Chapter 9 Secret Talk
Although Lucifer's personal involvement seemed somewhat arrogant, God still kept his promise despite Baal's previous foul, rewarding the Archangel with the highest archery skill. Furthermore, in the subsequent royal contest, no creature could compare to Michael, who rode a griffin. The demons, having painstakingly climbed to the Seventh Heaven, gained nothing and slunk back to Hell.
No wonder, after the Creation Ceremony, Heaven's prestige rose higher and higher, firmly suppressing Hell.
"Is this what you call a better future for demons?"
A hazy mist surrounded them, Hellfire leaped, and the spray from the flames carried the stench of sulfur. The demon who spoke had a kind face; at least compared to the harsh surroundings, he seemed exceptionally harmless.
Baal, lying listlessly, turned over irritably upon hearing this.
"Laugh all you want, Agares."
Lucifer's fame soared at the Creation Ceremony with an arrow that pierced the three realms; Cupid's arrow still shines on the stones of Hell.
No demon could pull out that arrow!
"You came to my territory just to say this?" Baal didn't want to discuss this. This matter, besides making demons look like mere foils to Heaven, offered nothing of note. His mortal enemy's mockery was a mockery of himself.
"Then you can leave now."
"I thought you would have done better, after all, Vasak abandoned me and chose you."
Agares sighed. After the gods created all things, demons were also categorized in a similar way. Logically, Vasak was of the same race as him, possessing a true heart and the ability to foresee the past and future, while he himself had a clear mind. Their cooperation should have been seamless, but Vasak chose Baal.
"As if you could do better than me. Lucifer's strength surpasses mine, and you can't even defeat me."
"In a one-on-one fight," Baal scoffed, sitting up and emphasizing.
"If I knew how to escape Hell," Agares said slowly. Although Baal was powerful, Agares didn't consider himself inferior. The only difference between them was the order in which they were brought to the ground from the hands of gods. So he selectively ignored Baal's words, muttering under his breath.
"I won't be like you."
A scorching wave rose, dispersing the floating mist and revealing the demon army standing behind him.
"What do you want?" Even though Baal loathed his nemesis's cunning, he couldn't help but feel a secret envy. This considerable demon army accounted for seventy percent of the total number of demons in this area.
Agares didn't answer immediately. He gazed at the dark sky of Hell. To demons, the sky stretched above the abyss; the gods were too far away, unattainable and beyond their reach. Unlike the simple-minded Baal, Agares had no expectations of that unattainable god.
If he wanted something, he would obtain it through his own abilities.
A raven circled in mid-air. Agares smiled slightly. The black bird, seeing its master, swooped down, its sharp claws loosening and then hooking, dropping a rolled-up piece of cloth. It landed steadily on Agares' shoulder, its bright black eyes, like fireflies, darting around alertly, making it look more like a strong eagle.
"What's that?" Baal asked, looking at the cloth Agares had spread out. He asked casually, not expecting an answer.
Unexpectedly, Agares made no attempt to hide anything; he simply tossed the cloth over.
Baal caught the cloth and examined it briefly, immediately recognizing it as a map of Hell's exit.
"This is a map drawn by Vasak leading to the mortal realm."
"You forced him to draw it?"
"It's a fertile land; wouldn't it be a waste to give it only to the elves?"
Baal remained silent, lost in thought.
"I need your power, Baal."
Agares stood up, meeting Baal's gaze across the torrent of flames. A crocodile crawled out of the lava, carrying him across the inferno to Baal's throne.
"Let us put aside our prejudices; the prosperity of the demon race does not lie in Heaven."
——————
In the mortal realm, an examination was underway in the land of the elves. After the Creation Ceremony, the Elven King discovered that compared to angels and demons, the power of the elven race was not systematic. Therefore, he modeled his teachings on the elven academy, and Esley, as a wood-elemental elf, served as the examiner for the preliminary examination.
"Allen."
The elf whose name was called stood up, nervously walking to the tree. Esley glanced at him, for compared to the surrounding young elves, Allen was older.
"Begin," he said gently. This wasn't his first time proctoring Allen's exam; the preliminary assessment, held every three months, had already gone through three rounds, and the poor child still hadn't passed.
Easley stared silently at the flickering, indistinct five-colored elements in Allen's hand, seemingly destined for the same result.
This wasn't normal.
Elves, born from the Tree of Life, were naturally endowed with elemental power: wind, fire, water, earth, and wood. Those with exceptional talent could master two or even three elements, like Esley, who, besides wood, was also proficient in water and earth.
Back then, when Allen was born, it caused quite a stir within the elven race.
He was the second elf to possess the power of all five elements. The first was the Elf King, a perfect creation of the Creator God, naturally proficient in all five. But Allen was different. He possessed the power of all five elements but was inept at controlling any of them. Even the most basic spells, like the one that even the youngest elves could perform—like causing leaves to bloom and flowers to sprout—he couldn't do.
The greater the hopes his people had once held for him, the more awkward those hopes became now. The young elf's brows furrowed, as if he were struggling to maintain his strength, but the energy dissipated.
Esley sighed almost imperceptibly.
"Next."
Allen, naturally shy and not good at expressing his emotions, was a seasoned examinee, intimately familiar with the examination process. He silently left before Esley could say anything more.
Before leaving, he heard a cheer and turned to look. It was a newly born elf, with fiery red hair like the archangel Michael of Heaven.
The flames ignited in his palm had just set Esley's hair ablaze.
But Esley wasn't angry; in fact, he seemed quite pleased.
Allen knew why. Of the five elemental spirits, the fire spirit was the most precious.
A useless person like him could only bring disappointment and sighs. Unable to describe the feeling in his heart, Allen leaped forward, traversing the dense forest. Sunlight filtered through the layers of leaves, casting dappled shadows on his face. He seemed tireless, his lithe figure disappearing into the depths of the forest.
He didn't know how long he had run when he suddenly stopped. The thin mist that lingered in the forest had long since dissipated, revealing a lake he had never seen before.
Golden sunlight reflected on the water, creating shimmering ripples, fine as gold dust, with a beautiful sheen.
He reached out and gently touched it. The cool lake water, along with its reflection, rippled. The air was filled with the fragrance of grass, lilies, and damp earth.
Alan had never known such a beautiful place existed hidden within this forest. Its tranquil serenity finally eased his innate fear. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. His emerald green eyes, filled with the boundless scenery, were about to take in the entire panorama when they contracted sharply at the sight of something not far away.
A figure stood by the lake, his back turned, so Alan couldn't see his face. But he was certain it wasn't an elf. The figure lacked the pointed ears characteristic of elves, and he had never seen any member of his race with such beautiful, long silver hair. The silver figure stood there, an easel beside him, silent and still, as if one with the world—and then he truly vanished.
If it weren't for the easel still standing there, Alan would have almost thought he was hallucinating.
Hanging on the easel was a landscape painting, indeed of this place. He had never seen such a lifelike painting; every blade of grass, every tree, every rock, every lake, was just like the real thing.
He waited there for a long time, from day to night, and from night to day, but the owner of the painting never reappeared.
Alan was a little disappointed, but he quickly rallied. He began to frequent this land, hoping to see the silver-haired angel again. Alan was convinced it was an angel; no demon possessed such a holy aura.
For several days, he was the only one pacing anxiously by the lake, but he didn't give up; in fact, he came even more frequently.
Alan had tried to take the easel by the lake. He didn't want to steal it, but he was afraid it would be damaged by the wind and rain, but he failed.
The easel seemed rooted to the ground, too heavy to lift. Only after Alan was certain that the rain couldn't wet the painting did the angel finally reappear.
Alan was filled with curiosity about everything about him, but dared not disturb him. He watched him secretly, like a bee focused on nectar, until he disappeared again.
Allen was overjoyed by his appearance, and plunged into despair by his departure. This time, he remained depressed for ten days. Even his tribesmen, who had always considered him introverted, thought his recent silence was excessive, but they attributed it to his failure in the examination.
The third time he saw the other, Allen felt an unprecedented tension. He couldn't explain this feeling; although he hadn't spoken a single word to him, his inferiority complex surged forth like a wellspring of life.
That wasn't an elf; he wouldn't care about being a useless person.
He convinced himself of this. He wanted to say something to him, even just a simple word.
A strange intuition told him that missing this opportunity would be a lifelong regret. An elf's life was too long, longer than Allen could imagine.
His sluggish brain began to work. The angel always stood by the easel, but he had never touched a brush.
Several pens were hidden on Allen's person, some made from branches of the Tree of Life, others from unicorn horns, the most beautiful being the one inlaid with a sapphire…
It was a gift from the Elf King to him at birth, and he always believed it could create the best paintings in the world, the best thing he could possess.
An angel's painting was worthy of it.
He pursed his lips, clutching the pens tightly in his hands.
Gifts were often the beginning of friendship, but Allen had no friends, no friends who cared about him.
And the angel always appeared alone.
Finally, he decided to heed the encouragement of courage, and to avoid making his actions too abrupt, he made some noise.
This successfully attracted the angel's attention; he turned around, and Allen stiffly walked forward into the angel's gleaming golden eyes.
"Y-hello…"
The elven possessed a beautiful voice blessed by the gods, but Allen had never felt his voice as dry and unpleasant as it did now.
He saw a golden pen resting on the other's easel, its brilliance dazzling, far more beautiful than his sapphire.
A powerful, wealthy angel.
Powerlessness and despair seeped into a deeper sense of inferiority, and Allen lowered his head, as if he had lost all meaning in life; his entire being turned gray.
He couldn't give this gift.
The mortal world could be depicted with divine power; the god's golden eyes reflected the sun, moon, mountains, and rivers of the mortal realm, paying no heed to the peeping elf if he hadn't approached.
The god gazed at the elf and the several pens he held, one of which, a wooden one, was broken in two, and fell into a brief moment of bewilderment.
(You provide the author Danmu's [Hebrew Mythology]: The arduous journey of a world's creation.)