Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1385: The King lives!

When Father Black returned to Earth, the world erupted.

Cheers thundered across continents.

Cities lit up with banners and holograms.

Gods laughed openly, mortals cried in relief, temples rang bells that had not been touched in centuries.

The Eighth Earth—so close to erasure by Heaven and those that fell from it, suddenly felt alive again.

People hugged strangers.

Children ran through streets that had expected fire from the sky.

Songs were sung, not of victory, but of survival.

They called his name.

They hailed him as the man who had stared down all angels alike.

However, the man himself. Father Black, he did not wave.

He did not smile.

Instead, he walked straight past them.

Perseus caught up first, eyes bright, adrenaline still burning.

Demeter followed, relief softening her usually stern expression.

"Father—" Perseus began.

"I need to be alone," Father Black said sharply.

It sounded Not unkind and absolute.

But they stopped, looking at each other in the eyes, they understood.

After all, they had known this war veteran for a very long time.

Without waiting for a reply, Father Black entered his private chambers and sealed the doors behind him.

The moment the lock engaged—

His legs gave out.

Father Black collapsed to his knees, palms slamming into the floor.

"Oh shit," he whispered.

Then louder, voice cracking,

"Oh shit... we are fucked."

His breath came fast.

Hands trembled.

He stared at the floor like it might open and swallow him whole.

He had gambled. And it was not with soldiers nor with territory.

But with millions of lives—against Heaven’s patience and Lucifer’s cunning.

The audacity they saw?

What stupid audacity?

All that was terror in disguise.

He had left space not because he was confident and wanted to put those angels in their place—

—but because he could not afford for the angels to smell fear.

That fear had come had moment Angel Michael had dropped his sword during first attack.

After all, he had stood before it. No, absolutely no one knew how terrifying it was more than him.

Now the entire world praised him.

And none of them knew how close he had come to blinking first.

He swore softly, dragging a hand down his face.

Then—

A knock at his door.

"Go away," he snapped. "I’m busy."

~Silence.

Then a calm voice, steady and unshaken.

"It’s Athena," she said. "And I have a message."

Father Black froze.

"...From who?"

"Leviathan," Athena replied. "One of the Primordial Demons of Hell."

The air went cold.

Father Black remembered Leviathan. He was the Primordial Demons lucifer had sealed as an example to the other royal demon families.

He remembered that Lilith had freed it. And made a part with it.

In fact, Leviathan had been one of Athena’s biggest backers when it came to subduing the Cupbearers of hell.

He was also the only Primordial still alive.

"...Let her in," Father Black said immediately.

He scrambled to his feet, straightened his coat, wiped the sweat from his brow, forced his breathing steady.

By the time the door opened, he was seated behind his desk—composed, unreadable, the mask firmly back in place.

Athena entered.

She looked as unearthly as ever.

Red fire shimmered along her attire, licking the air like living flame, giving her the presence of a phoenix stepping from myth into reality. Despite her blindness, she moved with flawless certainty—every step deliberate, graceful.

For a moment, even Father Black forgot she could not see.

"This is not the right time," he said calmly.

Athena did not answer.

Instead—

She reached into her robes and dropped a red orb onto the table.

It landed with a heavy, wet thud.

The surface of the orb pulsed faintly, veins of dark crimson light swirling beneath its translucent skin.

Father Black stared at it. "What," he asked slowly, "is that?"

Athena’s lips tightened. "The eye of a Hell Beast." She replied.

Father Black exhaled slowly, forcing his voice steady. "This isn’t the time for gifts."

Athena shook her head, crimson fire rippling softly around her like a living mantle. "This," she said, placing her palm gently atop the orb, "is a gift you will want to receive."

Before he could protest, Athena pressed her fingers into the red surface.

Her magic flowed like water. It seeped in—ancient, divine, precise.

For a moment—

Nothing.

There is no light. No sound. And definitely no reaction.

Just silence so deep it felt like the universe had taken a breath.

Then—

A voice spoke.

It was Cold. Aged.

Yet wrapped in unmistakable affection.

"Father Black... I have missed you."

The world stopped.

Father Black’s body went rigid, every muscle locking at once.

That voice. Even in his dreams.

Even if he was buried under centuries of war, grief, and command—

He knew it better than anyone.

Tears welled instantly, blurring his vision.

"...Lenny?" he whispered, voice breaking.

"Lenny... is that you?"

The orb pulsed once.

A tired chuckle echoed from within it.

"It’s been a long time, old man," the voice replied.

"Did you still keep those cigarettes for me?"

That was it.

Father Black broke.

He leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table as sobs tore free—ugly, raw, unrestrained. Years of iron composure shattered in an instant. The weight of kingship, of impossible choices, of standing alone before gods and angels—it all came crashing down.

Even Athena watching could feel the weight if the old man’s suffering.

"I thought you were gone," he cried. "I thought—"

His voice failed him.

Then, desperately, "Where are you? Why aren’t you here? Heaven’s at our throats, angels and fallen angels are trying to swallow the Earth whole!"

The orb glowed dimmer.

When Lenny spoke again, his voice was slower.

Older.

Tired in a way only eternity could carve.

"I know," he said quietly.

"But it’s not time."

Father Black clenched his fists.

"Not time for what?"

"I need more time," Lenny replied.

"Can you give it to me?"

Confusion cut through the grief.

"What do you mean—"

Suddenly—

Pain.

A sharp sting bloomed in Father Black’s chest.

He gasped, ripping open his coat.

There—

A sigil.

Burning faintly against his skin.

A family sigil.

"You already accepted the first one. I don’t need your permission to annoint you again."

Father Black’s blood ran cold.

"That’s impossible," he whispered.

Slowly, he turned to the orb.

Then to Athena.

She nodded—uneasy, unsettled.

"I felt it too," she said quietly.

She pulled back her own garment. The same sigil glowed over her heart.

There was once upon a time that she refused Lenny’s family sigil. In fact refusing it was why she suffered the way she had.

Only to become regeant of hell, and Secretly, lenny had been in charge for thousands of years.

To be precise, since before the fall of man.

Father Black’s eyes widened, realization crashing into him like a tidal wave.

From the orb, Lenny spoke again.

Soft.

Certain.

"Yes," he said.

"I am the King of Hell."

(Author’s note: did you wait too long for him?"