P.S. I spent a lot of time proofreading and crafting a detailed Author's note, only to accidentally close the tab without saving it. I'll explain more once I've cooled down and stopped seething over the mishap.
so for now, the chapter is not beta'd.
Stolas had noticed, with mild annoyance, that he'd been bowing far more often for people lately than he ever really cared to.
Sure, he didn't mind the occasional act of supplication, getting down on the floor with his head bowed, feathery derriere in the air, ready to please. Blitzy would certainly vouch for that. And yes, his little imp was definitely his now—just as much as he belonged to Blitzy. And it only took a bit of absolute terror from the First Man's rampage and Hell nearly falling apart for the two of them to finally talk about their feelings!
But if he were being honest, the cold marble floor of Great King Baal's mansion wasn't doing his kneecaps any favors. Frankly, he was getting quite sick of rubbing elbows with the Heavenly Throng, especially with a bloody Archangel.
Ah, life was often disappointing, he mused with a long, dramatic sigh.
But even in the most unpleasant circumstances, there were always a few small silver linings, weren't there? For one, he took some sweet jot in knowing that his ever-prideful ogre of an ex-wife was subjected to the same treatment. Perhaps, the constant prostrating would help Stella learn some humility or at least when to shut up. Unlikely, he admitted, but a man could hope.
For two, if everything went to plan—which, given his current luck, seemed as slim a chance as ever—this might be the last time he had to deal with Heaven's infernal bureaucracy.
And for three, it could have been far worse. At least it wasn't one of those dreary, stiff-necked Archangels delivering Heaven's message to the Ars Goetia. That would've made this whole affair insufferable. Worse still would've been a less diplomacy-inclined angel like the Angel of Forbearance, the Angel of War, or, Hell forbid, the Taxiarch herself.
Stolas had heard of the Heavenly boogeyman's prowess, might, and above all, her lack of patience and tolerance for Hellborn. She made for a rather effective way to scare disobedient Ars Goetia children into bed—he spoke from experience. The mere mention of the Taxiarch was just as useful in quelling any thoughts of going up against Heaven. It was wisdom passed down from his Elders, those who had lived long enough to witness firsthand the consequences of such recklessness.
Stolas had felt her presence once, barely three weeks ago, when the King—or rather, the former King now—of Hell was brought low. The memory still made his skin crawl. That single encounter had been more than enough to make him wholeheartedly agree with his elders' warnings. In fact, he hoped it would also be the last time he ever had to endure her proximity.
Instead, the angel before them now—the one they currently knelt to—seemed content to indulge whatever illusion of choice they had tricked themselves into believing. Stolas's gaze drifted upward, almost unconsciously, toward the Seraphim who loomed above them: Haniel. Eons ago, it had been her feathers that had given life to his father. And now, here he was, bowed low before his celestial kin.
Majestically supreme and radiating with power, yet unmistakably owl-like, Stolas thought, not sure why he was surprised. It made sense—owl-like fallen angels descended from owl-like Archangels.
There was something almost darkly amusing about it.
Being dragged into this mess by an ancient relative—whether through blood or feathers—felt like either a cosmic joke or an irony so profound it practically begged for a punchline.
Stolas fought the urge to groan aloud.
Then, a chill ran down his spine as he realized he'd made eye contact with her..
Her eyes were piercing—far too intense for comfort. Even from a distance, Haniel's gaze seemed to cut through him, as if she could see straight into the depths of his mind, unearthing every secret he'd ever hoped to keep hidden.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
Stolas immediately averted his eyes, his heart racing. The polished marble beneath him seemed far more appealing than the risk of holding her gaze any longer. He'd hoped to keep a low profile, but now he regretted ever drawing her attention in the first place.
His instincts screamed that this Archangel, though serene and composed, might be far more dangerous than even the fabled Taxiarch.
"Does the esteemed Ars Goetia Family find my proposal agreeable and to their liking?" Her voice, soft and unhurried, yet infused with an authority that could not be mistaken, echoed through the grand hall. 'Proposal,' Stolas mused darkly, suppressing the urge to laugh at the absurdity.
As if they had any real choice in the matter. Refusal wasn't on the table—not when it came to Archangels like her. Everything with them was wrapped in politeness, even the commands. Much like how she had assured them there was no need to bow, and yet here they were, kneeling, their faces to the floor.
His father and the rest of the Elders must have been seething beneath their composed exteriors. To be asked to vacate the home they had long proclaimed as their own domain—declaring that 'they, the Ars Goetia, were the true rulers of Hell'—only to find themselves humbled, heads bowed and eyes downcast, was a bitter pill to swallow. Great King Baal's tentative question, "And what of our self-governance?" dripped with a desperation veiled in formal politeness.
The First Angel's smile never wavered. Her voice, imbued with an effortless grace, carried a touch of amusement. "Rest assured," she said, her tone both soothing and commanding, "your autonomy shall remain intact. The Blessed Son has indeed informed us of your valiant support, which we hold in high regard."
Though Stolas remained largely indifferent to the proceedings, he noted a faint glimmer of relief from his fellow family members. In the end, despite the cost, they had managed to secure some semblance of their goals.
Great King Baal's voice, though formal and restrained, carried the acceptance of their new arrangement. "The Ars Goetia accept," he announced, with an air of dignified resignation.
With a delicate clap of her hands, Haniel's smile deepened, her eyes twinkling with a serene satisfaction.
"It is truly delightful to reach an agreement," she said, her voice soft but imbued with an undeniable grace. It was almost impressive to Stolas how she managed both every single time. "I must extend my apologies for the brevity of the notice. I trust you understand that such matters are often expedited in the celestial realm."
She then composed herself with a practiced elegance, her six wings unfurling in a dazzling display of light. As she bowed deeply, the air shimmered around her, and a radiant portal materialized behind her. "I look forward to our paths crossing again, perhaps under more auspicious circumstances," she added, her tone both gracious and final.
Stolas hoped fervently for the opposite. The grim faces surrounding him suggested that the rest of the Ars Goetia shared his sentiments.
The Three Greats of the Ars Goetia rose from their seats, and Stolas, along with his far-too-large family, followed suit. He stared at the spot where the Archangel had been mere moments ago and wondered if his daughter, Via, might someday possess a regal presence like her ancient progenitor—minus the cutthroat tendencies, of course.
It was a strange wish, but one that seemed more appealing than the thought of Octavia growing up to resemble The Thing that had sired her.
Stolas made a face at the very thought.
"Dad?" Via's concerned voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to her, offering a reassuring smile.
"Let's go home and pack, shall we?" he suggested, trying to lift the mood. He knew the news would soon be spread throughout Hell, but he wanted to be the one to inform Blitzy and his little crew personally.
He simply hoped that wherever their new home turned out to be, it would be as far from his bitch of an ex-wife as possible.
Adam walked across the marble floors of the First Heaven, the surface gleaming under the soft light. Lute followed closely behind, providing her usual calming presence. The sound of Adam's bare feet was barely audible over the cheers and laughter of the Winners who surrounded him.
Mydric, catching up to Adam, asked with a grin, "Are we having another party today?"
Adam laughed, glancing around at the crowd. "We've been partying for a month already," he replied, his tone light as he continued walking. The crowd hung on his every word figuratively—and on his arms, literally. All four of his arms. "I'd say we take it easy for a bit, no?"
"Then how about just a party between you and me—Ow!" Aisha's suggestion was cut short by a playful flick of Adam's middle finger to her forehead.
"What in Heaven's name are you even saying to your old man, girlie?" Adam admonished her, raising an amused brow. He couldn't help but notice that his presence was more appreciated than he had anticipated.
He wasn't sure if the former version of himself had been this popular and he simply hadn't realized it, or if his children just felt more comfortable now that he was more open to banter and showed a genuine appreciation for their company—even if they sometimes skirted past the line of decency.
Of course, it was a much more welcome alternative to the darker possibility he had in mind: Fear. His soul might still have been entirely human, but his body had undergone some unwanted tweaks over the past month, much to his chagrin. The Silver lining: He can hold more of his children.
Adam looked back, a smile tugging at his lips. "I've got a job to do down under," he said, his tone serious. "And absolutely not! This one's just for me."
Instead of pushing them away as he expected, the mention of Hell made everyone perk up. "Are we going to clean it up and fight demons?" Mydric asked eagerly.
"No, and there is no we." Adam pushed the too-close face away from him gently.
"Whoa, now I definitely need to come with you!" Yesta exclaimed.
"Me too! I was a soldier," chimed in Cedric, his eyes shining with excitement. "Just give me a gun, and let me at'em!"
"I wasn't a soldier... but I played a lot of Doom!" added Finn, trying to sound brave.
"Amazing credentials, but again, there isn't going to be any fighting." Adam shook his head, chuckling and ruffling the boy's dreads. "Appreciate the offer though."
Luckily, the crowd thinned out as Adam neared the Pearly Gates, with the last few stragglers making a hasty exit once they saw the two enormous, heavily armored angels standing in waiting. The six wings stretched behind them only added to their imposing aura.
They didn't mean to, but their visage might as well have them screaming: Be Gone, Foolish Mortals!
The Archangels were certainly kind and well-meaning toward the Winners, but they never quite lost that air of finality—the overwhelming sense of authority that stirred something deep in the hearts of humans and made them appear much grander
While It was often his children got to see Sera, Emily, or even Uriel or Zadkiel on some occasions, the rest of the Archangels were basically legends and myths seeing how spread out across Creation they were In fact, if Adam remembered correctly, the Archangels hadn't held a council in nearly two hundred years before his death. So, it was no surprise that Jophiel and Raguel had this kind of effect on people.
Of course, the irony of him pointing that was not lost on Adam Kadmon.
Jophiel, at least, tried to soften the tension with a warm smile, but Raguel stood there with her usual stern expression. If Jophiel's grin eased their nerves a little, Raguel's cold silence definitely brought them all back.
As Adam approached the tall figures of Raguel and Jophiel, the two Archangels remained silent, but their eyes followed his every step, sharp and assessing the few oddities he gained recently. It felt like they were waiting for something—or someone. Now Adam wasn't a betting man, nor did he like tooting his own horn on most occasions, but...
"Did you call them?" Lute leaned in, her voice low, murmuring just loud enough for him to catch.
"No," Adam replied, his tone not as quiet as it should have been. He always thought calling people over just to ask a favor was a bit rude; it felt more polite to go to them and ask in person. Eve used to say the same thing. "I told Haniel what I wanted to do, though."
She had been mighty helpful, doing what he asked and more. It struck him as odd that she didn't ask why, but he took that as a sign of trust. That made him a bit happy, truth be told.
Lute made a soft noise, a blend of understanding and caution. "They're on edge, Adam. Best not to keep them waiting."
With a nod, Adam approached the Seraphim, trying to stifle the amusement bubbling under the surface. The sheer intensity radiating off them was almost too much. "Raguel. Jophiel," he greeted, casually raising a hand as if they were old acquaintances catching up on a street corner—which, in fairness, they technically were!
Lute, ever the diplomat in Heavenly bureaucracy (and rarely anything else), followed up with a more formal gesture. She dipped her head slightly and said, "Your Holiness. Divine Arbiter," her voice dripping with respect that Adam found overly formal, even for Heaven.
Jophiel's smile widened, her features relaxing at Adam's casual tone. "Still as nonchalant as ever, I see." Her gaze shifted to Lute, lingering on her newly restored arm, and her eyes narrowed slightly, a smug glint forming in her smile. "It warms my heart to see my lovely feather whole again, Lute."
Lute nodded, a faint dusting of pink coloring her cheeks. "You do me much honor, Lady Jophiel," she replied.
Meanwhile, Raguel remained her stoic self, showing no sign of sharing in the sentiment. Her sharp eyes flicked between Adam and Lute with a level of scrutiny that made Adam feel like he was under review."You're expected," she said bluntly, her wings shifting slightly behind her, catching the light.
Adam, always quick with a comeback, grinned. "And you're not!" he quipped, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. "To what do I owe the honor of Heaven's most beautiful and powerful Seraphim gracing me with a visit?"
Jophiel let out a soft laugh, her wings fluttering lightly at the compliment. "Flattery, Adam? How very human of you."
Oh? bringing out the honeyed words? Yep, they were definitely nervous. Adam couldn't decide if it was due to his eyes, his arms, or his wings. Most Likely, it was because of his new Him-ness in general.
Adam raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of innocence, his grin widening. "What can I say? Old habits die hard," he said, with a half-shrug and a smile that said he wasn't apologizing for it. "I say it like I see it."
The Angel of Justice spoke, completely unmoved by Adam's velvet words. "Word of your plan has reached my ears, and I have decided to accompany you when you descend—to oversee it with my own eyes and reach my own conclusion. Will that be... objectionable?" Raguel demanded, her voice firm. Of course, she wasn't really asking; Raguel was never the type to ask.
Adam thought nothing bad of it.
Adam sighed, but it wasn't out of frustration—more like mild amusement. "Objectionable? Not at all. I could use the company." His grin widened a little. "The more, the merrier, as they say."
"You should be honored, Adam. It's not every day Raguel takes such a personal interest." the Angel of Love chuckled softly, entirely ignoring the fact that she herself had yet to actually tell him why she was interested in coming.
Adam shot her a playful look. "Oh, I feel very honored," he said, then glanced back at Raguel. "But just to clarify—by 'oversee,' you mean observe, right? Not interfere?"
Raguel's gaze didn't waver. "We'll see," she answered, her tone giving nothing away.
Adam, of course, didn't take any offense. He knew she meant none, after all. Adam Kadmon knew a lot of things since he was born not too long ago.
Adam said nothing, his smile remaining in place as he gestured for the two Seraphim to lead the way. With a slight tilt of his head, he signaled his readiness.
Jophiel's wings fluttered slightly as she turned, taking the lead with a graceful step, while Raguel followed, her posture as rigid and straight as ever. Adam exchanged a quick glance with Lute, who merely raised an eyebrow in return, as they trailed behind the Archangels.
Before long, they found themselves standing at the Hell Gate. Saint Peter was waiting at his usual podium, despite the fact that his role had become more ceremonial than necessary ever since Adam's decision to put a "Hold" on Death across all Creation. Peter was there simply to see them off.
He offered the Archangels a quick, reverent greeting, gave Lute a nod and a smile, and shared a fist bump with Adam. The gesture was awkward, mostly because it took a while for Saint Peter to stop staring at the wings at the four closed eye slits, and the extra pair of arms. Somehow, in the end, the two Winners managed to pretend they were hip, cool, young guys and not the ancient fossils they were.
With that, the Gate opened.
Jophiel and Lute descended first. Just as Adam prepared to follow, Raguel's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Just like he had expected.
"I wish to apologize for my conduct during your return assembly," she said with a steady voice, her face expressionless but making direct eye contact "My words had merit, but I should not have let my frustrations fall upon you. I offer my apologies for projecting my own insecurities onto you."
Adam smiled softly, acknowledging her words. "I accept your apology," he replied without dismissing it—knowing that waving off her apology would only disturb the Angel of Justice.
With a nod of approval, Raguel jumped into the depths, leaving Adam watching her descending form with a smile.
This was why he never took offense at her remarks. Raguel was blunt and direct, but she never meant harm. She was, after all, an embodiment of justice.
Honest. Straightforward. As expected of an angel born from Gevurah.
Adam let his body fall through the portal, surrounded by the familiar triad of colors, yet protected from the distortions of the Firmament. Not that the Barrier could scratch him anymore, unlike the last time.
Soon enough, the kaleidoscope of lights ceased, replaced by the repulsive red of the Pride Ring's sky, and all he saw, heard, sensed, and felt was Sin.
The smile faded from his face.
Twelve vast wings unfurled, larger than before, as he hovered above Pentagram City.
His gaze swept across the ruins, noting the devastation that had consumed the city. The Hazbin Hotel—Charlie Morningstar's defiant attempt at redemption despite the insulting name—stood in charred remains.
Recently rebuilt, only to be burned down again by his most fervent yet always unrepentant sons and daughters. Children of Adam, they called themselves—a name both true and hollow, stirring pride and anger within him to witness such cruelty done in his name.
Another sin on his soul.
Then, his eyes found her—the child of the Serpent and his whore—staring up at him with anxiousness and apprehension, standing amid the ruins of her parents' broken sanctuary. He saw hope and fear in her soul. Hope for his approval of her dream and a better future, against the fear of the promise he'd made to finish what he'd started with the Whore who dared deceive his Eve, now hiding behind crumbled walls and shattered pride.
Their meeting was not yet still.
Kadmon's eyes moved to the aftermath where Michael's twin attacks still resonated, the craters glowing with the residue of angelic power. Pools of molten glass and stone burned for more than a month now, destined to continue smoldering for a thousand years more.
A righteous retribution, perhaps. Yet, all Adam saw were the millions of his sons and daughters who had been denied both redemption and damnation. Once more, just more sins on his soul. He was grateful that their end was swift.
Cruel and malicious as these Sinners were—responsible for his death as they might be—they were still his children. And he, their Father.
Kadmon vowed to take their share of misery, hoping that their echoes and regrets would find eternal rest.
His senses stretched farther, seeing all there was to see. From the distant edges of Kaz in the south to the forgotten nomadic sinner in the north. Everywhere he looked in the ring of Pride, his children gazed upward. Some cheered, some jeered, and some fled.
He saw their sins, their inhumane deeds, and his authorities bubbled beneath his skin.
The Cross's blue glow flared crimson.
He let his displeasure be known.
The laughter and mockery stopped. The cheers died.
The Children felt the Father's Wrath—and they groveled.
Pitifully.
Adam offered them no comfort. It was his duty to love his children, but disciplining children was an even greater responsibility.
But for now, they too would have to wait.
He turned his attention away from the weeping crowd and onto the Ars Goetia. Though they didn't see him, they felt his presence and bowed their heads. With a commanding gesture, he made them raise their heads reluctantly. He had no need for servants and fawner, whether they were demons, angel, or fallen. Their fear and adoration meant little to him.
The existence of the Ars Goetia itself was of no consequence. Yet, they had done him no wrong and had stood by his son's side, reasons aside. He needed them removed—not dead, but erased. Their damnation and erasure were tasks for the Old Man to handle.
He raised a palm towards the crimson and dark moon. "Repel," he willed. The satellite was blasted away into the distance, becoming a mere dot in the sky of the Damned realm, continuing its journey until it reached the edge of the realm.
'Hell is still too small.' Kadmon realized. A temporary setback, he supposed. 'I'll just make it larger."
With twelve wings unfurled once more, his authorities was laid bare to the world. The sounds and bristles of the Archangels behind him were of little concern.
Adam, speaking in the Language of Creation, intoned an incantation that resonated through the very fabric of existence:
"From the infinite, I call upon the essence of order and the domains of Creation. Let the reflection of the Divine manifest."
On the wide expanse of each of his twelve wings, in the Language of Creation, the Sefirots of Adam Kadmon were etched:
Da'at – דעת (Knowledge) Chokhmah – חכמה (Wisdom)
Malkhut HaShamayim– מלכות השמיים (Kingdom of Heaven) Malchut HaAretz– מלכות הארץ (Kingdom of Earth)
Binah– בינה (Understanding) Tiferet– תפארת (Beauty)
Chesed– חסד (Mercy) Gevurah – גבורה (Judgment)
Netzach – נצח (Endurance) Hod – הוד (Majesty
Keter – כתר (Crown) ) Yesod – יסוד (Foundation
The Archangels watched in silence, stunned as they saw their own essence reflected in his wings.
For a brief moment, Raguel's composed exterior faltered as she felt the resonance of the Sefirot carved into Adam's Eighth Wing.
Jophiel, too, seemed moved by the presence of the Sixth. These Sefirot were the source of their Authorities before the Lord granted them to the angels.
Raguel clenched her jaw, steadying herself as the realization took hold. Twelve Sefirots for Twelve Archangels.
It seemed that just as Adam, the First Man, was made in God's image, all of Creation mirrored Adam, the Primordial Man. Their powers were but extensions of his Sefirot. From Gevurah came the Law that guided her, while Tiferet shaped Jophiel's Devotion.
Perhaps this was why Haniel and Uriel had spoken in his favor, though Raguel wasn't sure.
"Raguel..." Jophiel's voice was soft, but Raguel could hear the tremble in it as she flew beside her, wide-eyed and uneasy.
"Calm down," Raguel ordered. Even so, her purpose hadn't shifted. She was here to judge whether his actions were Just or merely guided by something darker. So, once more, she turned her gaze to the First Man.
Kadmon raised his four arms, each imbued with its own authority. The first glowed as the Sefirot of Knowledge, Da'at, rewrote the rules of the realm. The upper left arm thrust forward as Keter's True Progression illuminated the sky with stars. The stars sang praises for the Kadmon before Adam silenced them.
His lower right arm pointed at the moon, and with a snap, its name was erased, leaving it as mere █████. The █████ darkened and cracked, swirling and twitching as █████ tried to make sense of █████'s existence.
Kadmon snapped again, and the █████ was given a new name—Zarimora. Under its new name and Kadmon's intent, the satellite began to shift, grow, and change.
His fourth arm, guided by the Sefirot of Wisdom, Chokhmah, created a second firmament, separating the Ars Goetia's new domain from his damned sons and daughters. By his will, all those not of his blood—ranging from the lowest imps to the mightiest fallen angels and Sins, from the Baphomets of Sloth and the Hounds of Gluttony to the Princess of Hell and the Failed Second—were removed from Roo's Corpse.
Kadmon let out a satisfied huff. "Let it not be said that Kadmon has not repaid friend and foe alike in full."
He turned his gaze downward, surveying the hollowed-out Seven Rings. Only his children remained, staring up at him with fear and apprehension. None dared move, hoping to escape his notice—a futile effort, for in all Creation, none could hide from Kadmon's sight. Yet, one son dared to rise to meet him, driven by foolishness, bravery, and greed. Lightning streaked from the ground, lifting the child toward Adam.
"Hey! Hey! Adam, Daddy—Oh shit!" The arrogant brat with a TV for a head called out, stopping a bit below Adam and the Archangels, his eyes flickering nervously between them. "My bad, didn't mean to interrupt or anything, but I'm—!"
"I know who you are, Alexander, and I know what you seek from me." Adam cut him off.
"Alexander? Damn, that brings back memories. It's actually Vox now." The Overlord smirked, trying to mask his terror with pride. "You've probably seen my name on billboards—yeah, I'm kind of a big deal." He rubbed his hands together, sparks of electricity dancing between his fingers. "But since you know why I'm here, this makes things smoother." he then quickly added. "My associates and I..uh..really dig the new look. Brings out your beautiful eyes."
Adam remained silent.
"So, uh… I'm also a big fan of yours. Loved what you did last time. Since you're actually back, I'm thinking this is part of a sequel, yeah?" Vox's smug smile widened. "So, how about we make this an official collaboration, huh? Worked out great last time. I'm thinking fifty-fifty with the Vees keeping Royalties."
Adam regarded him with a cold stare. "You've grown stronger, Alexander."
"Again, it's Vox, but yes." Vox shrugged, his smug grin still present. "Thanks to you, of course."
Adam's expression darkened. "Was it truly worth it, to enslave others and revel in cruelty for the sake of power?"
Vox blinked, his smirk faltering. "Uh… I guess? The fuck?"
"I see." Adam's voice was stern and heavy. "Then you have only yourself to blame."
"What the fu—!" Vox started to protest, but before he could finish, the lightning beneath his feet vanished. His powers were stripped away, and he plummeted toward the ground, helpless.
To think that he has failed so miserably as a father...
Once again, yet another Sin for him to atone for.
Adam turned his attention to his cursed children below, his voice booming. "My lost children, hear my words. As your father, I confess my grave failure. I was absent when you needed my guidance, and in that absence, you strayed from the path of righteousness. In my presence, I allowed you to witness what should never have been—cruelty, arrogance, and the corruption of what it means to be human. For that, I am sorry."
"Yet as I bear my shame, so must you. You have inflicted suffering and reveled in cruelty towards your brothers and sisters." He raised a hand and let the ethereal Gold Chain of Soul dangle into the Ring below, where it began to split into more chains, and those split again, over and over, until gold was the color of the Ring of Pride.
"For these transgressions, there must be reckoning. The justice that must be meted out will be severe, for the weight of your deeds demands it. You will face the consequences of your actions, and the punishment will be fitting for the pain and torment you have caused. It is through this chastisement that you may come to understand the gravity of your deeds and seek redemption."
Adam's eyes softened as he spoke with a touch of melancholy."I do not do this with joy, but with a heavy heart. Even in punishment, my hope is that you may find the path to atonement and restoration."
He cocked his upper right arm back, the Sefirot of Majesty, Hod, pulsing with the power of destruction in his grasp. His voice echoed once more.
"Let the weight of your deeds crush you, and despair in the darkness you've wrought. Only then, in the depths of your regret, may you begin to repent."
With a mighty swing, Adam brought his arm down, and the Seven Rings trembled beneath the weight of his Glory.
Pride crumbled, its towering spires of arrogance and excess turning to dust along with its haughty occupants.
Wrath's fires were extinguished, reduced to atoms by the Divine's flames.
Gluttony's feasts turned to ash, and its hunger vanished.
Greed's mountains of wealth disappeared, leaving only darkness where riches had once glittered.
Lust's illusions shattered into emptiness.
Envy's possessions dissolved, taking with them the envy and desire that fueled them.
Sloth's remnants, devoid of purpose, fell into oblivion, and its lethargic mists vanished into the void.
The Seven Rings were no more, leaving only the Null and the Unknown to face the brunt of the blast. Flames struck the darkness in a brilliant flash, and the Abyss swallowed them whole.
From the unstable abyss, a vengeful comet shot forth—Eve Chavah. Raguel and Jophiel's true forms burst into being, preparing for the inevitable, yet Adam knew it was meaningless.
He spared a glance at Lute, who had drawn her sword, and offered a reassuring smile. It's okay.
The seal was still strong, and his wife was locked in place. Eve Chavah's body hung suspended mere feet from them, bound by chains around her core, rendering her powerless. Soon, they would drag her back toward her seal, though she had been well aware of the outcome.
Still, she came.
Adam moved toward her.
"Stand back, First Man!"
"Adam!"
He paid no heed to the warnings. Gently, he raised his arm and placed his palm on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into his touch, her expression melting into a serene, almost vulnerable smile. The warmth of his palm seemed to calm the tension in her features, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, glistening in the dim light.
Adam's gaze softened, and his stern demeanor faltered as a shaky breath escaped his lips. For a brief moment, a forbidden thought whispered to him, urging him to let everything crumble away and simply stay with her, undisturbed.
He fought the urge to pull her closer, to defy the very laws he had set in place. He desperately wanted to, but he couldn't.
He was a father first and a husband second.
In those fleeting moments, their eyes met, and a thousand questions and answers passed between them. Assumptions were corrected, and pleas were exchanged in silence.
But neither would yield.
His fingers lingered on her cheek for a heartbeat longer before he reluctantly withdrew his hand. "Still," he said softly.
The loose chains snapped taut and dragged Eve Chavah back into her cage. Despite everything, she managed a smile for him. Adam's resolve wavered for a moment, and he forced himself to return the smile.
Then, she was gone.
For a time, burdened and weary, he hovered in the air with his eyes closed and his head bowed. He remained still, letting the silence of the moment envelop him.
A conflict was inevitable. Sooner than he had anticipated.
Yet, it would have to wait for now
After what felt like an eternity, he slowly opened his eyes.
"Adam…" Lute's hand rested gently on his shoulder, her gaze filled with worry and a deep understanding.
He took her hand in his, offering a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be fine," he said softly, his smile faint but sincere.
He needed to center himself now.
His gaze shifted to the remnants of the Seven Rings, now noting more than a dark void.
He took a deep breath, bringing the palms of his four arms together to form a sphere. Kadmon's wings unfurled with renewed power, and the Sefirots appeared once more.
His Will took shape.
A vast and terrifying realm began to form—a sprawling maze of ten enormous spheres, each a grim prison for the damned far larger than the previous seven rings combined.
Each sphere was a colossal four-world cluster unto itself unto itself, inhabited by billions of damned souls. They wandered through their own personal hells, accompanied only by their regrets, crimes, and tormentors. The spheres were divided into four levels: the outer layers, though harsh and severe, were bearable, while the inner levels became a crucible of unending pain and horror.
For not all Men sinned in equal measure.
Fittingly, At the heart of this realm lay the Abyss—תַּהֲתִיּוֹת (Tahat)—the most severe of all Hells for those who had cast aside their humanity and declared themselves gods. Tahat was for those whose hubris knew no bounds, past and current Tyrants and the so-called Overlords.
The spheres connected at their upper realms, allowing souls to move from one sphere to another as their punishments intensified. The entire labyrinth was a shifting, ever-changing maze, a perpetual trap where no soul could escape or meet another. Each soul faced their torment in isolation, their suffering growing more intense as they approached the Abyss, where despair reached its most extreme.
Yet, despite its terrifying scope, this realm remained incomplete. A mere shadow of its final form, it was still a work in progress. It still a ██████████.
Kadmon raised his hand and itched his Creation into the World.
"Olam Ha'Kapara" (עולם הכפרה) — he named it.
The World of Atonement.
Shefelah - The Pit of Deceit- Third World.
Kathreen Johnson, or "Kaite Killjoy" as she was known in life, sprinted across the cursed wasteland of Shefelah, heart pounding, eyes darting for cover. The giants—hulking, shadowy figures—were everywhere. She hid behind a jagged rock, panting, swearing under her breath, her mind reeling.
"What the fuck is this place?" she cursed, running her tongue over her dry lips. Her hands shook, and her pulse thudded in her ears. Last she remembered was beating the shit out of Tom, and then that self-righteous faggot Adam had to go and ruin everything with his bullshit!
In the distance, the giant shadows moved lazily in the clearing, but she knew better than to take them lightly. Hours of running, hiding, dodging their gaze—she was exhausted. But she knew, deep down, nothing good ever came from those fucks.
Suddenly, the rock she hid behind roared, "The bitch is behind me!" Her heart nearly exploded out of her chest. She scrambled up, eyes wide in horror.
"A fucking talking rock?!" she screamed. "What the hell?!"
And it talked with Katie's own fucking voice! oh, she was gonna sue the fuck outta of someone!
Kathreen ran, her legs burning, her breath ragged. She glanced behind her, and sure enough, one of the giants spotted her. The tall bastard was huge, a looming nightmare, but she was fast. She could outrun him. No way that lanky piece of shit could—
Crack!
Her head jerked back so hard she thought her neck might snap. Pain exploded in her mouth, blood filling her throat. Her hands flew to her face, and she saw it—spiked chain, hooked through her tongue.
"Fuck!" she screamed, muffled by the chain as she was dragged across the ground. Her body bounced and skidded like a ragdoll, dirt filling her eyes. Kathreen scrambled to her feet, trying to yank the chain free, but it burned her hands like molten iron. "Fuck!"
Through the haze of pain, she saw the giant holding the other end of the chain, dragging her closer like she was nothing more than a chew toy.
"Fucking hell!" she yelled, gagging on her own blood. She fought to break free, but it was no use.
The giant's massive fingers clamped around her, squeezing so hard her ribs felt like they were going to shatter. He lifted her toward his face, and her blood ran cold when she saw who it was.
"You!" she spat, half choking. She looked at his face. She recognized him. He was the fucking perv she ran a story about, something about diddling kids or some shit. She didn't even know if he really did it, but news was news! The fucker was definitely ugly enough that he might as well have.
The shithead didn't even have the decency to stay alive long enough for the story to pick up and get some decent interstate views.
She kicked weakly at the giant, blood spilling from her mouth. "Put me down, you fat fucking oaf!" she gargled, staring at the giant's unreadable expression. He said nothing, just opened his massive mouth.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
"No! No! What the fuck are you doing?!" Panic clawed at her insides as she thrashed in his grip, but it only made him tighten his hold, her bones creaking under the pressure.
His jaws inched closer.
"Let me go, you piece of shit!" she screamed, her voice a garbled mess of blood and spit. The pressure in his grip made it impossible to move, her body crushed in his palm. His huge molars lined up with her head.
"No! Let go, damn it!" Her voice cracked, a gurgle of terror.
Then he bit down.
White-hot pain, like nothing she'd ever felt, exploded in her skull. She thrashed, screaming, her bones cracking under the force of his bite. Blood filled her mouth, and before she could even beg for mercy, there was a final, sickening crunch.
Blackness.
Kathreen woke up, gasping on the cold ground, the spiked chain, now heavier and larger, still threaded through her tongue. She lay there, too stunned to move, too numb to process the pain.
Somewhere, unseen above her, a single grain of sand dropped into the hourglass.
Azael - The Void of Torment- Second World.
Mary Mayberry trudged through the endless desert, her feet sinking into the blistering sand with every step. The heat wasn't just unbearable—it felt alive, scorching her skin, biting at her soles, sending shocks of pain up her legs.
Each step was like walking on fire, the ground beneath her glowing with a heat that seemed to reach into her bones.
It wasn't just the heat that weighed her down. Around her ankle, a heavy iron chain clinked and rattled, the massive ball dragging behind her, pulling her back with each step.
Sweat poured down her face, mixing with the blood that seeped from the raw wounds on her ankles, but the burning air swallowed every drop before it could even fall. Her skin was raw, blistered, and every breath she took felt like inhaling fire, but still, she pushed forward. She didn't know where she was going—only that stopping wasn't an option.
She walked until it felt like time had lost all meaning, her body screaming in protest, her legs trembling from exhaustion. The pain blurred into a haze around her, becoming as constant as the burning wind.
But then, in the distance, something broke through the endless horizon. A tree—large and strong, surrounded by a patch of grass. A sight so foreign in this barren land that she blinked, unsure if it was real or just a cruel mirage.
Hope surged through her, desperate and raw. For the first time, she felt something other than pain—she felt the need to reach that tree, to rest in its shade. Without thinking, she tried to run, her heart pounding in her chest as she dragged her legs forward with all the strength she had left. But the second she pushed forward, the chain snapped to life, cruel spikes erupting from the iron and digging deep into her skin.
A scream tore from her throat as she collapsed into the sand, her knees hitting the ground, sending fresh waves of pain up her body. The burning sand clung to her skin, eating away at her flesh where it touched.
She struggled to stand, her body shaking from the effort, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands trembled as she wiped away the tears that spilled from her eyes, unable to stop the sobs that escaped her lips.
She glanced down at her legs, at the deep, oozing burns that marred her skin, and felt her heart sink. The tree felt impossibly far now, its shade just out of reach. She couldn't run, she realized. The only way forward was to walk. Slowly.
So, she walked and walked, hours passing—maybe days—until her burned and bleeding feet finally stepped into the cool shade of the tree. She collapsed, her body giving out. The ball and chain fell away from her ankles, and for once, there was no pain.
Curled into a ball, Mary sobbed, crying until she didn't have the strength to anymore. Then, she felt a small tap on her shoulder. She scrambled back, crawling away in fear. "Please! No!" she begged, her arms up to protect herself. But no pain came. Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw a small shadowy figure. It was a child—a familiar face.
"Emma..." Mary whispered. She knew this child. Emma had been one of her students, a sweet girl who loved her pet turtle and hated math but always tried. For a moment, Mary worried Emma had somehow ended up in Hell. But no—this had to be part of her torment. Another trick.
The shade of Emma smiled and held out a large pink water bottle, covered in Hello Kitty stickers. Mary hesitated, reminding herself where she was. This was Hell, after all. But hadn't someone told her that accepting her punishment was the quickest way to move forward?
"For me?" she asked softly, using the same voice she had with the real Emma.
The shadowy child nodded, smiling wider.
Mary couldn't say no to that face. Hesitantly, she took the bottle and opened it. Her hands trembled as she brought it to her lips. One more glance at the shade, who nodded encouragingly, and she drank. She gasped, coughing in shock—it was cold water. Actual water! Suddenly, she realized how parched she was and drank deeply until she could drink no more. As the last drop disappeared, she felt her pain and exhaustion melt away.
"Thank you... Thank you," Mary stammered, throwing her arms around the child in a hug. The shadow patted her back before pulling away. The water bottle vanished from her hands, leaving her with a pang of loss. But she didn't curse.
Instead, the shade of Emma reached into a small bag around her neck and pulled out a large leaf, almost cartoonishly big. She handed it to Mary.
At first, Mary didn't quite understand what the child was offering her. She looked at the large leaf in confusion, turning it over in her hands. But then it clicked—it was like a parasol, something to shield her from the blazing sun. It wasn't perfect, but it would give her some relief from the relentless heat. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a glimmer of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something.
She glanced around and noticed that the grass and shade under the tree were shrinking, slowly disappearing into the desert. The brief moment of peace she had found here wasn't going to last. She had no choice but to keep moving. The thought made her chest tighten, but she knew there was no other way.
After some time, Mary gathered the courage to move again. With a deep breath, she lifted the leaf above her head, feeling its faint shadow offering a bit of relief from the scorching sun. She took her first step onto the burning sand, and her skin immediately sizzled.
"It's okay," she whispered softly, trying to comfort herself. This was her punishment, after all. If her gut was right, there would be another tree somewhere, another patch of shade where she could rest. All she had to do was keep moving, keep enduring.
She had to walk her sins away.
Maybe, just maybe, she'd find another of her students out here, or even one of the imps she used to care for when she first arrived in Hell. That thought gave her a little hope, something to hold on to. That would be nice.
Time passed slowly, hours or maybe days, and the tree where she had rested was now just a distant memory, fading into the horizon. Her feet were raw and blistered, sizzling against the unforgiving sand, but Mary pressed forward, step by agonizing step. The heavy ball and chain clinked and dragged behind her with each movement.
But this time, unknown to her, it was one link shorter.
Tahat – The Abyss- Fourth World.
Tahat, The Abyss, is a realm where darkness stretches endlessly, a void so complete that no light can penetrate its oppressive blackness. It's a place where shadows dominate and silence is a physical force, pressing against you with every breath you take.
The ground here isn't solid but rather a viscous, tar-like substance that swallows your steps. With each movement, you sink a little deeper into the mire, the darkness growing thicker around you. There's no horizon or point of reference, just an unending sea of blackness that shifts and merges, making it impossible to discern any direction or distance.
The air in Tahat is heavy, almost suffocating, like it's infused with a substance that makes every inhale a struggle. Those trapped here are left alone with their darkest thoughts and deepest regrets. There are no companions, no voices to offer solace—just the relentless weight of their own minds, replaying their worst moments ad nauseam.
Occasionally, distant shapes and flickers of shadows appear, but they provide no hope or respite. They are cruel reminders of things just beyond reach, adding to the sense of eternal isolation. Each step in Tahat is an excruciating crawl through the void, and the true horror is the soul's realization of its endless solitude.
In this realm, punishment is uniform for all—those who have crushed others, wronged them, or stolen their freedom face the same torment. As time stretches endlessly, the torment comes not from physical pain but from the soul's own anguish. In Tahat, the true horror is the realization of eternal solitude, a place where hope is as distant as a fading memory, and despair is the only constant companion.
Yet, solitude was merely the beginning of it.
'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'
At the heart of this desolation, The Serpent sat amidst not darkness as he should have been, but rather, bathed in the light of the Twelve Wings of the Kadmon who stood before him. Kadmon, having closed the gate behind him, sat down and crossed his legs, facing the Serpent whose gaze remained fixed downward.
Kadmon rested his upper left fist against his cheek, the palm of his left hand resting on his knee while his lower arms crossed. He cast an expectant look at the Serpent, his six eyes narrowing in a dark expression.
A sigh escaped his lips, releasing flames from the intense heat within him. His blood boiled, sending steam rising from his skin as it turned his insides and flesh into soot and his bones into ashes over and over. Even the Kadmon had his own sins to atone for, and he bore his pain silently and proudly.
"I am here, clown. So, go ahead." Kadmon muttered, his voice low and dark as his six eyes glared at the Serpent and embers danced at the corners of his lips.
"Make me laugh."
Author Notes!
The Eleven (or Twelve, in this fic) Sefirot are part of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life in Jewish mysticism. These spheres represent different aspects of divine emanation, and they were originally intended to be embodied by Adam Kadmon (the religious figure, not our character). The harmonious nature of these Sefirot is essential for maintaining the Divine Order, and each Archangel is traditionally associated with one of these spheres.
In this fic, Adam Kadmon is a result of RoR's Eyes of the Lord and the body of Hazbin Hotel's character effectively elevating his Divine Reflection to a more literal level by embodying the Sefirot's attributes.
Conversely,
"Olam Ha'Kapara" (עולם הכפרה) — The World of Atonement represents the inversion of what the Sefirot signify. The realms of this Hell are named using pretentious Hebrew terms, reflecting this inversion lol.
the Hells are:
Tiplah - The Land of Error | Tumah - The Realm of Shadows | Kalon - The Decaying Gulfs | Pitur - The Chasms of Discord | Zemach - The Frozen Pits | Efer - The Wastes of Ruin | Nitzachon - The Chains of Tyranny | Azael - The Void of Torment | Shefelah - The Pit of Deceit | Tahat - the Abyss.
Tldr: this fic had me doing homework, and Adam Kadmon negs your fav character :/
In the next chapter, we'll continue with Adam and Luci, as well as delve into the personal Hells of some of the Hotel's residents. Charlie will also make an appearance, hopefully.