(Author note: 10k words this chapter, what can I say, I got very invested in this idea, and I love writing Heaven and Hell, since there is just so much to write from it, a bottomless well of story.
Do please review the fic if you haven't, since I put quite the effort into this. Hope you all like it!)
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Betty's POV:
(Betty appearance, picture here)
I remember dying. The pain of the ritual knife.
The betrayal in the cult leader's eyes when I questioned why we needed a sacrifice. The cold floor against my back as my blood pooled beneath me.
I remember the darkness afterward. The confusion. The grief. The anger. Wandering Gotham's streets as a spirit, unable to touch, to feel, to matter.
And I remember him. The beautiful man with eyes that burned like hellfire. The one who offered me a choice: stay in Gotham's haunted streets or take my chances with Heaven.
"Up," I had said, so certain. "Even if they kick me out... can't be worse than here, right?"
I was wrong.
The ascent was beautiful. Weightless, I drifted through layers of reality, each one brighter than the last. The golden clouds of Heaven grew closer, their radiance washing away the grime of Gotham that had clung to my spirit.
At the gates stood an angel - Bartholomew, I would later learn his name - his wings folded neatly behind him, his face a mask of perfect beauty unmarred by emotion.
"Betty Ramirez," he intoned, consulting a ledger that materialized in his hands. "Waitress. Age at death: thirty-two. Cause of death: ritual sacrifice."
His eyes, cold as distant stars, lifted to mine. "Participant in demon worship. Assisted in summoning rituals. Channeled infernal energies."
"I didn't know," I protested, my voice small in the vastness of eternity. "They said it was just meditation at first. By the time I realized-"
"Ignorance does not absolve," Bartholomew cut me off. "The taint of Hell is upon your soul."
"But I chose Heaven," I whispered. "I was given a choice, and I chose to come here."
Something like amusement flickered across his perfect features. "You were not his to send. The arrogance of whoever it was, to presume judgment."
Before I could ask what he meant, who he was talking about, Bartholomew raised his hand. "Betty Ramirez, you are denied entry to the Kingdom of Heaven. Your soul is unworthy."
"Please," I begged, reaching toward him. "I'll do anything. I'll atone. Just don't send me back there."
His expression never changed. "The decision is made."
With a gesture so casual it might have been swatting a fly, he pushed me backward. I felt the golden light recede, felt myself falling, tumbling through layers of reality once more.
But this time, I fell downward.
And I burned.
Imagine your skin being flayed one cell at a time. Imagine your bones cracking from pressure, your lungs filling with fire instead of air. Imagine screaming until your vocal cords shred, then healing just enough to scream again.
That was the Fall.
I don't know how long it lasted. Time loses meaning when every moment is agony. I only know that eventually, mercifully, it ended.
I crashed into something hard and hot - the ground of Hell, I presumed. The impact should have shattered me, but spirits don't break like bodies do. We just... continue.
I lay there, unmoving, waiting for demons to find me. To drag me to whatever torment awaited souls rejected by Heaven. Instead, I heard... scurrying. Whispers. Fear.
"She glows!"
"Don't touch it!"
"Run, you fools!"
"The light burns!"
Confused, I forced myself to move. Every motion was agony - my spirit bore the wounds of my Fall, third-degree burns covering what had once been my form.
I crawled toward the sound of bubbling liquid, hoping for water, finding instead a pool of something dark and viscous that boiled without heat.
I peered into its surface, seeking my reflection.
What I saw stole what little breath remained in my non-existent lungs.
My face was a ruin - scarred, burned, barely recognizable as human. My body, naked and vulnerable, bore the marks of my rejection and Fall.
But surrounding me, emanating from within me, was a light. Pure white, beautiful, it pulsed gently like a heartbeat.
The moment I recognized it - this gift, this protection - something changed. The light responded, growing brighter, drawing from my gratitude, my wonder.
It enveloped me completely, a cocoon of radiance that soothed my burns, knit my spirit back together, restored what had been broken.
The pain receded. My black hair regained its luster, falling in waves past my shoulders. My eyes, once dull with suffering, sparkled with new life. Even my nakedness was covered as the light condensed into a flowing white dress that moved like liquid moonlight.
I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my restored face.
"Thank you," I whispered, though I didn't know who I was thanking. The angel who had sent me upward? Some merciful god who hadn't abandoned me completely?
For a moment, anger flared - why send me to Heaven if I would only be rejected? But the thought dissolved almost instantly.
Deep down, I knew the beautiful man with hellfire eyes had given me exactly what he promised: a chance. That Heaven had rejected me was my fault, not his.
And now, somehow, I still carried his light with me.
I rose to my feet, steady for the first time since my Fall.
Around me, Hell stretched in all directions - a landscape of fire and shadow, of twisted rock formations and rivers of lava. In the distance, I could make out structures: fortresses, towers, dungeons.
And everywhere I looked, demons scattered from my path.
The first time a demon tried to touch me, I learned the true power of the light.
It was a lesser creature, more animal than sentient, with too many limbs and too few eyes. It slithered from behind a boulder, hissing something unintelligible as it reached for my ankle.
The moment its clawed appendage entered the radius of my light, it burst into flame - not the ordinary fire of Hell, but white, purifying fire that consumed it from within.
It didn't even have time to scream before it was reduced to ash.
After that, most demons gave me a wide berth. They watched from shadows, from crevices, from behind rocks and pillars of flame, but they didn't approach.
Until some began to follow.
I noticed the first one about what felt like a day into my journey through Hell (though time moves strangely here).
A small, twisted thing with the upper body of a child and the lower body of a spider, it kept a careful distance but never fell behind.
"What do you want?" I finally asked, turning to face it.
The demon prostrated itself immediately, pressing its misshapen face to the scorched ground. "L-l-light," it stuttered, its voice like gravel in a garbage disposal. "P-p-pretty light. Safe near light."
I stared at it, baffled. "You want... protection?"
"Y-y-yes, m-mistress," it chittered. "D-d-demons hunt d-d-demons here. Light k-k-keeps safe."
I should have been repulsed. This was a demon, a creature of evil. But something in its pathetic groveling stirred pity in me. "Fine," I said. "But keep your distance. And don't call me mistress."
It bobbed what passed for its head in eager agreement. "W-w-what call?"
I hesitated. "Betty. My name is Betty."
"B-b-betty," it repeated, the name sounding strange in its inhuman mouth. "B-b-betty nice. B-b-betty s-s-safe."
By the end of what felt like a week, I had accumulated a following of seventeen lesser demons, all keeping a respectful distance, all seeking the protection of my light.
I tried to ignore them, to focus on my own journey, but their constant presence was impossible to dismiss.
"Where are we going, B-b-betty?" the spider-child asked one day, scuttling alongside me at the edge of my light's radius.
I paused, realizing I had no destination in mind. I had simply been walking, putting distance between myself and the place of my Fall.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Away. Somewhere... better than here."
A different demon - this one resembling a emaciated human with backwards knees and too many fingers - cackled. "No better in Hell, pretty light-lady," it said, its voice surprisingly melodious despite its appearance. "Only different kinds of worse."
"Then I'll find the least worse place," I said firmly.
The demons exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.
"The Borderlands," suggested a third demon, this one little more than a floating skull wreathed in green flame. "Where Hell touches the mortal realm. Thinner walls there. Easier passage."
"You could return," the melodious demon added. "To the living world. With your light."
The thought hadn't occurred to me. Could I go back? Not as a human - I was dead, after all - but as something else? A spirit with purpose instead of a wandering ghost?
"How do I find these Borderlands?" I asked.
The floating skull bobbed in what might have been excitement. "Follow the River of Lament upstream. Past the Fortress of Thorns. Through the Valley of Shattered Hopes. To the Gray Mountains. There, the walls between worlds grow thin."
It sounded like a perilous journey, but what choice did I have? Stay in Hell forever? Accept whatever torment awaited rejected souls?
"Then that's where we're going," I declared.
The demons murmured among themselves, a mixture of excitement and fear rippling through their ranks.
More joined us as we traveled - outcasts, misfits, lesser demons seeking protection from greater ones. By the time we reached the River of Lament, my followers numbered nearly fifty.
The River of Lament lived up to its name.
Its waters - if they could be called that - were formed from the compressed tears of the damned, flowing thick and gray between banks of obsidian glass.
The air above it shimmered with the whispered regrets of countless souls.
"Must cross," the spider-child informed me, pointing with one spindly limb to the far shore where the path continued.
I approached the water's edge cautiously. "Is it safe to touch?"
A new demon - one who had joined us only hours before, with the upper body of a beautiful woman and the lower body of a centipede - laughed bitterly. "Nothing in Hell is safe, Beloved."
"Beloved?" I repeated, confused by the title.
The demoness bowed her head, her perfect features arranged in reverence. "That is what they call you now, in the whispers that travel through the circles. The Beloved of Hell, who carries the light that does not burn her."
I frowned. "I'm not beloved by Hell. I'm just... passing through."
"Nevertheless," she insisted, "that is your title now. And as for the river, it will not harm you physically. But to touch its waters is to experience the sorrows of all who have contributed to it."
I looked at the gray, viscous flow with new wariness. "Then how do we cross?"
The demoness smiled, revealing teeth too sharp for her human face. "I can help with that. For a price."
"What price?" I asked, instantly suspicious.
"Allow me to touch your light," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Just for a moment. I wish to feel... purity... again."
I hesitated. The light had burned demons who tried to touch me before. But this one asked permission, and something in her eyes - a desperate longing - moved me.
"Very well," I said. "But if you try anything-"
"I would not dare," she assured me. "The Beloved's protection is sacred."
Slowly, I extended my hand toward her. The light around me rippled, extending slightly to accommodate the gesture. The demoness reached out with trembling fingers, her expression a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
When our fingertips met, she gasped - not in pain, but in what sounded like ecstasy. The light flowed over her hand, up her arm, briefly illuminating her from within. Tears of blood streamed down her perfect face.
"Beautiful," she whispered. "I had forgotten."
After a moment, she withdrew her hand, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Beloved. Now, I shall repay your generosity."
She turned to the river and began to sing - a haunting melody in a language I didn't recognize but somehow understood.
The waters of the River of Lament responded, parting to reveal a pathway of dry riverbed.
"Quickly," she urged. "It will not hold for long."
My followers and I hurried across, the waters trembling on either side as if eager to collapse back and engulf us. We had barely reached the far shore when the demoness's song ended and the river crashed back together.
She smiled at me from the opposite bank. "Farewell, Beloved. May your light never dim."
"Wait!" I called. "Aren't you coming with us?"
She shook her head. "My debt is paid. And I have tasted purity again - that is enough for me."
Before I could protest, she turned and disappeared into the twisted landscape, leaving me with one fewer ally but a new title I hadn't asked for: the Beloved of Hell.
The Fortress of Thorns loomed before us, a massive structure that seemed to have grown rather than been built.
Its walls were formed from interlocking thorns, each one the size of a telephone pole and sharp enough to pierce stone. No gate or entrance was visible.
"Bad place," the spider-child whispered, cowering behind me. "Very bad demons inside."
"What kind of demons?" I asked.
A different follower answered - this one resembling a gaunt human male with skin like cracked leather and eyes that leaked yellow fluid. "Pride demons," he said, his voice cultured and precise despite his grotesque appearance.
"The aristocracy of suffering. They collect souls of particular value and torment them with exquisite care."
"How do we get past?" I asked, studying the fortress.
"We don't," the leather-skinned demon replied. "We go around. Far around."
But as we began to skirt the edge of the fortress, keeping a healthy distance from its thorny walls, a commotion erupted ahead.
Demons - larger, more powerful than my followers - poured from a hidden entrance, dragging something between them.
A soul. A human soul, still bearing the semblance of the man it had once been. Middle-aged, balding, dressed in what remained of an expensive suit. He struggled against his captors, his face contorted in terror.
"Please!" he begged. "There's been a mistake! I don't belong here! I was a good person!"
The demons laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "A good person?" one mocked, its voice oily and thick. "Is that what you tell yourself, Harold? Shall we list your sins?"
"The embezzlement?" another suggested. "The families ruined by your greed?"
"The secretary you pressured into your bed, then fired when she became inconvenient?" a third added.
"The homeless man you struck with your car and left to die because you were late for dinner?" a fourth hissed.
The soul - Harold - crumpled, his denials fading into sobs. "I didn't mean... I never thought..."
"They never do," the first demon said dismissively. "Bring him inside. Lord Malphas will want to begin the preparations immediately."
Something in me twisted at the sight. Yes, Harold had clearly been a terrible person in life. But the thought of an eternity of torture, of whatever "preparations" awaited him inside that fortress...
This Hell was just wrong, demons shouldn't be able to enjoy inflicting pain - a demon was the reason I was here in the first place after all - they should be in pain too forever with everyone, I won't let them have the joy of torturing another.
Before I could reconsider, I stepped forward, my light blazing around me. "Stop."
The demons froze, their heads swiveling in unison to stare at me. Behind me, my followers whimpered in fear, several slinking away into the shadows.
"What is this?" the lead demon demanded, its multiple eyes narrowing. "Who dares interfere with the business of the Fortress of Thorns?"
I lifted my chin, drawing on a confidence I didn't entirely feel. "I am Betty," I said, then added, remembering the demoness's words, "The Beloved of Hell."
The demons exchanged glances, confusion evident in their twisted features. The lead demon stepped forward, its form rippling as it grew larger, more threatening.
"I know of no 'Beloved,'" it snarled. "But I know an escaped soul when I see one. You should be in torment, not wandering free."
It reached for me, claws extended. The moment they entered my light, they burst into white flame. The demon shrieked, recoiling, its arm burning up to the elbow before it managed to pull away.
"What sorcery is this?" it howled, clutching its smoldering limb.
The other demons backed away, dragging Harold with them. But now they looked at me with something new in their eyes: fear.
"Release him," I commanded, gesturing to Harold. "He comes with me now."
"Impossible," the lead demon spat, though it kept its distance. "This soul is claimed by Lord Malphas. The contract is binding."
"Then Lord Malphas can take it up with me," I replied, stepping closer. My light flared brighter, responding to my determination.
The demons retreated further, hissing among themselves. Finally, the lead demon snarled, "Take him then, 'Beloved.' But know that you have made an enemy this day. Lord Malphas does not forget, nor does he forgive."
They released Harold, shoving him toward me before slinking back toward the fortress. Harold stumbled forward, falling to his knees at the edge of my light.
"Thank you," he gasped, looking up at me with desperate gratitude. "Thank you, thank you."
I reached down, helping him to his feet. "Don't thank me yet," I said. "We still have to get out of here."
We continued our journey, now with Harold in tow. He stayed close to me, within the protective radius of my light, his eyes constantly darting around in fear.
"What is this place?" he asked as we put distance between ourselves and the Fortress of Thorns. "Is this... am I in Hell?"
"Yes," I replied simply.
He was quiet for a long moment. "So I really was a bad person."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Sounds like it."
"And you? Are you an angel?"
I laughed, the sound strange in the hellish landscape. "No. Just another soul. But I have... protection."
"The light," he said, gesturing to the glow that surrounded me. "It saved me."
"It saved us both," I corrected.
As we walked, more souls joined us - those who had escaped their torments or had yet to be assigned them, wandering the wastelands of Hell in search of respite.
They flocked to my light like moths to a flame, desperate for the protection it offered.
By the time we reached the Valley of Shattered Hopes, my followers included not just demons but dozens of human souls, all looking to me for guidance, for safety, for purpose.
I had become, without intending to, a leader.
The Valley of Shattered Hopes was aptly named.
The ground was littered with crystalline fragments that, when touched, whispered the broken dreams of those who had died with unfulfilled ambitions.
The air itself seemed heavy with disappointment, pressing down on us as we made our way through the narrow passage.
My followers had grown quieter, more subdued, as the valley's influence seeped into their spirits. Even my light seemed slightly dimmed, though it still provided protection.
"How much farther to the Gray Mountains?" I asked the leather-skinned demon, who had become something of an advisor due to his knowledge of Hell's geography.
"Not far now, Beloved," he replied, his cultured voice a contrast to his hideous appearance. "But I must warn you - the approaches to the Borderlands are guarded."
"By what?" I asked.
"Not what, but whom," he corrected. "The Knights of Hell patrol the boundaries between realms. They answer directly to Lucifer himself - or did, before he abandoned his throne."
I frowned. "Lucifer is gone?"
The demon nodded. "Departed for the mortal realm some couple years ago by your reckoning of time. Left Hell to govern itself." His yellow eyes narrowed. "It has not gone well."
"Civil war," added another demon, this one a hunched, frog-like creature with too many teeth. "Power vacuum. Every lord and prince scrambling for control."
"Which is why we've been able to travel this far without greater interference," the leather-skinned demon concluded.
"The higher powers are too busy fighting each other to bother with a group of outcasts. But the Knights are different. They remain loyal to their oaths, even in Lucifer's absence."
I considered this information. "Will they attack us?"
"Not attack, necessarily," he replied. "But they will question. Investigate. Determine if we pose a threat to the established order - what remains of it."
"And if they decide we do?"
He didn't answer directly. "Your light provides significant protection, Beloved. But the Knights are not ordinary demons. They were hand-selected by Lucifer, empowered by his will. They are... formidable."
A chill ran through me despite the oppressive heat of Hell. "Then we'll have to be careful."
We continued through the valley, the whispers of shattered hopes growing louder as we progressed.
Some of the human souls in our group began to weep, overcome by the ambient despair. I moved among them, offering what comfort I could, allowing them to touch my light briefly to regain their strength.
It was during one such moment, as I held the hand of a young woman who had died in childbirth, that we heard it - the sound of hoofbeats, rhythmic and purposeful, approaching from ahead.
My followers scattered, seeking whatever meager cover the valley provided.
Only a few remained near me - the leather-skinned demon, the spider-child, and Harold, who had become something of a personal assistant.
Around a bend in the valley came a rider on a skeletal horse.
Both mount and rider were imposing - the horse stood taller than any earthly steed, its bones gleaming with an inner fire, its eye sockets burning with crimson light.
The rider was even more impressive, clad in black armor that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. A full helmet concealed their face, its design reminiscent of a skull.
The rider drew rein before us, the skeletal horse pawing at the crystalline ground with impatience. For a long moment, silence stretched between us.
Then, in a voice deep as a tomb and cold as the void, the rider spoke: "Are you the one they call the Beloved of Hell?"
I straightened my spine, drawing on courage I wasn't sure I possessed. "Some call me that. I'm Betty."
The rider dismounted in a fluid motion, revealing a towering height - at least seven feet tall. Standing before me, the armored figure was even more intimidating.
"I am Abaddon," the knight said, the name reverberating with ancient power. "One of the Twelve, hand-chosen by Lucifer Morningstar. I have come for you."
Fear clutched at my non-existent heart. "Come for me? Why?"
Abaddon reached out, taking my hand in his gauntleted one. I tensed, expecting... I don't know what. Attack? Arrest? Instead, to my shock, the knight dropped to one knee before me, still holding my hand.
"You must come with me," Abaddon said, his voice slightly less intimidating from this position. "It is a matter of great importance."
I glanced back at my followers, who watched from hiding with wide, fearful eyes. "My people-"
"Will be protected," Abaddon assured me. "You have my word."
Something in his tone, in the formal way he knelt before me, told me this wasn't a threat or a capture. It was... something else entirely.
"Who are you really?" I asked. "And what do you want with me?"
Abaddon remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I am Abaddon, Knight of Hell, appointed by Lucifer himself to guard the boundaries between realms.
And I am here because you, woman beloved by Hell, are beloved by the light of our Lightbringer."
"Lightbringer?" I repeated, confused. "You mean Lucifer?"
"No," Abaddon replied. "A new Lightbringer walks the mortal world. Lucifer abandoned his throne for the living world, but he is not the one I speak of.
Heaven has sent two angels to govern in his absence, but they are usurpers. This new Lightbringer - his light favors you. It protects you."
I looked down at the radiance that surrounded me, understanding dawning. "This light... it comes from him? From this new Lightbringer?"
"Yes," Abaddon confirmed. "And with you as our figurehead, we can take Hell back from those who would usurp it.
None of us may sit on the throne ourselves, but we can at least wrest control from those undeserving rulers. We can prepare an army for the new Lightbringer."
He paused, his hidden gaze seeming to bore into me. "Heaven will not stand idle. They will try to destroy him, as they tried with Lucifer before. They fear what they cannot control."
Fury erupted within me, sudden and overwhelming. "They want to kill him? The one who gave me this protection? The one who treated me with respect?"
The same Heaven that had rejected me, that had cast me down to burn? The same Heaven whose guardian had dismissed me without a second thought?
"They will try," Abaddon confirmed. "The celestial war never truly ended. It merely... paused."
I looked back at my followers, at the souls and demons who had placed their trust in me, in my light. Then I looked at Abaddon, still kneeling before me.
"I will bring Heaven to its knees if necessary to protect him," I declared, the words coming from somewhere even I didn't know, but it felt like it came from the light around me, as if it was an echo of words once long ago uttered through it.
Like from it I gained knowledge, confidence, power.
"My entire life, I protected my purity. I did demon worship rather than throwing myself into a brothel as a prostitute when I needed money. And my angel has kept me pure still, healed me. I will gift him Hell itself if that's what he needs."
Abaddon's helmet tilted slightly, as if he was studying me with new interest. "You speak with conviction, Beloved. But do you even know the name of the one you would defend so fiercely?"
I hesitated, realizing I didn't. The beautiful man with hellfire eyes had never introduced himself.
"What is his name?" I asked. "My guardian angel - what is he called?"
"Samael," Abaddon replied. "His name is Samael."
Samael. The name resonated within me, within the light that protected me. It felt right, true, as if I had always known it but had simply forgotten.
"Samael," I repeated, tasting the name. "Then I will stand for Samael. I will gather his army. I will prepare Hell for his coming."
Abaddon rose to his feet, satisfaction evident in his posture despite his hidden face. "Then it begins," he said. "The war for Hell's throne. The preparation for Samael's ascension."
"It begins," I agreed.
And that is how a brutal civil war erupted in the circles of Hell.
Three months into the war, I stood on a balcony overlooking what had once been the Plain of Despair.
Now it was a battlefield, littered with the remains of demons loyal to the usurpers. My forces - for they were mine now, though I fought in Samael's name - had secured three of the nine circles.
"The Third Circle has fallen," Abaddon reported, standing at my right hand. He had become my general, my advisor, my right hand. "Lord Belial's forces have retreated to the Fourth."
"Casualties?" I asked, watching as my soldiers - a mixture of demons and damned souls who had pledged themselves to our cause - moved across the plain, securing our position.
"Minimal," Abaddon replied. "Belial was never much of a strategist. He relies on fear and intimidation rather than tactical thinking."
I nodded, satisfied. In the months since I had accepted my role as Samael's representative in Hell, I had learned much about warfare, about leadership, about the politics of the infernal realm.
The light that surrounded me had grown stronger, responding to my purpose, my dedication to Samael's cause.
I had also changed. The timid waitress who had stumbled into demon worship was gone, replaced by a commander, a leader - the Beloved of Hell in truth as well as name.
"What of the angels?" I asked. "The ones Heaven sent to govern in Lucifer's absence?"
"Still entrenched in the Ninth Circle," Abaddon said. "They rarely venture beyond Lucifer's former palace. They rule in name only, issuing decrees that few obey."
"Good," I said. "Let them cower in their stolen throne room. We'll deal with them when the time comes."
I turned away from the battlefield, moving back into what had once been a demon lord's fortress and was now my headquarters.
The walls, once decorated with the flayed skin of tortured souls, now gleamed with a pearlescent sheen - the light that surrounded me had transformed the space, purifying it without diminishing its imposing nature.
"Have we received any word from the mortal realm?" I asked as Abaddon followed me inside. "Any sign that Samael is aware of our efforts?"
"None," Abaddon admitted. "The barriers between worlds remain strong. Without Lucifer's direct intervention, communication is... challenging."
I frowned, a familiar frustration rising within me. "There must be a way to reach him, to let him know what we're doing in his name."
"Perhaps when we secure more territory," Abaddon suggested. "The Seventh Circle contains gateways that might be adapted for communication."
"Then we focus our efforts there next," I decided. "Bypass the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth for now. Strike directly at the Seventh."
Abaddon's helmet tilted in what I had come to recognize as surprise. "A bold strategy. The intervening circles would remain in enemy hands, potentially threatening our supply lines."
"Let them," I said dismissively. "The light protects our core forces. And a direct strike at the Seventh will demonstrate our strength, perhaps convince some of the neutral factions to join us."
Abaddon bowed slightly. "As you command, Beloved."
As he turned to leave, to relay my orders to our commanders, I called after him: "Abaddon. Have you learned anything more about him? About Samael?"
The knight paused. "Rumors only. They say he walks the mortal realm in human form. That he has created a new type of angel, neither of Heaven nor of Hell. That he seeks to build something new in Creation."
My heart - or what passed for it in my spiritual form - quickened at these words. "Something new," I repeated softly. "Yes. That feels right."
After Abaddon left, I moved to the center of my chamber, where a small altar had been erected. Upon it sat nothing but a single candle, its flame burning with the same white light that surrounded me.
I knelt before it, closing my eyes. "Samael," I whispered, the name a prayer on my lips. "I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if you even remember me.
But I am fighting for you. I am securing Hell in your name. And when the time comes, I will return to your side, to serve you in whatever way you require."
The flame flickered, dancing higher for a brief moment before settling back to its steady burn. Perhaps it was just a draft. Perhaps it was something more.
I chose to believe it was a sign.
A year into the war, we controlled six of the nine circles. The remaining three - the deepest, most ancient parts of Hell - were held by an alliance of demon lords led by the two angels Heaven had sent: Zachariah and Duma.
Unlike the usurper lords we had already defeated, Zachariah and Duma were formidable opponents.
They wielded true celestial power, diminished though it was by their assignment to Hell. They had rallied the strongest demon lords to their banner, promising stability and order in exchange for loyalty.
I stood in what had once been the council chamber of the Sixth Circle, now transformed into a war room.
Maps of Hell - ever-shifting, never quite accurate - covered the walls, marked with the positions of our forces and those of our enemies.
"They're fortifying the approaches to the Eighth Circle," reported a demon commander - once a minor lord, now one of my most trusted officers.
His form was almost human save for the crown of horns that circled his head like a jagged halo. "Triple barriers, soul-fire trenches, leviathan patrols in the Lake of Fire."
"They're afraid," I observed, studying the maps. "They know we're coming, and they know we're winning."
"Fear makes them dangerous," Abaddon cautioned. "Especially the angels. They have nothing to lose - failure means disgrace in Heaven's eyes."
I nodded, acknowledging his point. "Then we need to be smarter. More strategic."
I moved to a different map, this one showing the structure of Hell itself - not just its geography but its metaphysical architecture.
"The Eighth Circle is connected to the Sixth by more than just the obvious passages," I said, pointing to faint lines that connected the two regions. "There are older pathways, from before the usurpers organized Hell into its current form."
Abaddon leaned closer, studying the ancient routes. "These haven't been used in eons. They may be collapsed, blocked, or worse - inhabited by things even demons fear to face."
"But the angels won't be watching them," I pointed out. "They're too new to Hell to know its oldest secrets."
The horned demon commander smiled, a predatory expression. "A flanking maneuver. Brilliant, Beloved."
"Not without risk," Abaddon warned. "These passages were sealed for good reason."
I looked at him, my light flaring slightly with my determination. "Is there anything in those passages that can harm me? That can penetrate Samael's protection?"
Abaddon hesitated, then shook his helmeted head. "No. Nothing in Hell can truly harm you while you bear his light. But your followers-"
"Will be protected as well, as long as they stay close to me," I finished. "I'll lead the expedition myself."
A murmur ran through the assembled commanders - concern, surprise, respect. I had directed the war thus far, but rarely placed myself on the front lines. This would be different.
"Beloved," Abaddon began, his tone cautious, "your strategic value-"
"Is precisely why I should go," I interrupted. "My light is our greatest weapon. Why keep it in reserve when it could make the difference between victory and defeat?"
I turned to address the entire room. "Prepare a force - small, elite, capable of moving swiftly through tight spaces. We leave at the changing of the watch."
As my commanders dispersed to carry out my orders, Abaddon remained, his armored form radiating concern.
"You disapprove," I stated.
"I worry," he corrected. "These ancient passages... they're unpredictable. They don't follow the normal laws of Hell. They predate the current structure itself."
I smiled, reaching out to touch his armored shoulder. "That's why you'll be by my side, old friend. Your knowledge of Hell's deepest secrets will guide us through."
Even after a year of working closely together, Abaddon had never removed his helmet in my presence.
Yet somehow, I could sense his expression shift behind it - resignation, determination, loyalty.
"As you command, Beloved," he said, bowing slightly. "I will prepare."
The ancient passage was everything Abaddon had warned about and worse. We had been traveling for what felt like days, though time flowed strangely here.
The tunnel twisted in ways that were difficult for even us to follow, sometimes requiring us to walk on walls or ceilings that became floors with each disorienting turn.
The light that surrounded me was our only illumination, pushing back shadows that seemed almost alive, hungry for any who strayed too far from my protective glow.
Our force - originally thirty of my most trusted fighters - had dwindled to twenty-three. Not from combat, but from the tunnel itself.
Some had simply... vanished when they stepped too far into the darkness. Others had been pulled into side passages that appeared and disappeared without warning.
"We're getting close," Abaddon murmured, his voice echoing strangely in the confined space. "I can feel the structure of the Eighth Circle ahead."
I nodded, conserving my strength.
The journey had been taxing, even with Samael's light protecting me. Something about these ancient pathways drained energy, sapped resolve, whispered doubts directly into the mind.
He doesn't even know you exist, the shadows seemed to murmur. You fight in the name of someone who sent you to Heaven knowing you'd be rejected.
I pushed the thoughts away, focusing on our mission.
The passage widened suddenly, opening into a cavern so vast its ceiling and far walls were lost in darkness. My light, strong as it was, illuminated only a small portion of the immense space.
"What is this place?" I whispered, my voice swallowed by the emptiness.
"The Void Between," Abaddon replied, his tone hushed with what might have been reverence or fear. "The space that existed before Hell was organized into circles. Some say it's where Lucifer first landed when he Fell."
I stepped forward cautiously, my followers clustering close behind me. The ground beneath our feet was neither stone nor earth but something else - smooth, almost glassy, yet yielding slightly with each step.
"Stay close," I warned. "Don't stray from the light."
We moved forward slowly, each step deliberate. The emptiness around us felt watchful, aware, as if the void itself was a living entity observing our intrusion with curiosity.
Then, without warning, the glassy surface beneath us shattered.
We fell - not down, but through - tumbling through layers of reality, the void around us howling with voices that spoke no language ever heard by human ears.
My followers screamed, their forms stretching and distorting as the passage between dimensions pulled at their essence.
I reached out, trying to gather them within my light, but the force of our transit was too strong. We were scattered, separated, pulled in different directions by currents in the void.
I caught a glimpse of Abaddon, his armored form somehow maintaining its integrity despite the chaos. He reached for me, his gauntleted hand extending impossibly across the warping space.
Our fingers touched - just barely - and then everything went black.
I awoke - if that's the right word for a spirit returning to awareness - in a place I didn't recognize. Gone was the formless void, replaced by walls of black stone that rose around me, inscribed with symbols that hurt to look at directly.
The air smelled of brimstone and something else - something older, more primal.
I sat up slowly, relieved to see that my light still surrounded me, though it seemed dimmer, strained by whatever had happened during our transit.
"Abaddon?" I called, my voice echoing in the empty chamber. "Anyone?"
No response.
I rose to my feet, taking stock of my surroundings. The room was circular, with seven doors spaced evenly around its perimeter.
Each door was identical - black metal etched with the same eye-watering symbols that covered the walls.
"Well," I muttered to myself, "this is a problem."
I approached the nearest door, studying it carefully.
The symbols seemed to shift and writhe under my gaze, refusing to resolve into anything recognizable.
I reached out cautiously, my fingers stopping just short of touching the metal surface.
Something told me that touching these doors blindly would be unwise.
I stepped back, considering my options. I could wait, hoping Abaddon or some of my followers would find me.
Or I could choose a door and hope for the best. Neither option seemed particularly appealing.
Then I remembered something - a technique Abaddon had taught me months ago, when we were planning our first major offensive. A way to sense connections, to feel the pull of aligned energies.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the light that surrounded me. Samael, I thought, directing my awareness outward. Show me the way.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, I became aware of a subtle pull - like a magnet drawing a compass needle.
It wasn't coming from any of the doors, but from the center of the room, from the floor beneath my feet.
I opened my eyes and looked down. The black stone floor appeared solid, unremarkable. But as I focused on it, concentrating on the pulling sensation, I noticed a faint seam - a circle within the circle of the room.
I knelt, tracing the seam with my fingers. The stone was cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. As my light touched the seam, it began to glow faintly, responding to my presence.
"A hidden path," I murmured. "Of course."
I placed both hands flat on the circular section of floor and pushed my light into it, willing it to open.
The stone responded, the seam widening as the circular section began to spiral downward, forming a staircase that descended into darkness.
Without hesitation, I began to descend. The stairs went down farther than seemed possible, curling around and around in a tight spiral.
My light illuminated only a few steps ahead, the darkness beyond absolute and complete.
Finally, after what felt like hours of descent, the staircase ended at a simple archway.
Beyond it lay a vast chamber, so large that my light couldn't reach its boundaries. But unlike the void we had fallen through, this space wasn't empty.
It was filled with light - not the white radiance that surrounded me, but a softer, golden glow that emanated from a throne at the center of the chamber.
The throne appeared to be carved from a single massive ruby, its facets catching and refracting the light in different patterns.
And seated upon the throne was a figure I recognized immediately, though I had never seen him before.
Lucifer Morningstar.
He was beautiful - inhumanly so - with features so perfect they almost hurt to look upon. His hair was black, his skin like polished marble, his eyes the color of the night sky.
He wore simple white clothing that somehow seemed more regal than any crown or robe could have been.
"Well," he said, his voice like music, "this is unexpected. A visitor to my old throne room. And one bearing my successor's light, no less."
I stood frozen, unable to speak. This was Lucifer - the original Lightbringer, the Morningstar, the first rebel.
The being whose abandonment of Hell had created the power vacuum I was fighting to fill in Samael's name.
"You're not really here," I finally managed. "You're on Earth. You left Hell."
Lucifer smiled, the expression warming his perfect features. "Quite right. This is merely an echo - a recording, if you will. A piece of myself I left behind to guard certain... assets.
Though one in some ways more aware than the original, since I actually pay attention to what's happening in Hell."
He gestured around the chamber. "This place exists outside Hell's normal geography. It's where I kept my most valuable possessions, the things I couldn't take with me but wouldn't leave for just anyone to find."
He leaned forward, studying me with evident curiosity. "And now you're here, little soul, wrapped in Samael's light. How fascinating. Tell me, does he know what you're doing in his name?"
"I-" I hesitated, uncertain how to respond to this echo of the former ruler of Hell. "No. I don't think so. We haven't been able to contact him."
Lucifer nodded, as if this confirmed something he had suspected. "Of course not. He's new to his power, still finding his way. Still discovering what it means to be the Lightbringer."
He stood, descending from his throne with fluid grace. As he approached me, I fought the urge to step back, to retreat from his overwhelming presence.
"I should warn you," he said conversationally, "many who have sought this chamber never left it. The defenses are... extensive."
"Then why am I still alive?" I asked.
"Because you bear his light," Lucifer replied simply. "The same light I once carried. It recognized you as... authorized."
He circled me slowly, examining the radiance that surrounded me. "Interesting. He's given you quite a substantial portion of his protection. You must be important to him."
I thought of my brief encounter with Samael in Gotham, how he had offered me a choice when no one else had. "I don't know if I'm important to him. We only met briefly. But he showed me kindness when others didn't."
Lucifer stopped his circling, facing me directly. "Kindness," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "Not a quality I was known for. Perhaps that's the way Father made him - a different attempt towards creating a loyal Will."
Before I could respond to this startling statement, Lucifer continued: "You came here for a reason, little soul. What do you seek in my inner sanctum?"
I straightened my spine, finding my courage. "A way to reach the Eighth Circle. A way to defeat the angels Heaven sent to replace you."
"Zachariah and Duma," Lucifer said, nodding. "Dutiful but unimaginative. They never understood Hell's true purpose."
"Which is?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my awe.
Lucifer smiled again, but this time the expression held a hint of sadness. "That would be telling. Some things Samael should discover for himself. It's part of the journey."
He turned, walking back toward his throne. "As for reaching the Eighth Circle - that I can help with. Behind my throne is a doorway.
It leads directly to the base of the tower where Zachariah and Duma have established their court. The passage is shielded from their awareness."
I hesitated, suspicion rising within me. "Why would you help me? Why would you help Samael take control of what was once yours?"
Lucifer paused, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Because it was never truly mine to begin with. Hell was a prison, not a kingdom - though I made it seem otherwise out of pride.
If Samael is to be the new Lightbringer, let him make of it what he will. Let him learn what I learned, in his own way, in his own time."
He gestured toward the throne. "Go. Your followers await you on the other side - those who survived the journey through the void. And Betty?"
I started at the use of my name, which I hadn't given him.
"When you see Samael - if you see him - tell him that his predecessor's echo watches with interest.
Tell him that the choices I made need not be his choices. Tell him that the light can illuminate paths I never thought to explore."
With those cryptic words, Lucifer's form began to fade, becoming transparent, then translucent, then vanishing completely.
The throne remained, and behind it, as promised, a doorway shimmered into existence.
I approached cautiously, still half-expecting some trap. But the doorway radiated the same golden light that had surrounded Lucifer, warm and inviting. Beyond it, I could see a dimly lit corridor that seemed to stretch forward into shadow.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped through.
The battle for the Eighth Circle lasted three days by Hell's reckoning - a mere eyeblink in the mortal world, an eternity for those who fought in it.
My forces, emerging unexpectedly from within the very tower that served as Zachariah and Duma's headquarters, caught the angelic usurpers completely by surprise.
Abaddon, who had indeed been waiting for me on the other side of Lucifer's doorway with the surviving members of our expedition, led the initial assault.
His knowledge of the tower's layout - dating back to when he had served Lucifer directly - proved invaluable.
The demon lords who had allied with the angels quickly surrendered or fled when they saw the tide turning.
They had pledged allegiance out of fear and pragmatism, not loyalty. When faced with my light and the force I had built over the past year, their resolve crumbled.
Zachariah and Duma themselves proved more difficult to defeat. As angels, even diminished ones, they wielded power that could rival my own protection.
Zachariah, the more aggressive of the pair, nearly broke through our lines on the second day, his flaming sword cutting down dozens of my soldiers before Abaddon intercepted him.
The duel between the Knight of Hell and the angel was spectacular and terrible to witness.
Abaddon's black armor absorbed Zachariah's celestial fire, while his own hellforged weapons left smoking wounds in the angel's perfect form. They fought for hours, neither gaining a decisive advantage, until I intervened.
I had been directing our forces from the command center we had established in the lower levels of the tower.
But when word reached me of the stalemate between Abaddon and Zachariah, I knew it was time to take a more direct role.
I arrived at the battleground - once a grand audience chamber, now a ruin of broken columns and shattered marble - to find Abaddon on one knee, his armor cracked in multiple places, his skeletal horse long since destroyed.
Zachariah stood over him, wings spread wide, sword raised for a killing blow.
"Enough!" I called, my voice amplified by the light that surrounded me.
Zachariah paused, turning to face me. His beauty was marred by battle damage - a long cut across his perfect face, burns along his left wing, golden ichor seeping from multiple wounds.
"The usurper's pet," he sneered, his voice still musical despite his condition. "The soul who thinks she can command Hell."
"I don't command Hell," I replied, stepping closer. "I prepare it for its rightful ruler."
Zachariah laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Lucifer abandoned this realm. He has no claim to it any longer."
"I don't speak of Lucifer," I said. "I speak of Samael. The new Lightbringer."
Zachariah's expression shifted, shock replacing contempt. "What did you say?"
"You heard me," I continued, my light flaring brighter as I approached. "Samael. The one who bears the light now. The one whose protection surrounds me."
Zachariah's wings trembled, whether from injury or emotion I couldn't tell. "Impossible," he whispered. "Father wouldn't... He couldn't..."
"He did," I stated firmly. "And you stand against His will."
It was a gamble - I had no idea if Samael's existence was truly God's will or something else entirely.
But I knew angels, especially those like Zachariah who had remained loyal during Lucifer's rebellion, placed enormous value on divine intention.
The gamble worked. Zachariah's sword lowered slightly, uncertainty evident in his perfect features. "If what you say is true..."
"Look at my light," I challenged him. "Really look at it. You know the signature of the Lightbringer's power. Tell me what you see."
Zachariah stared at the radiance that surrounded me, his angelic senses perceiving what mortal eyes could not.
I saw the moment recognition dawned - his eyes widened, his wings drooped, his sword lowered completely.
"It cannot be," he murmured. "Yet it is. The light... it's different, yet the same. Not Lucifer's, but..."
"Samael's," I finished for him. "The new Lightbringer. Heaven knows of him already. They fear him, as they feared Lucifer."
Zachariah's gaze hardened. "If Heaven knows, then they have plans. Contingencies."
"Undoubtedly," I agreed. "Which is why Hell must be united, prepared. Not ruled by usurpers who don't understand its true purpose."
I extended my hand toward him, a gesture of peace rather than surrender. "Join us, Zachariah. Help us prepare for what's coming. Your knowledge, your power - they could be invaluable."
For a moment, I thought he might accept. Something in his expression softened, a flicker of consideration passing through his eyes.
Then, with a movement too swift for me to react to, he lunged - not at me, but at Abaddon, who still knelt defenseless on the floor.
What happened next occurred so quickly that later accounts from witnesses varied wildly.
Some swore that my light lashed out of its own accord, a whip of pure power that intercepted Zachariah's sword.
Others claimed that Abaddon somehow moved with impossible speed, blocking the blow with his gauntlet.
What I remember is this: a flash of light, brighter than anything I had yet produced. A scream that contained both pain and astonishment.
And when my vision cleared, Zachariah was gone - not dead, not destroyed, but simply... absent.
Where he had stood was nothing but a scorch mark on the marble floor, in the perfect shape of an angel with outstretched wings.
Abaddon stared at the mark, then at me, his helmet concealing whatever expression he might have worn. "Beloved," he said, his voice hushed with what might have been awe, "what did you do?"
"I don't know," I admitted, staring at my hands. The light around them pulsed with renewed vigor, as if pleased with itself. "I just... reacted."
News of Zachariah's disappearance spread quickly through the ranks of both armies.
Duma, the silent angel who had been defending the upper levels of the tower, surrendered without further resistance.
Unlike his more aggressive partner, Duma seemed almost relieved to relinquish his responsibility for Hell.
By the end of the third day, the Eighth Circle was ours. Only the Ninth - Lucifer's former personal domain - remained outside our control.
-------------------
Months later, Abaddon joined me on the balcony overlooking what we had managed to claim of Hell's domain.
The Eighth Circle - our hard-won territory - spread below us, a realm transformed under our influence.
The battle for this circle had cost us dearly. In the chaotic aftermath of our victory over Zachariah and Duma, the greater demon lords had seized their opportunity.
While we consolidated our hold on the Eighth Circle, they had reclaimed the seven circles we'd previously controlled.
Time flowed differently between each circle, it constantly shifted, one once faster than at another time slower - what felt like days to us had been months in the outer circles.
By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. The demon lords had fortified their positions, creating barriers that would take years to breach.
"The last of the resistance in the Eighth Circle has been dealt with," Abaddon reported, his armored form a familiar presence at my side. "Lord Asmodeus has accepted our terms. His forces will be integrated into our regular army."
I nodded, satisfied with this small victory at least. "And the gateways to the mortal realm?"
"Secured and modified as you instructed," Abaddon replied. "Though our connection remains tenuous, this circle offers the easiest communication with the mortal world.
When the time comes that we truly establish a way of travel, we'll be able to move a substantial force to Earth within hours."
It wasn't the entire army of Hell I had hoped to gift Samael, but it was something - a foothold, a beginning.
The greater demon lords - Beelzebub, Azazel, Astaroth, Mammon, and the others - had proven cleverer than I anticipated.
They understood exactly what my presence meant: protected by an archangel's might, I had been able to depose Heaven's representatives.
With Zachariah and Duma removed from Hell's throne, the fear of direct Heavenly intervention had vanished.
The lords had calculated, correctly, that Heaven wouldn't interfere in a struggle involving one protected by the Light of a Demiurgic archangel, fearing angering the new Lightbringer.
Now they had their chance to reclaim Hell for themselves, to reshape it according to their own desires rather than Heaven's design.
Already, we had reports that the rigid structure of the nine circles - imposed by the angels to better control Hell's chaotic nature - was beginning to break down.
The barriers between realms were thinning, allowing Hell to slowly revert to a single plane of existence rather than the stratified layers Zachariah and Duma had maintained with Heaven-backed power.
I turned to face Abaddon, studying the helmet that still concealed his features even after all this time. "Do you ever wonder if we're doing the right thing, Abaddon? If Samael would approve of what we've built in his name?"
Abaddon was silent for a long moment. Then, with a deliberate movement, he reached up and removed his helmet for the first time in my presence - for the first time that he has ever removed even a piece of his armor.
The face beneath was not what I had expected. I had imagined something demonic, horrific - a visage to match his fearsome reputation.
Instead, I found myself looking at features that were almost human: strong-jawed, handsome in a severe way, with eyes that burned not with hellfire but with a cool blue flame.
"I believe," he said, his voice softer without the helmet's distortion, "that Samael would be proud of what you've accomplished.
Even with just this one circle, you've transformed a portion of Hell from a place of mindless suffering to a realm with purpose. You've given hope to those who had none."
I smiled, touched by his rare display of openness. "Thank you, old friend. Your faith in me has never wavered, even when my own has."
Abaddon replaced his helmet, once again becoming the imposing Knight of Hell. "The mortal realm is changing," he said, returning to business.
"Our scouts report increased activity among Heaven's agents. The Justice League has expanded its operations. And there are rumors... rumors of Samael taking a more active role."
My heart quickened at these words. "What kind of role?"
"He has, as I said when we first met, created a new type of angel," Abaddon said. "Neither of Heaven nor of Hell. He has claimed a brother - a clone of the Kryptonian.
He has established a base of power in the mortal city of Gotham."
"Gotham," I repeated, the name stirring bad memories as well as good ones - only the final bit. "Where I met him."
"Yes," Abaddon confirmed. "It seems he has chosen that city as his seat of power. A curious choice - the city is dark, corrupted, haunted."
"Perfect for someone called the Poison of God," I murmured, "A cleanser."
I turned back to the view, my mind racing.
Though we controlled only a fraction of Hell, the Eighth Circle gave us something crucial - a place more connected to the mortal world than anywhere else in Hell.
If Heaven moved against Samael, we could still offer meaningful support.
"Prepare the gateway to Gotham as soon as you possibly can," I ordered. "And select an honor guard - our best, most loyal. It's time I returned to the mortal realm."
"To serve Samael directly?" Abaddon asked.
"To offer him what is rightfully his," I replied. "An army - smaller than I'd hoped, but dedicated. A foothold in Hell. And a servant who has never forgotten his kindness."
As Abaddon bowed and departed to carry out my instructions, I remained on the balcony, my gaze lifting toward where, beyond Hell's boundaries, Earth waited.
Where Samael waited, whether he knew it or not.
"Soon," I promised, the light around me pulsing in agreement. "Soon we'll be reunited, my lord. And Heaven itself will tremble before your might."
The war for Hell was far from over.
The greater demon lords would not relinquish their newly reclaimed territories easily. But we had secured what mattered most - a direct line to Earth, to Gotham, to Samael.
And I, Betty Ramirez, once a waitress, now the Beloved of Hell, would stand at Samael's side when Heaven made its move.
After all, I had promised to gift him Hell and myself.
And I always kept my promises.
--------------------
(Author note: And, done!
So, how did you find it? See, Hell, well, its sometimes I really, really love to write about.
It's always gonna be relevant, and well, I didn't want to have it be in the backburner where we don't know what has gone, or not show the effect Samael's presence has upon it.
Now Betty... I found it... interesting to write her being banished into Hell, and that rather than the grace drop that in the mere moments she arrived in Heaven disappearing,
that when she fell from Heaven, that the grace remembering Lucifer's own fall, draws strength from her soul to well protect her instinctively.
She isn't an angel, most definitely not an archangel. Think of her as a blessed, a person an angel chooses to be the guardian angel of - though in this case, Samael did that on accident.
Hey, he may have Lucifer's Grace, but he hasn't read all his memories, nor does he really want to, since 13 billion year long video in POV watching like a movie is damn long.
Also, Lucifer Morningstar echo is not the same as the original, this one was in Hell eons longer, since time moves even faster in the deepest parts of Hell where he fell into, so his reaction to Samael is not going to be the same as the original.
Well, that's all from me, do again, please tell me how you found it and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)