CHAPTER 21: Mouth of the Fallen
Arc 2: Beelzebub – Gluttony (Chapter 2 of 7)
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Lucen was falling.
Not through air. Not through space. Through something warm, wet, and alive.
The ground had split open beneath him, and now he was plummeting down a pulsing tunnel of flesh. The Gluttonous Devil hadn't attacked him.
He had swallowed him whole.
The throat twitched around Lucen's body, convulsing with every heartbeat. Slimy walls flexed and breathed. Veins pulsed just beneath the surface, glowing faintly like molten honey under skin. The air was thick, choking. It stank like rotting fruit and burnt sugar.
Lucen couldn't scream. His lungs refused to listen. Each breath he took dragged nausea deeper into his gut.
He wasn't bleeding.
But something inside him was melting.
And something was whispering.
You were never full, were you... Zaqel Fallmoon...
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He hit the ground hard.
Or what passed for it.
It wasn't rock. It wasn't earth. It was a sea of syrup and bones. He landed in a cavern so vast it had a skyline — but made of bloated rib cages and collapsed stone towers. Everything was chewed. Discarded. Forgotten.
This was Beelzebub's stomach.
Lucen pushed himself up. His robes clung to his skin, soaked in digestive mist. His boots crunched on teeth. The air was sweet and heavy — not comforting, but cloying. Like candy before a gag.
The seals of virtue on his body were dim.
Chastity. Temperance. Kindness.
All silent.
Only one thing pulsed — the whip around his arm. Velkaria. Still hot. Still twitching. Like it wanted something.
He looked at it.
"No," he muttered. "You're done. I'm not using you anymore."
The whip tightened in response.
Above him, a laugh echoed through the flesh.
Wet. Pleased.
"Why fight me, Zaqel?"
"This is home."
Beelzebub's voice came from everywhere. It oozed from the walls. It slid between Lucen's thoughts.
"We are gods who never starve. Let go of temperance. Eat."
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The stomach walls stirred.
A doorway opened. Not with light or bricks, but with want.
Lucen stared into it.
He saw a version of himself — still at the monastery. Eshun was alive. There was no fire. No guilt. No sin. Just peace.
Another doorway appeared beside it.
Lucen stood above the city. Glowing. Divine. The cult knelt in prayer. He wasn't hiding anymore. He was worshipped.
A god crowned by corruption.
His throat was dry. His heartbeat slow.
"Choose your hunger, Zaqel…"
"Starve… or feast."
He looked down at his hands.
Still trembling.
Still stained by desire.
"No," he whispered. "I won't feed you."
The ground quivered.
A thousand tongues erupted from the syrup, licking the air. They screamed without mouths.
Then… another voice.
Not Beelzebub's.
Asmodeus.
"Still pretending you're better than us?"
"Come now, little brother. That whip — it doesn't belong to me anymore."
"It's yours."
Lucen flinched. He tried to shut the voice out. It kept talking.
He wasn't losing a fight anymore.
He was losing ground inside himself.
Then…
A flicker.
Temperance glowed. Faint. Like a dying candle.
He dropped to one knee. Breathing hard. Clutching his chest.
"I'm not a god," he said. "I'm not a monster."
He looked up.
"I'm not my father."
Beelzebub's voice returned. This time, right in front of him.
"Then what are you?"
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The chamber lurched.
The syrup rippled. Something massive was rising.
A body. Shaped like a man, but not human. Bloated. Dripping. Bone-armored skin stretched over a titanic frame. Its belly was split with mouths.
Beelzebub had taken a new form.
Still grotesque.
Now... personal.
In his hand was a weapon — a massive forked halberd. Gold fused with teeth. A butcher's tool turned divine.
"You'll taste better when you're broken."
Lucen stood.
His legs shook.
The whip whispered.
The virtues burned low.
Beelzebub smiled.
And Lucen understood something.
This wasn't just a fight.
He had to conquer himself before he could conquer sin.
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End of Chapter 21
Next Chapter:-CHAPTER 22 — "The Feast of the Hollow King"...