CHAPTER 1356: WHO WILL LEAD?

...The ground still trembled from the aftershocks of the chaos that had swept the Underworld. Shattered spires and rivers of molten brimstone glowed faintly in the gloom, the realm itself seeming to bend beneath the weight of its new sovereign.

Lucifer stood motionless amidst the ruin, his presence alone enough to command silence from the legions that dared not even breathe in his shadow. His gaze was fixed far above, toward a place unseen, his voice dripping with both venom and longing as he spoke, "Next, we conquer Demeter."

At once, one of the angels at his side lowered herself to one knee. Seraphina—the now Bright Ash, his most loyal right hand—pressed her fist against the scorched earth, her golden hair glimmering with unholy black fire as she bowed her head.

All the fallen angels had risen in power, as a result of Lucifer’s rise. But his closest officers got the greatest boost.

Yet, none like Seraphina. She was now also close to joining him in becoming an Eveningstar in rank.

"But my Lord," she said softly, her voice carrying both reverence and hesitation, "your radiance already fills the cosmos. Do we truly require the crowning of so insignificant a plane as Demeter?"

Lucifer’s wicked gaze fell upon her, and though cruel, it held a rare fondness. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips, sharp and predatory.

"You misunderstand, Seraphina," he replied, voice resonating like velvet laced with steel. "The power of the Primary Planes is far beyond what even you imagine. Even now, I have yet to fully reclaim my Morningstar throne. And besides..." His grin widened, exposing the brilliance of his malice. "There are ants crawling on Demeter I intend to crush beneath my heel."

The glint in his eyes revealed that it was not mere conquest he desired—it was extermination, and a kind if revenge.

At once, Seraphina understood. Lenny had delayed his plans when he exploded Purgatory. Lucifer was a vengeful person. Such was his pride. Also, she could tell that lucifer indeed had plans for that place.

Her head lifted just slightly, her silver eyes alight with cruel devotion. "Then allow me to see it done, my lord. Give me this task, and I shall burn their skies myself."

But Lucifer shook his head slowly, his golden mane of hair rippling like a halo of fire. "No, Seraphina. You will come with me. If I step onto Demeter now, ’he’ will come. ’My brother.’ And I would have you by my side when he does. Besides, we are going for a more delicious meal. "

Her breath caught at the weight of his words, but she bowed deeper still, unquestioning.

Turning, her gaze fell upon two of their brethren waiting in silence. One was a towering figure whose form shifted like liquid smoke, features ever-changing, as though his body was made from shadow given breath. The other loomed faceless and vast, a titan with a blank void where visage should be, his very presence oppressive enough to fracture stone.

Seraphina’s command rang sharp and absolute: "Take your squads. Go forth, and serve our Lord’s will."

The two fallen angels pressed themselves low in a bow that rippled through the host behind them. Then, as their massive, night-dark wings spread wide, the air itself seemed to shatter. With a single thunderous beat, they ascended, flinging themselves into the sky with a speed that bent sound and shattered the light, streaks of black radiance cutting through the heavens toward Demeter.

The battlefield fell silent again—Lucifer’s smile the only light in the void.

---

The hall was unlike any other. Vast, gilded, and humming with power, yet no throne or chair existed within it. Instead, those gathered hovered in the air, their aura and strength alone keeping them steady.

Beneath them, suspended in a cage of shimmering arcane light, was a replica of a black hole. Its gravity churned and pulled at reality itself, a constant reminder of its threat.

It had been Kanada’s idea.

One of her personal treasures. The Prophet had decreed that only those strong enough to withstand its gravitational pull could take part in this meeting. The weak were unfit to be prime decision makers in the war to come.

And so, Vinegar, Lana, even Luca who was Lenny’s son had been excluded, unable to endure the crushing weight of the artifact.

The atmosphere in the chamber was thick, vibrating with unspoken tension. Here floated the crème of the crop—the great powers, rulers of worlds, arbiters of dimensions. Yet the question uncoiled like a serpent through every mind:

Who would lead them?

Eyes shifted, sharp as daggers, cold as steel, measuring one another in silence.

Perseus, arms folded tightly across his chest, did not hide where his gaze lingered. Athena. The woman in the gown of fire, hovering gracefully, and behind her—his breath nearly caught—the devil standing silent in her shadow. Hector. His old comrade, his betrayer, his ghost. How the two of them had survived, much less risen to become representatives of Hell itself, was a riddle Perseus could not unravel. Worse still, Athena carried herself without shame, boldly claiming to speak for Hell.

The silence cracked when Crusher, impatient as always, bellowed forward:

"There is no need for this!" His voice boomed, echoing against the star-forged walls. "Father Black, Regent of the Lenny family, shall take command of this war."

The declaration rang with finality, but almost immediately, Hector’s voice slithered into the chamber, deep and sharp like a blade across stone:

"I have not lived for thousands upon thousands of years," he said with contempt, "only to be commanded around by a mere child." His dark eyes drifted toward Father Black, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The insult was deliberate, the weight of centuries pressing it down.

Father Black’s face remained composed, the old man offering no retort as he enjoyed his cigar. His silence, however, spoke volumes.

Perseus, unable to hold his tongue, cut in. His voice carried a soldier’s edge, controlled yet venomous:

"And I doubt anyone here wishes to be led by Devils. If I am not mistaken, you were all part of the Satanic royal family once—cupbearers to Lucifer himself. What’s to stop you from delivering us straight into his hands, on a silver platter?"

The room stirred, currents of hostility rippling outward.

A goddess’s voice sliced through the rising murmurs. Demeter. Her radiance glowed brighter as her disgust rolled off her tongue:

"Even their stench is repulsive," she spat, her eyes flashing toward Athena and Hector. Then, turning toward Father Black, her tone softened, resolute. "My husband is fit to lead. None here bears more honor than he."

But before her words could cement, another voice rose, heavy with wisdom and storm. Odin.

The All-Father himself hovered with grim majesty, his ravens perched in the air about him, his one good eye glowing faintly beneath his hooded brow. His armor gleamed like burnished night, and in his hand rested Gungnir, the spear that never missed its mark.

The odin sleep that strengthened The Planet also did wonders for this god. Ss it was his power that primarily protected them for a hundred years, he was currently the most worshipped God. Even more than Demeter.

"Father Black," Odin said, his tone even but unshakable, "is indeed a capable man. Yet I find myself in agreement with the Devils." His single eye narrowed. "This war is larger than honor or heritage. It will demand brilliance beyond mortal and divine measure. And Father Black... is too young, too inexperienced for what is to come."

Demeter’s head snapped toward him, fury flaring in her divine aura. "Then who do you suggest, All-Father?"

Odin’s gaze shifted, piercing, falling on the calm figure of Kanada, the Prophet of Pepsodent.

"She," he declared, his voice echoing with the weight of inevitability. "The Prophet has walked the threads of fate longer than any of us. Kanada should lead."

The proclamation ignited the room.

"No!" Crusher roared, his hammer nearly trembling in his grip. His voice was sharp with mistrust, with anger. "I will not bow to one touched by the power of the Sisters of Fate. Their threads are poison. Nothing good comes from them!"

The chamber erupted into clamor. Voices rose, arguments crashing into one another like waves in a storm. Every faction pressed its claim, every god and being fought to plant their standard. Accusations flew. The weight of the black hole below seemed to twist tighter, mirroring the gravity of their discord.

The question that haunted them all now thundered louder than ever:

Who would lead them into war with Lucifer?