcheol forward.
In a flash, Mingyu teleported them to the chambers Minghao had readied. The room was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was heavy with a mix of anticipation and dread as Minghao stood waiting, his expression unreadable.
After depositing Seungcheol into the luxurious chamber, Minghao chained one of his ankles, allowing him to walk around freely within the confines of the room. Despite this freedom, Seungcheol was still bound by the chains, a reminder of his captivity. Minghao and Mingyu then left, locking the door behind them, leaving Seungcheol alone in the opulent but isolated chamber.
Seungcheol took a moment to observe his surroundings. The chamber was unlike anything he had seen in heaven. It was adorned with lavish furnishings, intricate tapestries, and soft, inviting colors. The contrast between the luxury of the room and the reality of his situation was stark, leaving Seungcheol with a sense of unease.
As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, Seungcheol suddenly felt a faint voice calling out to him. It was barely audible, almost like a whisper in the wind. He strained to hear, unsure if it was real or just a trick of his mind in this unfamiliar place.
The voice was finally a little louder, though it still sounded like a whisper. It seemed to be coming from inside his head. "Hyung, Seungcheol, hyung, are you there? Can you hear me?" It was a familiar voice. Wait, was it Jun? Seungcheol replied quickly, "I can hear you, Jun," but suddenly, the voice cut off.
But how was Jun able to talk to him through his mind? Only people with dark magic could do it. Seungcheol was puzzled and worried about what this could mean.
Hours later Seungcheol sat perched upon the cushioned window seat, his gaze fixated on the tumultuous cityscape outside. The scene before him was a canvas of chaos—buildings engulfed in flames, grotesque figures locked in fierce combat, and an ominous sky devoid of any celestial bodies, shrouded in an inky darkness that seemed to swallow the very essence of light.
Lost in his contemplation of the grim tableau unfolding beyond the confines of his chamber, Seungcheol was abruptly drawn back to reality as the heavy door swung open with a creak. In strode Satan himself, his imposing figure casting a foreboding shadow across the room. The door closed behind him with a resounding thud, the lock clicking into place with finality.
Jeonghan walked towards Seungcheol, his presence commanding the room. Seungcheol, head bowed in a show of submission, dared not meet his gaze. Sensing Seungcheol's reluctance, Jeonghan's voice sliced through the air like a blade.
"Eyes up here, angel," Jeonghan commanded, his tone cutting and authoritative.
Reluctantly, Seungcheol lifted his head to meet Jeonghan's steely gaze. Defiance flickered in Seungcheol's eyes as he mustered the courage to speak.
"My name is Seungcheol, not angel," he declared, a hint of defiance lacing his words.
Jeonghan, undeterred, leaned in closer, invading Seungcheol's personal space. His voice was a menacing whisper, dripping with malice.
"I will call you whatever I want, angel," Jeonghan spat, his words laced with a chilling finality.
