Heaven answered without warning.
There was no trumpet, no blinding descent of fire. No choir announcing judgment. The sky over Hell simply… changed. The red haze thinned, peeling back like a wound forced open, revealing something pale and impossibly distant beyond it.
Not an invasion.
A presence.
Aurelian felt it before anyone else. Every sigil he had ever placed trembled in response. Contracts hummed. Boundaries warped. Hell itself leaned toward the disturbance, curious and afraid.
"They're here," he murmured.
Across the city, demons froze mid-argument, mid-laugh, mid-sin. Old instincts screamed to hide, to arm themselves, to prepare for slaughter—but nothing came. No angels fell screaming from the sky.
Instead, a single line of light cut through the clouds, descending slowly, deliberately, until it stopped above the city like a suspended judgment.
Aurelian stepped forward.
The meeting place formed itself.
Stone rose from nothing, carving a circular platform at the edge of Hell's thinning boundary. Sigils etched themselves into the ground—half infernal, half celestial—meeting at sharp, uneasy intersections. The air burned and froze at once.
Aurelian stood at the center.
Loona remained a few steps behind him, tense but unflinching. Octavia stood on his other side, wings partially unfurled, eyes locked on the descending radiance.
From the pillar of light emerged three figures.
They were not the angels of propaganda—no faceless soldiers, no mindless executioners. These were administrators. Architects of law. Their wings were restrained, folded tight, their expressions calm but watchful.
The middle one spoke.
"Child of Hell," it said, voice echoing without volume. "You summoned Heaven."
Aurelian met its gaze without bowing. "I requested dialogue."
A faint ripple passed between the angels.
"You have no authority to do so."
"I do," he replied evenly. "You simply chose not to acknowledge it."
One angel's eyes narrowed. "You reek of contradiction."
Aurelian allowed a small, humorless smile. "That's usually how truth feels."
The angels studied him in silence—then the center one tilted its head.
"You are not what we expected."
"No," Aurelian agreed. "You expected chaos."
Another angel spoke, colder. "Hell exists to contain sin. Your interference disrupts that purpose."
"Does it?" Aurelian asked. "Or does it challenge your interpretation of it?"
The air tightened.
"You stabilize Overlords," the angel continued. "You reduce internal conflict. You shelter populations during Extermination cycles. You undermine corrective measures."
"Correction implies improvement," Aurelian said. "Where is the evidence that slaughter refines the soul?"
A pause.
Loona felt it—Heaven hesitating.
Octavia stepped forward. "You erase millions every cycle without distinction. That isn't justice. It's maintenance."
The angels turned their attention to her.
"You are Goetia," one said. "Bound to Hell's hierarchy."
"And still capable of thought," she shot back.
Aurelian lifted a hand, calming her. His gaze returned to the angels.
"You fear precedent," he said quietly. "A Hell that functions without annihilation threatens your monopoly on moral authority."
The center angel's wings shifted slightly.
"You speak dangerously close to heresy."
Aurelian's power stirred—not flaring, but settling, like a crown being placed rather than seized.
"I speak as someone born of your greatest failure," he said.
The angels stiffened.
"Lucifer," one whispered.
Aurelian didn't confirm it.
He didn't need to.
High above, unseen by all but the highest powers, a presence leaned closer to the edge of awareness.
Lucifer Morningstar watched.
He did not intervene. He had sworn never to.
But his hands trembled.
"You seek peace," the center angel said slowly. "Yet Hell's existence is proof of defiance."
"Hell exists because obedience without choice is not virtue," Aurelian replied. "You cast down rebellion instead of understanding it. And now you repeat the punishment endlessly."
Another angel spoke, voice sharper. "Then what do you propose?"
Aurelian took a breath.
This was the moment everything balanced on.
"A trial," he said.
The word rippled outward.
"A suspension of Extermination cycles," he continued. "Limited. Monitored. In exchange, Hell maintains internal stability. Overlords remain contained. Souls are… evaluated."
"By whom?" an angel asked.
"By a joint authority," Aurelian answered. "Heaven observes. Hell governs. And for the first time, accountability exists on both sides."
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
"You ask us to trust Hell," the angel said.
"I ask you to trust results," Aurelian replied.
The angels withdrew slightly, conferring without words. Light shifted, restructured, bent.
Finally, the center angel spoke again.
"We will consider your proposal."
Loona's breath caught.
Octavia's eyes widened.
Aurelian remained still.
"But understand this," the angel continued. "If Hell fails—even once—the Extermination resumes with greater force."
Aurelian nodded. "Then I will ensure it doesn't."
As the light began to recede, one angel lingered, gaze fixed on Aurelian.
"You carry the blood of Morningstar," it said softly. "And something older."
Aurelian met its eyes. "Then perhaps it's time you stop pretending Hell is the only problem."
The angel vanished.
The sky sealed itself.
Back in Pentagram City, chaos erupted—not violence, but disbelief. Overlords argued. Demons whispered. Heaven had not attacked.
For the first time in eternity, Hell had been heard.
Loona exhaled shakily. "Did… did that just work?"
"For now," Aurelian said.
Octavia studied him. "You didn't tell them everything."
"No," he admitted. "Some truths need time."
As they left the platform, Aurelian felt it—the shift in fate, subtle but irreversible.
High above, Lucifer turned away from the void, a single tear cutting through his smile.
And deep beneath Hell, something ancient stirred.
Roo was listening.
The trial had begun.