Shadow of the Abyss

Chapter 190: Festival of Chaos: Descent

"His name is Astaroth of Mythos, one of the Nine Princes of Hell."

Altair wasn't in the least bit surprised. He only saw to confirm what he already knew. He laughed, turning towards the skies, and raised his middle finger. "Go fuck yourself!" He roared, empowering his voice not with Mana but with Vale Qi. he glared toward the heavens as though they were hells with vile distaste.

Through the vast expanse of the Nine Hells, his voice pierced like a knife, reaching the Prince of Hell upon his throne.

Astaroth's expression dropped, and in a single instance, he rose, his eyes flashing like two twin orbs of scarlet suns. The flames that govern the nine hells rose in temperature, twisting the wills of mortal souls until they burned, cracked, twisting into amalgamations of insanity.

[Divine Sin, Daddy: NOW YOU ARE MY SON!!!!]

If he were to perish, he wasn't going to die cowering in fear. Altair sneered towards the gathering of clouds, blanketing the skies.

"W-W-What have you done?" Tasha cried, horrified as the skies began to form into sadistic amalgamation of faces and bodies. Upside down-crosses lined the skies as droplets of blood poured from the Hells onto the snow. The crest of Astaroth appeared, and with it, the rage that bore through space and time came like a while storm through the Myriad Heavens.

[Daddy: My Son said Fuck it! I love it!]

[Piercing Owl: Aren't you going to do something?] Your adventure awaits on m,v le,mpyr

[Archeon: My hands are tied... I didn't think he'd do this... or that his voice would manage to reach the Hells.]

[Daddy: Meh, he's got it.]

[She Who Hunts: You're a bad father]

[Daddy: My seed knows what he's doing.]

[Conquest: I came for the Nephilim but stayed for Altair. This little dude is funny.]

[Curupted Prince: I'm curious what he's going to do.]

[Debaucherous Wine: I advocate for booty and wine.]

[Daddy: Lol]

[Passion of Sorrow: (~ ̄▽ ̄)~]

Altair ignored the system chat and stared dead ahead at the clouds that had changed into madness. And for some reason, he couldn't help but feel his heart wrench against his chest. It was hammering-like drums.

Altair smirked. "I thought gods needed worshipers to grow."

"Stupid gods, perhaps," said Beelzebub smilingly, "The real powerhouses know how to gain power from both believers and nonbelievers. You simply breathing now is making me stronger as we speak."

Altair didn't quite understand yet. But took what he said to heart. However, he wanted to confirm with Iliana. Everything about Beelzebub made Altair's skin crawl. He couldn't place him in any groups like the others.

Despite his power, Beelzebub did not act arrogant, nor did he expose his presence as a show of power. Rather... the more Altair was around him, the more comfortable he felt with him. Beelzebub had a charismatic aura that was as devilish as it was intoxicating.

That scared Altair. He hated the feeling of his body wanting to relax, wanting to succumb to its most basic state.

"You, Altair Blackwood, have quite an affinity for the Sin of Sloth," said Beelzubub. "Survive this trial, and I might have to steal you away from Iliana," he added, nearly forgetting the reason for his descent.

Those who could wield the sin of sloth had always been the minority within the Hells. It was a sin most could not grasp on a more fundamental level.

"Sloth?" the Prince questioned, unsure what made this Lord of Hell think he was a lazy person.

"Think about it. Now then." Beelzebub looked up, and from the skies, they came, tearing through the atmosphere like meteors; the twelve pillars bore into the earth, striking so hard the realm began to thrash and wail, seeking to break from the sheer power. They surrounded the City of Vesim in a great ring.

Altair had nearly toppled, unsure what type of power Beezubuv had used to ensure nothing kept the city, if not the world, from breaking apart. Nevertheless, the moment the Twelve Pillars struck, a sense of panic slithered down his spine.

Frigid air began to permeate the realm, gnawing so deeply that many of the young lords and ladies began to quake in their boots. Sheen's of frost layered the earth, rising high above the grass and trees, inching over the various buildings, encasing the realm into thin layers of crystals.

Beelzebub, who sat comfortably on his throne, spoke. "Within each pillar, there houses a couple thousand souls who perished so long ago that many of the gods you worship couldn't hold a candle to these men and women in this little festival of mine. You are not the heroes but the victims. For with each kill of the living these souls take, the more they'll revive."

Suddenly, a list of numbers sprang over the head of everyone present, ranging from one to one thousand.

Altair, Reina, Thaan, Syris, and Zag all bore one thousand over their heads.

"it takes a thousand points for a soul to revive. And another thousand points for them to increase their mana by one stage, of course; they can do so without the aid of these points."

"Then... then how do we win?" the Time Lord asked incredulously.

"I wasn't aware victims could win," said Beelzebub, smiling. "Well, if by some miracle you survive the wrath of these soul kings and the demons on their way to burn this city to rubble thanks to Altair revealing himself, you each will earn an S Rank Skill. Double or triple S Rank if you kill each other and gain a higher number of points."

Altair winced, seeing right through his play; Beelzebub had intentionally not mentioned how many points were necessary to earn an SS rank skill, much less SSS. The number necessary could be anywhere near the billions or trillions. No one knew. But neither did they care as hundreds all turned to those that bore high numbers over their heads.

Their eyes festering greed.