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Hawk and Gwen lay entwined on the couch.
They hadn't been cuddling long before Gwen felt Hawk's hands starting to wander. She opened her eyes, swatted his roaming paws away, and rose from the couch. Grabbing her latest biology journal, she shot Hawk a withering look before padding toward the study in her slippers.
Two months of costu seduction was plenty.
He wanted free extras on top of that?
Not happening.
Hawk watched Gwen climb the stairs without looking back. He smiled to himself, then withdrew his gaze.
The next second.
His consciousness descended into the Blazing Prison of his Underworld.
The Second Prison—Acid Rain Purgatory.
In an endless world where corrosive rain fell without cease—rain potent enough to eat through souls—the six-winged Archangel Michael had already been reduced to a bloody ss.
His body sizzled continuously under the acidic downpour.
The three pairs of magnificent wings on his back now resembled half-plucked chicken wings that had been tossed into a deep fryer...
Every ti Michael tried to use those wings to shield his flawless face from the corrosive rain, a crimson whip would crack across his body instantly, forcing an agonized scream from his lips.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"
"MOVE IT!"
The Blood Elf serving as the Second Prison's warden retracted his whip and barked at the screaming Michael.
As creatures native to the Underworld, Blood Elves were naturally immune to the acid rain here.
And throughout the other Prisons, other Blood Elf wardens were similarly driving the souls under their charge with tireless diligence.
Hawk appeared without warning.
The Blood Elf imdiately dropped to one knee.
"Hail, Lord of the Underworld!"
"Mm. Leave us."
"Yes, my Lord."
The Blood Elf rose, turned, and vanished from the Second Prison in a flash.
Apart from Kayla—the first female Blood Elf—and Kai—the first male Blood Elf—who called Hawk "Master," all other Blood Elves addressed him as Lord of the Underworld.
This was at Kayla and Kai's request.
After all, in Western culture, "Master" carried a more intimate connotation than formal titles.
Hawk couldn't be bothered to make a fuss about what they called him, so he'd let it stand.
The mont he appeared, the endless acid rain temporarily ceased.
But by now, Michael looked like an unplucked chicken that had been thrown straight into a deep fryer.
Hawk glanced at him. His eyes flashed crimson.
POP!
Michael died on the spot. When he respawned a mont later, he was fully restored.
"Much better. You were pretty ugly before."
"Heretic..."
Even in death. Even trapped in Hawk's Underworld. Michael maintained his Archangel's bearing, glaring at Hawk. "The Lord will judge you."
Hawk's expression was calm.
"Will he? I don't think he's qualified to judge ."
"The Lord is qualified to judge all living things."
"Is that so..." Hawk smiled at Michael. "Tell the coordinates of Heaven's dinsion. I'll go find Yahweh right now."
Michael said nothing.
Hawk snorted.
"See? You don't even have the guts to give Heaven's coordinates. All that talk about Yahweh being qualified to judge —you don't even believe it yourself."
"THE LORD WILL JUDGE YOU." Michael's expression didn't change. He stared coldly at Hawk, as if this was the only sentence he knew. "My faith in the Lord cannot be destroyed by any ans you possess. Even if you refine my soul, that will not change."
Hawk heard this. He looked at Michael and nodded.
"Fine. Then I won't refine your soul."
"..."
Michael's cold expression didn't waver, but his breathing hitched noticeably.
He probably thought he'd hidden it well.
But this was the Underworld. If Hawk wanted, no soul's slightest movent could escape his perception.
So—
A smile spread across Hawk's face as he looked at Michael. "Relax. It's not just you. Any angel soul that ends up here—I won't refine them either. Your only fate is to remain in this Prison, suffering endless tornt. Duration: ETERNITY."
Michael's expression shifted.
But at that mont, the endless torrential acid rain resud its assault. In an instant, Michael's face, arms, and wings were once again burned through and perforated. Another piercing scream tore from his throat.
The mont Michael instinctively crouched down—
The Blood Elf reappeared.
CRACK!
"Get up! Move it! Faster, bird-brain!"
CRACK!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"
Michael scread again. His eyes—now pierced through by acid rain and no longer pristine—still stared in the direction where Hawk had stood before his vision failed.
But Hawk was already gone.
He'd co here to see Michael for one reason only—to witness the Archangel's suffering.
Nothing more.
Hawk had no intention of making Michael submit. And even if Michael wanted to submit, Hawk wouldn't accept.
Religious fanatics were extre and twisted.
It was always holy war.
Most importantly, Michael seed determined to corrupt his Underworld. Given that, Hawk certainly wasn't going to let him get his wish.
Just as Hawk had said before leaving.
Michael had only one future—eternal suffering in the Acid Rain Purgatory.
...
That evening.
Hawk received a ssage from phisto. He glanced at Gwen beside him—wearing a white silk blouse, glasses, and teacher's outfit, breathing heavily—and smiled. After planting a kiss on her lips, he pulled on his sleepwear, tore open a dinsional rift, and entered the Hell dinsion once more.
What he saw:
Hell was still a wreck.
Having visited several tis now, Hawk navigated with practiced ease to Hell's little tavern.
phisto—playing bartender—welcod Hawk with a grin and invited him to sit. Then he put on a show of Hell-style mixology.
A mont later.
A glass of crimson bourbon whiskey slid across the bar toward Hawk.
"Angel blood added. Heated with Hellfire. Mixed with Earth's classic Thunder Bourbon. I call it the Angel Whiskey."
"Please—enjoy."
"..." Hawk heard phisto's introduction, then looked at the blood-red whiskey still flickering with Hellfire before him. The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked up at phisto.
phisto had already taken a sip and was watching him expectantly.
Hawk thought about it, then lifted the glass and took a sip.
The mont it hit his tongue—
Divine flavor exploded across his palate.
One word: Exquisite.
Hawk's eyes lit up. He drained the glass.
phisto roared with laughter and refilled it.
"How is it? Pretty good, right? Those bird-brains—say what you want about them, but as ingredients? They're a treasure trove. I kept over five hundred of them alive specifically for this. Oh, and have you tried roasted angel wings yet? I'll make you so later."
"..."
Hawk looked at phisto—crimson teeth bared, twisted smile, eyes burning with rage—and chuckled. "Now I'm absolutely sure you and Yahweh aren't allies."
phisto laughed heartily. "He and I were never on the sa side. I deceive people, sure. But I never play gas with faith."
Hawk nodded, accepting this.
When he really thought about it, La Magra's claim that phisto and Yahweh were partners had been paper-thin.
If you examined it closely, the lie was riddled with holes.
For instance—what were the odds?
phisto had more than one life-bearing planet supplying him with souls.
La Magra might have been weak, but he was still a Dinsion Lord. How convenient that he'd completely perished right after Deacon Frost died?
Too many coincidences stopped being coincidences. They beca preditation.
And there was another point.
phisto needed souls to sustain his existence.
Yahweh, on the other hand, was like the Celestials—created by them as a tool to accelerate the hatching of new Celestials.
That alone ant phisto and Yahweh could never coexist peacefully.
Good thing Hawk hadn't really believed La Magra anyway.
Just as he'd said at the ti.
phisto might not be a good person. But La Magra wasn't necessarily honest either.
Hawk shook his head with a wry internal laugh and accepted the refilled glass from phisto.
...
"How long until your injuries heal?"
"Already healed."
phisto puffed out his chest.
Hawk raised an eyebrow. His eyes flashed gold. As his gaze fell on phisto, it revealed the demon lord's true form.
Blood as red as magma still seeped continuously from phisto's demonic body.
The severed horn on his head was still bleeding too.
Hawk smiled wordlessly at phisto.
phisto opened his mouth, drained his glass, and took a deep breath.
"One year. Earth ti."
"This ti, that old bastard Yahweh caught off guard. He detonated all the angel souls he'd hidden in Hell, leaving critically wounded. I need at least a year of absorbing Hell's energy to recover."
Hawk recalled the devastated landscape he'd passed through on his way here. He nodded, looking at phisto.
"So you can't go to Earth to find that Hell Angel that's still developing?"
"Heh..." phisto shook his head with a bitter laugh. "That's what makes Yahweh so dangerous. Yes—if no one helps , I can only watch as that fully developed Hell Angel cos to challenge for dominion."
As he spoke, phisto's eyes burned with intensity, staring directly at Hawk.
The ssage was clear.
Brother—help out here.
Hawk t phisto's gaze. His mind turned. Then he drained his glass and looked at phisto.
"Relax. I'll help you."
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