CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER NO.23 NINE LEVELS OF HELL (FINAL)

[Location: Unknown Forest, First Hell]

[Zeraphira Baelgorath’s POV]

My name is Zeraphira, the first daughter of Amon—the Satan of Wrath.

That title should mean everything. It should place me above all others in the hierarchy of Hell, a living embodiment of fire, fury, and destruction. My father is the storm of molten rage that no one dares challenge, the furnace that consumes armies and kingdoms until they are nothing but ash. His will is law, his name a weapon, his fury a crown. And I, his daughter, should have been his legacy.

And yet—

And yet, I was born hollow.

A husk.

When others of Wrath’s bloodline manifested rivers of fire, I could summon nothing more than sparks that died before they touched the ground. Where my siblings roared and destroyed, I stumbled and faltered. No talent. No affinity. A reservoir of Demonic Energy so pitiful it was whispered about in court, the laughter hidden poorly behind sharpened teeth.

A disappointment.

A shame.

Even my father hated me.

He did not need to strike me or curse me. No. Wrath does not waste words or blows on the weak. His silence was worse. His indifference when the generals mocked me, his refusal to acknowledge my existence when others jeered, the way his eyes passed over me as though I were no more than smoke on the battlefield—that was enough.

I remember the exact moment his gaze slid away from me, never to return. That was the day I stopped being his daughter. That was the day I learned that in Wrath’s Circle, beauty is worthless, weakness is death, and I had no place.

But fate is crueler than my father’s flames.

Because where his eyes looked away—another’s eyes did not.

His eyes.

Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar.

He was everything I was not. No, more than that—he was everything no one else could ever be. Born with monstrous-grade affinity to all Seven Sins. A reservoir of Demonic Energy so vast that the combined might of the Seven Satans together still could not eclipse him. From the moment he drew breath, he was not just a prince—he was a god waiting to be crowned.

I remember it. The first time I saw him.

He was a boy then—small, fragile, no older than I. Yet even as a child, the world bent around him. The air seemed thicker, the shadows seemed deeper, the light itself seemed to bend, all because he was there. He walked into the grand hall of Wrath’s Palace like a lamb among wolves, and yet... none of us dared bare our fangs.

Because even then, we knew.

If even a single hair was harmed, then the combined might of Demon King Daemon and that of his wretched maid, Grayfia Lucifuge,

would befall Wrath’s Circle without hesitation. Even my father’s flames would have been dimmed beneath their wrath.

And so I watched him.

The lamb that was not a lamb. The child who did not need to roar because the world itself roared for him.

He spoke little, his voice quiet, almost soft, yet when he did, it was as if every word carried the weight of inevitability. His presence silenced the generals, cowed the nobles, and turned the laughter of children into hushed awe. I remember clutching my chest that day, not out of fear, but because something in me had shifted.

For the first time, Wrath did not feel like rage.For the first time, Wrath felt like longing.

I hated it. I needed it.

The boy whose veins carried the essence of all Seven Sins—the heir who should have ruled Hell with a hand stronger than even the Seven Satans themselves—looked at me. Just once.

And unlike my father, he did not look away.

He did not laugh.He did not dismiss.He simply saw me.

And that was enough.

I swore that day that I would burn everything—my blood, my weakness, my shame—until nothing remained but the fire he had awakened. Even if I was hollow, I would fill that hollow with him. Even if my flames were pitiful, I would stoke them with his name until they eclipsed even Wrath itself.

I became his betrothed soon after.

Not because of merit. Not because of my father. No—because it was arranged. All of us, useless daughters of the Seven Satans, were tied to him, bound in contract, made fiancées by decree. I could see the same look on their faces... the longing of being close to him... I could see the same love in their eyes, overflowing like a wound that would never heal.

The other daughters of the Satans. My rivals. My sisters in obsessed. My enemies.

They all looked at him the same way I did.

Like starving dogs before a feast. Like drowning sinners clawing for salvation.

Lilith’s legacy—their beloved Dominic—was the axis upon which all our worlds turned.

And yet... he never chose.

He never needed to.

Because for him, there was no need to lift his hand, no need to whisper his claim. He was already ours, and we were already his, bound by decree, bound by contract, bound by something far greater than words or blood.

We were promised. We were chained. We were his.

And I hated them for it.

The daughter of Lust, who dared to smile at him with lips dripping poison.

The daughter of Greed, whose eyes saw him not as love, but as treasure to hoard.

The daughter of Envy, who would rather see us all bleed than let him smile at another.

The daughter of Sloth, who hid her hunger behind languid eyes, as if her desire were less consuming.

The daughter of Pride, who thought herself his equal simply by existing.

And the daughter of Gluttony... that parasite who would devour him whole if given the chance.

Each of them loved him. Each of them longed for him. Each of them dreamed the same dream I did: to be his only.

But Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar... he is not a man that can be shared.

He is not a flame to be passed between hands. He is not a jewel to be traded. He is not a prize to be split.

He is dominion.He is the world.He is mine.

I knew it then. I know it now.

Even when the world betrayed him. Even when they whispered lies that sealed him away. Even when the courts turned silent, and his name was buried under chains and silence, I never forgot.

They called him gone. They called him dead. They called him lost.

But I felt him.

Every century that passed, I felt his heartbeat, faint but unyielding, buried under layers of silence and time. Every scream I released into the forests of First Hell, every body I tore apart, every flame I summoned—I did it to hear him echo back.

And today...

Today, he answered.

My Dominic breathes again.

The moment his name seared across my tongue, the world changed. The earth bent. The sky shuddered. The First Hell itself carved open beneath my halberd’s strike, because Wrath recognized its heir’s return.

Not my father.Not the Satans.But Dominic.

The others will feel it soon.

The fiancées. The rivals. The Satans themselves. They will all turn their eyes toward him once more. They will all stretch out their hands, baring teeth and claws, howling their devotion.

But I—I will reach him first.

I will tear open the Nine Levels of Hell, burn through every Circle, and carve a path to him with my halberd if I must. No father, no Satan, no rival, no god, no heaven, no hell will stand between us.

Because I remember what they do not.

I remember the way his eyes met mine.

The way he saw me when no one else did.

The way his silence was not indifference, but recognition.

He looked at me as though I was not hollow. As though I was not weak. As though I was not my father’s failure.

He looked at me as though I existed.

And for that... for that single moment... I became real.

Everything I am now—my strength, my fury, my fire—exists because he bestowed it on us.

He burned himself to give... to me.

To us.

To all of us who were chained to him, who clung to his name like addicts craving a poison we could not live without.

But unlike the others, I do not pretend it was fate.

It was him.

Dominic chose, even if no one else realised it. He chose the day he looked at me. He chose the day his gaze rested on mine—not the daughter of Wrath, not the disappointment, not the hollow failure, but Zeraphira.

And for that moment, the world made sense.

The others will scream that he belongs to them. They will drag their claws across each other’s throats, bleeding, tearing, killing to reach him. They will call him husband, saviour, king.

But I was chosen first.

Not by decree. Not by contract.

By his eyes.

By that quiet recognition that none of them ever earned.

And so, I will repay him the only way Wrath knows how.

With fire.With blood.With annihilation.

If the Nine Levels stand between us, I will carve them down until they are nothing but embers. If the Satans themselves reach for him, I will scatter their corpses across the ash. If the other daughters dare whisper his name, I will silence them with a halberd through their throats.

There is no kingdom. No father. No rival.

There is only Dominic.

So—

"SELENE!"

"HAI! Zera-chan~ you called?"

Selene appeared from the shadows like smoke curling from a dying fire, her black robes rustling softly against the scorched earth. Her eyes gleamed—not with fear, nor with awe, but with a gleeful anticipation that only a witch who knew the price of chaos could carry.

"HAI! Zera-chan~ you called?" she sang, her voice lilting, teasing, as if even the destruction around them were a playground.

A faint smile graced my lips. "Selene... I want his location—no matter the price."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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