Chapter 140 — The Demon's True Origin
"Purpose, purpose… you humans and your obsession with reasons."
Valakh rolled his eyes so hard it was almost audible.
"Can't a demon just come topside to relax?"
Gideon silently uncorked his holy water bottle—just enough to make a point.
"Okay, okay! Easy there, human!"
The demon raised both hands in surrender, wings twitching nervously under Ben's skin.
He hesitated for a moment, then gave an answer no one expected.
"Truth is… I'm not Valak."
The room froze.
Seeing Gideon's brow tighten, Valakh quickly added,
"My name's Valakh, with an h—close enough to confuse idiots, I guess."
Gideon raised an eyebrow.
"Then why pretend to be him?"
"Pretend?"
That single word made the demon bristle with offense.
"Who the hell would want to pretend to be that old creep?
Centuries old and still running around in a child's body—disgusting."
Gideon opened his mouth to point out the obvious—
that Valakh was currently also possessing a boy—
then thought better of it and closed his mouth.
The demon continued, tone swelling with infernal pride:
"I am a true-born demon of Hell's first hierarchy!
I held rank long before those feathered traitors fell from the skies."
Its voice darkened, but there was also bitterness there.
"The first time I descended to the mortal plane,
I ran into those primitives along the Mediterranean coast."
It sighed deeply.
"You wouldn't believe it—ten languages in one tiny stretch of land,
half of them pretending letters don't exist!
That's the place the Vatican should be trying to fix."
Gideon finally understood.
Valakh hadn't been imitating Valak—
his name had simply been misheard centuries ago,
and the mistake stuck, making him the demon world's unfortunate doppelgänger.
"Then tell me this," Gideon said,
"why don't you fear holy water? In fact, you seem to enjoy it."
Valakh's golden pupils flicked to the bottle in Gideon's hand.
"That's your second question."
Gideon shrugged casually, poured out half the water,
and tossed the rest of the bottle toward the demon.
"Hey! What's this supposed to mean?" Valakh caught it, frowning.
"When," Gideon said, "did I ever agree to one bottle per question?"
The air grew taut.
No one dared breathe.
Then—
"Ha… ha-ha-ha!"
Valakh burst out laughing, a sound equal parts infernal and human.
"Devious! You've got a wicked streak, priest.
I like it. You'd do well downstairs."
It tilted back the bottle and drank the holy water in one gulp,
shuddering as if savoring both agony and delight.
Gideon folded his arms.
"Second question," he said flatly,
producing another bottle from his coat.
"Tch. Humans… your curiosity has no end," Valakh muttered.
Still, it answered.
"Most demons despise Him—the One Above.
I'm an exception."
Its tone softened, almost reverent.
"Speaking His name brings trouble, so let's skip the formalities.
Let's just say—holy water hurts the others,
but to me?"
The demon exhaled, eyes half-lidded in eerie bliss.
"It's ecstasy.
Like one of your species'… stranger kinks."
Gideon blinked.
Somehow, he wasn't surprised.
Valakh smiled faintly, enjoying the lingering burn on his tongue.
"Hell is boring, priest.
Fire, ash, darkness—and a lot of idiots eating each other.
So we leave, now and then."
It waved a hand dismissively.
"The others come here for souls—to feed, to climb ranks.
Tedious work. All of them, obsessed with corruption.
Possess a body, torment it, wait for despair,
and steal the soul when it finally breaks."
Valakh sneered.
"Pathetic. They're no better than those fallen angels."
He looked Gideon straight in the eye.
"The real pleasure, my dear priest,
is in tasting human emotion.
When they kneel and beg for mercy—
when fear, hope, and faith tangle inside their fragile hearts—
that's when they're… exquisite."
Gideon didn't respond, but his gaze sharpened.
"You know," Valakh went on, "in the 1930s,
humans started calling vampires demons."
It laughed softly at the memory.
"So, I decided to play the part.
Took on the look—sharp teeth, cape, brooding stare—
even seduced a nun or two."
It grinned.
"Best decade of my unlife."
Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose again.
Even in Hell, this one's an oddity.
When the demon finally paused for breath,
Gideon began to tilt another vial.
"Hey!" Valakh snapped. "Even demons think wasting good holy water's a sin!"
He crushed his cigarette underfoot and crossed his arms.
"Tell you what—ask another."
Gideon set the bottle down and obliged.
"Why did you take another demon's territory?"
Valakh scoffed.
"Take it? That crow-headed bastard Marbas got here first and claimed it,
so suddenly it's his now? Please."
Gideon's brow lifted slightly.
Marbas.
One of the 72 pillars of Hell—Rank 39.
Known as the Crow Demon, a bringer of insight into enemies' minds.
"You sound like you don't think much of your fellow demons," Gideon observed.
"Because they're hypocrites," Valakh spat.
"Always preaching vengeance against Heaven,
claiming they were 'enslaved'—
but they chose to follow Belial for rank and power!"
He waved his hand dismissively, irritation flaring.
"If they really attack Heaven,
humans will fall under angelic control again—
the entire world flooded with divine oversight.
And then I'll be stuck rotting in Hell for another few centuries."
He folded his arms, muttering darkly.
"And being mistaken for Valak doesn't help my reputation either."
Gideon's thoughts flickered.
A pacifist demon… who hates bureaucracy and likes holy water.
This world really does attract the strangest things.
Beside him, the academy trio stood frozen, pale and wide-eyed.
For the first time, they were hearing what no theologian ever dared imagine—
A demon not seeking souls,
but gossiping about office politics in Hell.
What they were hearing—these confessions of a demon—
would never find their way into any official scripture.
To the Church, such words were blasphemy.
Any priest caught spreading them in private would be branded unclean,
accused of heresy, and cast out.
And yet, somehow… all three of the young clerics believed him.
It wasn't logic. It was instinct.
Something in Valakh's tone—the raw bitterness of it—rang true.
"So that's why you came here?" Gideon asked, probing gently.
"To ruin Marbas' little project?"
Valakh snorted, his expression twisting with contempt.
"Ruin? That feather-brained crow doesn't build—he harvests.
Every soul he collects fuels his own 'descent' into the mortal realm."
Gideon tilted his head slightly.
"I thought your presence here would make the ritual collapse entirely."
The demon chuckled, low and knowing.
"Don't flatter me, priest.
That's a small matter—and I'll even answer it for free.
Consider it a bonus for the extra bottles you threw in."
Gideon narrowed his eyes.
Something about this demon's manner felt off—
its casual humor, its calculated honesty.
He tossed another vial of holy water across the room—
then, after a pause, threw in a second one.
Valakh caught both midair and smiled approvingly.
"Not bad, human.
You're smarter than those dusty old bishops you work for."
The words carried a strange weight, a shadow of respect.
Then, his grin faded.
"As for your question…"
His tone darkened, rippling with an ancient weariness.
"I can stall the sacrificial ritual—but I can't destroy it."
The admission hung heavy in the air.
Valakh explained that while his interference disrupted Marbas' influence,
it couldn't break the ritual itself.
As long as he remained in this place,
Marbas' plan to descend fully into the human world would be delayed—
but never stopped.
Demons, he reminded them, could only touch the physical world through mental projection.
That was why Marbas had to rely on intermediaries like Corby,
who had already sacrificed too much of himself.
It all aligned now—the old man's repeated manipulation,
the endless loop of failed rituals and decaying faith.
Gideon lowered his head, eyes glinting with thought.
A dangerous idea began to form.
"What if," he said softly,
"we worked together?"
Valakh's gaze flicked toward him, genuinely surprised.
"You… want to make a deal with a demon?"
The question carried both amusement and intrigue.
"I don't care for those petty contracts," Valakh continued,
"but since you've earned my respect, I'll promise—no tricks, no traps.
Just one condition…"
He raised the empty bottle, swirling it suggestively.
Gideon shook his head.
"I serve the Light.
I don't sign contracts with the damned."
"Then there's nothing to talk about."
The demon stretched lazily, smoke curling from its lips.
"Still—" it smirked,
"I'm bored. And since you've been so generous with the good stuff…"
Valakh lifted his arms, spreading them wide.
"I'll play along.
Let's exorcise something, shall we?"
But Gideon didn't move to chant, nor did he draw a sigil.
Instead, he reached into his satchel and drew out another bottle of holy water.
Uncorking it, he held the open mouth toward Valakh.
The demon frowned, confused—then his eyes widened.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Wait… what are you—"
The holy water shimmered with divine radiance,
light spilling across the room like liquid fire.
For the first time that night, Valakh—the demon who had mocked Hell itself—looked afraid.