Chapter Text
DAY 1. NO WAY OUT
"In the end, it was nothing more than a mirage spun from deception—no matter how much trust we foolishly placed in them."
***
Chapter 1. The Anomaly
"MAMMON—!! GET UP!!"
...
"HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU PLANNING TO SLEEP?! IF YOU DON’T WAKE UP, FORGET ABOUT BREAKFAST—!!" That all, too-familiar voice rang out from beyond the bedroom door, sharp with irritation and heavy with impatience. The pounding that followed made it clear the one outside had no intention of leaving until he received an answer.
Mammon stirred faintly beneath the sheets. It wasn’t the first time he’d been dragged from sleep like this, but no matter how many mornings it happened, he could never quite get used to it.
“If you’re already awake, then hurry! You know Lucifer won’t be pleased—!” Levi’s voice again, fading as footsteps retreated down the hall. Silence reclaimed the room, broken only by the faint hum of the ceiling fan.
Mammon stayed still, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. His body ached as though bruised from the night before, each muscle stiff and uncooperative. The dull sting of lingering pain made the very thought of moving unbearable. But he knew—if he didn’t get up, Lucifer’s nagging would be endless, and Beel would devour his share of breakfast without a second thought. He wasn’t about to let that happen.
With a groan, he reached for the DDD resting by his pillow. The cold glow of the screen made him wince.
Monday. 6:32.
A new week. A fresh cycle that promised nothing at all. A crooked smile tugged at his lips—half scorn, half weariness. Complaining wouldn’t change a thing. He just had to drag himself to the dining room before the day grew worse.
Slowly, Mammon forced his body upright. Each movement felt like pulling against invisible chains binding him to the sheets. Lifting an arm was like dragging a mountain. His head throbbed in sharp, hammering bursts that blurred his vision. Probably the alcohol from last night, clawing at his nerves and gut in merciless reminder.
But why? Why had he let himself spiral like that?
...
Why couldn’t he—
His hand clenched the bedsheet, breath caught sharply in his chest. The harder he tried to recall, the stronger the pain stabbed at his skull, as if unseen hands were crushing each thought before it could surface. He hated it. Hated the helplessness, hated himself for drowning in liquor just to escape… something he couldn’t even remember.
.
.
.
After countless tries, Mammon finally managed to stand on his own two feet. He dragged himself toward the bathroom, one hand pressed against the wall to keep his balance, to keep himself from collapsing.
The reflection staring back at him in the mirror made him freeze, just for a heartbeat—then he looked away, unable to bear it for long, letting the words slip past his lips,
Pathetic.
His ash-white hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, with none of its usual neatness left. His pale blue eyes were dull, unfocused and drifting as though they’d lost their anchor. The dark circles carved beneath them betrayed him mercilessly, no matter how much he wanted to ignore them. For a fleeting moment, staring at his reflection, Mammon felt like those eyes were so empty that…even he himself couldn’t recognize who he was anymore.
His clothes were disheveled, wrinkled and creased, still reeking of the heavy stench of alcohol from last night. The smell twisted his stomach, yet at the same time, it exposed the truth—how far he had drowned himself in liquor just to escape.
“…You look like a complete failure.” Mammon muttered to the figure in the mirror. His voice came out rough and hoarse, as if even he was exhausted with his own existence.
He raised a hand to touch the bags under his eyes, whispering, “Lucifer’s just gonna chew me out again if he sees this…” A crooked smile flickered on his lips, fragile and short-lived,
“…So damn tired…”
…
It didn’t take long before he stumbled his way through washing up and slipping into the familiar RAD uniform. He had showered quickly, splashing himself with cold water in the vain hope of rinsing away the acrid stench of alcohol still clinging from the night before. But no matter how hard he tried, that sour smell lingered, stubborn, clinging to him like a cruel reminder.
At last, all he could do was sigh, straighten his collar and roughly run his fingers through his hair. At the very least, he’d done what he could to look…presentable.
Presentable enough so no one would ask questions. Presentable enough so he wouldn’t have to explain.
He grabbed his jacket, his DDD in hand, and stepped out of his room. A quick glance at the glowing screen: 6:52.
Earlier than he thought. But inside, Mammon felt no rush. Just another Monday morning—or at least, it would look that way on the surface,
“Here’s hoping today doesn’t fall apart…” he muttered under his breath.
…
Mammon trudged slowly down the hallway, every step heavy, as though chains weighed down his feet. The familiar path to the dining room felt longer than it ever had. The house was silent, save for the echo of his footsteps and the whistle of wind slipping through the cracks of the windows—reminding him that, in that moment, he was utterly alone.
He stopped before the massive family portrait hanging on the wall and lifted his gaze. There they were—seven of them, smiling so brightly, captured in a rare moment of pure joy. A memory frozen in time, almost enough to drag him back to the peaceful days long gone. His lips curled faintly, but it was a smile hollow and fragile.
His eyes drifted across each face until they finally landed on his own. He turned away almost instantly, as if that bright figure in the painting had nothing to do with him. Or maybe…it never had, from the very beginning.
Seconds later, Mammon pushed on, leaving that painted ghost behind in the darkened hallway, quickening his pace as though afraid of being caught by it.
Only a few more steps to the dining room. Laughter, chatter, and the clatter of dishes began to spill through the door, gradually drowning out the sound of his own footsteps. Standing before it, Mammon drew in a sharp breath and exhaled shakily. He forced his face to relax, pulling on that cheerful grin he wore like a mask. Just like every other day. The mask went on again. No one noticed—or rather, no one wanted to notice.
But why was his heart pounding so hard it hurt? Why did his hand tremble as it tightened around the doorknob? It was always like this. Always. So why did today feel so unbearable? He hated it. Hated this gnawing anxiety.
…
The door creaked open, and light from the dining hall spilled out into the corridor—along with every pair of eyes instantly turning toward him. Mammon’s voice rang out, loud and boisterous in that all-too-familiar way,
“Guess who’s finally here—?!” He strode quickly inside, as if nothing at all were out of place.
Lucifer, mid-sip of his coffee, lifted his gaze. His expression was as composed and stern as ever, yet Mammon could still catch a flicker of worry buried deep within it.
“Mammon,” Lucifer said, his voice steady but not harsh: “..how many times must I remind you to keep better track of your time?”
Mammon reflexively scratched his cheek, trying to mask the awkwardness rising in his chest. He bobbed his head with a careless grin: “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
Asmo turned at once, his eyes glinting with mischief. He beamed: “So the great Mammon decided to grace us with his presence after all~ I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep upstairs forever.”
Mammon shot him a mock glare: “What, you think I wouldn’t show up, huh, oh dazzling Lord Asmo?” Asmo pouted, then turned away with a little huff, though his quiet giggle gave him away.
The moment Mammon dropped into his chair, Satan beside him spoke up. “You’re late, Mammon.”
Mammon met his gaze with a crooked smile, keeping his voice light: “That so?”
Satan paused, studying him with unreadable calm before giving a simple nod,
“…Yeah.”
That one-word reply made Mammon falter for the briefest second. He leaned back in his chair, arms folding behind his head in a lazy sprawl, feigning nonchalance. His eyes drifted toward Levi, who sat glued to his handheld, oblivious to the tension in the air,
“You know,” Mammon drawled, his voice a notch louder than usual, teasing: “..maybe I’d wake up faster if someone actually knew how to call me properly~”
Levi stiffened, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face. His eyes stayed on the screen, but his hands froze mid-game. Then he snapped his head up, glaring at Mammon, who was now staring straight at him as if daring him to react.
“Don’t you dare pin this on me!”
Mammon barked a laugh, loud and careless on the surface-but listen closely, and there was a hollowness in it, a thin crack he couldn’t quite hide,
“If you’d just gotten up right away, I wouldn’t have had to waste my time calling you!” Levi shot back, his voice sharp with frustration.
From the side, Asmo—who had been resting his chin on his hand, watching like an amused spectator-snickered at their bickering: “Levi’s not wrong, Mammon~” Mammon’s eyes flicked toward him, and that faint smile on his lips stiffened.
“Asmo’s right. You’re always so sloppy, Mammon, and nothing you do ever seems to turn out well.”
…
Levi nodded quickly, eager to agree: “Exactly! Asmo’s totally right—”
“Levi.” Lucifer’s voice cut through the room, low and commanding enough to make Levi freeze. A single raised brow from him was enough to shut Levi down. The younger demon bit his lip, pouting before turning his gaze back to his game. Asmo, too, fell quiet, clearly not keen on drawing Lucifer’s attention further.
…
“You’re all too damn loud.” Bel’s drawl carried from the far end of the table, heavy with sleep. His plate was still untouched, proof that he hadn’t bothered with breakfast yet.
Lucifer frowned: “Bel, don’t sleep at the table. Finish your food.” That only earned him an irritated scowl from Bel, which made a few others stifle their laughter—quietly, of course, lest Lucifer notice.
“Bel, y-you should eat. Breakfast is really good today.” Beel mumbled between mouthfuls, surrounded by the growing tower of plates he’d already emptied. Bel grumbled but eventually sat up, picking at his portion reluctantly. Lucifer sighed, turning to scold on reflex,
“Beel, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Beel nodded quickly, cheeks still stuffed, and went right back to devouring his meal.
…
This morning’s atmosphere—Mammon realized it wasn’t all that bad…at least, not for everyone else. Once Lucifer had spoken, the room quickly slipped back into its usual rhythm. Levi got reminded to set his device down and focus on eating. Satan quietly enjoyed his breakfast, occasionally exchanging a few words with Asmo. Asmo, between bites, would sometimes pull out his mirror from nowhere to admire himself, all the while chattering about the latest hot gossip in the Devildom. Beel was busy demolishing nearly everything within reach, prompting Bel across from him to warn him not to choke. Bel, meanwhile, fought to keep from dozing off at the table again. And Lucifer—as always, coffee in hand, with a stack of papers at his side, long finished with his own breakfast.
Only then did Mammon glance down at his own plate. A meat sandwich, a few fried eggs already gone cold. He thought, quietly—
It’s fine. Good enough for a morning like this.
Lowering his head, he let out a faint breath before taking the first bite.
7:18.
The salty taste of the sandwich touched his tongue, yet it felt like nothing at all—bland, heavy, almost difficult to swallow. Mammon couldn’t tell if it was the food itself or simply him. He forced down another bite, though his stomach twisted in protest. The dull ache clawing at him…probably the hangover’s handiwork. He’d need to find some antidote for it later—before Lucifer caught wind of his shameful little habit.
He needed—
“…Mammon, you look awful, you know that?” Asmo’s voice broke into his thoughts.
Mammon lifted his head quietly, only to meet the ever-curious gaze of his fifth brother. Asmo rested his chin on one hand, eyes fixed on him, brows drawn in the slightest crease. That familiar scrutiny made Mammon feel both embarrassed and uneasy.
“Do I really look that bad?” He forced his voice into something steady, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah. Really bad.” The usual smile on Asmo’s lips had slipped away, replaced by a rare seriousness.
…
“You look like you’ve been wrestling with something all night. And—don’t think you can fool me with those awful attempts at covering up your dark circles!” Asmo pursed his lips, his tone half scolding, half worried.
Every pair of eyes at the table turned toward Mammon. He frowned, his hands fidgeting out of habit under the weight of their stares. Being seen through like this was far from pleasant.
“Guess not even the great beauty Asmo can be fooled, huh?” Mammon pulled a crooked grin, joking as always. But inside, his chest sank heavy as lead.
“Of course not! Who do you think you’re talking to~?” Asmo’s trademark grin returned, smug and radiant. Mammon answered with a stiff, awkward twitch of his lips.
Satan, who had been silently observing all this time, finally spoke: “Your eye bags are even worse than the otaku’s over there.”
The comment made Mammon falter slightly, while the one being compared instantly erupted: “HEY, DON’T LUMP ME TOGETHER WITH HIM, SATAN—!!”
Satan only offered a faint smile in response, and Bel’s quiet chuckle drifted from the end of the table: “Bel, don’t—”
But Bel simply waved a hand dismissively, unable to hide his grin. “Satan’s not wrong, though.” In an instant, the room filled with familiar bickering.
Levi gritted his teeth, but held back from escalating further. He knew too well that if the noise went on, Lucifer would step in.
“Enough. Finish your meals—we need to get to RAD on time.” Lucifer’s deep, stern voice cut cleanly through the din.
The chatter faded. Mammon hadn’t said a word since, nor did he try to join in again. Never had he felt this exhausted. He couldn’t understand…what on earth was wrong with him today?
Meanwhile, Beel, who had been absorbed in his food, slowed down. After swallowing his bite, he cast a discreet glance toward Mammon. Pale face, slouched posture—signs of fatigue written all over him. Beel frowned faintly. He wanted to ask, to say something, but he knew Mammon would only brush it off. So Beel quietly returned to his meal, though his gentle violet eyes lingered on his brother, carrying a trace of worry he couldn’t quite hide.
.
.
.
It didn’t take long for breakfast to end. The brothers cleared their dishes, one after another, before hurrying off to prepare for RAD. None of them would dare earn Lucifer’s irritation by arriving late.
As always, they split into their familiar clusters: Levi with Satan and Asmo, Beel lingering alongside Bel, and Lucifer—he never needed anyone at his side. And Mammon? Normally, he would shove his way into Levi’s group with feigned ease. But today…he didn’t. Not because he couldn’t. But because he didn’t want to.
Instead, he trailed behind in silence, his figure swallowed by the long corridors of the House of Lamentation. His blue eyes drifted toward the backs walking ahead of him. Levi’s group moved quickly, voices carrying softly down the hall. Beel and Bel lingered behind them, their pace unhurried. And at the very front, Lucifer walked with the same calm poise as always, his steps measured, his gaze sharp as it swept over his brothers. Mammon caught it—the quiet pride in those crimson eyes.
He faltered mid-step.
Had those eyes ever looked at him that way? Had Lucifer ever once found anything in Mammon worth being proud of? Or had he only ever been the name forever tied to trouble and failure?
…
Lucifer noticed instantly when Mammon slowed. When his gaze swept back, he realized how exhausted his brother truly looked. He ought to have spoken then, to have asked, Are you all right? But the words caught in his throat. His pride, ever unyielding, forced him to swallow them down.
Or perhaps…pride wasn’t the only reason he was harsher on Mammon.
Mammon had always been the one he cherished most. That had never changed. From the very beginning, Lucifer had been the one by his side longer than anyone else—the one who understood him best. He only ever wanted Mammon to have the best, even if it meant being strict, even if it meant earning his resentment. If harshness was the price of growth, then Lucifer would endure it. He would endure anything. He would burn the world itself to ash—so long as it meant his brothers were safe.
And yet, sometimes, a terrifying question crept in: did Mammon regret it? Did he ever curse Lucifer for dragging him into rebellion, for leading him into a fall that shattered everything they once were?
The thought deepened the crease in his brow. Almost reflexively, he rubbed at his temple, as though he could dispel the unease clawing at him. Deep inside, however, he knew—he had done everything within his power. But was it enough to keep Mammon by his side?
…
“Mammon. Are you all right?” Lucifer’s voice, low yet tinged with concern, cut into his brother’s thoughts.
Mammon reacted at once, glancing back toward the sound—only to freeze when he realized who it was. The flicker of surprise in his eyes made Lucifer’s chest tighten; he hadn’t wanted to be met with that look of distance.
Mammon quickly masked it, forcing himself closer with a bright grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He laughed, too loud, pressing a hand against his chest as if to prove his own words true,
“Ha—just zoning out a bit, that’s all!”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah—!”
The two fell into step together, their footsteps echoing softly along the stone floor. Lucifer glanced at him sidelong, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly. But before the smile could settle, it faltered. The faint scent of alcohol drifted in the air—clinging to Mammon.
Lucifer’s expression hardened. A storm of emotions surged in him: disappointment, frustration, and something sharper still—worry. He parted his lips, ready to scold, to command Mammon to abandon the wretched habit, when—
7:30.
The household clock struck, each chime sharp and hollow, reverberating through the hall. It marked the hour, but in that instant it felt more like an omen, foreboding and grim.
And then— A piercing scream tore through the air.
“AHhh–!!”
Asmo’s voice.
Both Mammon and Lucifer jolted, their eyes snapping forward. Panic flooded Mammon’s chest as the scene unfolded before him.
Asmo had collapsed at the doorway, face twisted in agony. His right hand trembled violently, blood streaming from a gash so deep it spilled in heavy drops, staining the floor in crimson pools. The brothers rushed forward in shock, crowding around him with wide, frantic eyes.
Only Mammon and Lucifer remained frozen, rooted where they stood.
Mammon tried to lunge forward—but Lucifer’s figure blurred past him first. The swiftness made Mammon stumble, nearly tripping over his own feet. His heart wrenched as he watched Lucifer drop to his knees at Asmo’s side, examining the wound with sharp precision, his expression darkening instantly at the severity.
In the chaos, Mammon lingered behind. His body locked, his breath ragged, his feet heavy as stone. He could only stare.
Until—
“Asmo—! Are you okay?! What happened—” Mammon finally rushed forward, voice thick with alarm. His chest constricted at the sight of the blood, his pulse roaring in his ears.
“SHUT UP!”
“…?”
“Don’t you have anything better to say?! Can’t you see I’m in pain?!” Asmo screamed, voice high and quivering. His hand clutched desperately at the bleeding wound, his face contorted—but his eyes, sharp with fury, locked on Mammon as though he were the cause.
What…?
Mammon stumbled back, stunned. Heat flushed across his face, his eyes wide in disbelief. A weak, humorless laugh escaped him,
“Hey… why’re you saying it like that—?” His brows furrowed, searching Asmo’s gaze—yet the only thing that met him was anger.
“Didn’t you hear me the first time?! You’re still—!” Asmo’s words broke off into a hiss of pain as his wound throbbed, twisting his features further.
Mammon’s thoughts tangled. Why was Asmo lashing out like this? He only wanted to make sure he was all right. But the weight in his chest grew heavy, suffocating—like even his concern was unwelcome.
“Listen here, Asmo!! I’m worried about you, okay?! Why’re you yelling at me like that—”
“Enough, Mammon.” The voice, cold and firm, belonged to Bel. He stood protectively beside Asmo, his eyes narrowing, the sharpness of his glare striking Mammon like a blade.
“You too—?”
“You still don’t get it?” Satan’s voice cut harshly, never sparing him a glance. His focus remained fixed on Asmo’s wound, his words dismissive, slicing straight through Mammon’s presence.
“…”
“What the hell’s wrong with everyone—”
“Are you deaf?!” Satan snapped, his tone seething.
“Silence. All of you.” Lucifer’s command crashed down like thunder, silencing the argument at once. His crimson gaze burned, sweeping across them—a warning none would dare defy.
But Mammon’s world had already tilted.
What in the hell was happening? Why were they all turning on him? All he’d done was ask if Asmo was okay. His fists clenched, knuckles bone-white as the confusion twisted into something darker.
And then he caught Beel and Levi staring at him. Their eyes—filled with the same resentment. Only Beel’s held a flicker of pity. But it wasn’t mercy—it was a blade, sharper than anything else. Mammon’s stomach knotted, his chest burning with the weight of it.
He hated it. Hated it with every fiber of his being.
“If you don’t mind, just step aside, Mammon. You’re only making things worse here.” Levi’s words fell flat, delivered with a detached calm, as if he were stating nothing more than a fact.
Mammon froze. No retort rose to his lips. His throat constricted, choked by the weight of it.
His hands curled into trembling fists, knuckles quivering with rage and humiliation. Helplessness tightened around his chest until he thought it might crush him whole. He staggered back, turning toward the front doors of the HOL.
He needed air. He needed to escape this suffocating room, to escape the stares that pressed down on him like shackles.
…
His hurried steps carried him to the threshold. His hand shook as it reached out, fingers hovering over the cold brass handle. An unshakable dread stirred in his gut, whispering, warning him not to open that door.
(MAMMON—DON’T TOUCH THAT DOOR—!!)
But it was already too late.
The instant his fingers brushed the handle, a surge of violent magic lashed out. For a fleeting moment, he registered the danger—but the curse exploded, merciless and sharp.
“Damn it—!” Mammon hissed through clenched teeth as a violet-black light erupted across his hand. Pain seared through his flesh, so blistering it wrenched his body back with a jolt. His hand quivered uncontrollably, the burn spreading deep into his skin.
He pulled his arm to his chest, gasping, his breath ragged. His palm was raw, angry red, blistered as if devoured by flame.
“It—hurts…” he panted, voice breaking.
…
“Bastard—!!” Satan’s snarl cracked through the room, fury flaring instantly. He stormed toward Mammon, eyes blazing, feral with both rage and fear at the sight of his brother clutching a mangled hand.
“What the hell is going on here?!” His voice thundered, trembling with worry, though anger still ruled his tone.
“Enough, Satan.” Lucifer’s voice cut in, sharp and commanding.
Satan snapped his head toward him, glare burning with disbelief: “What do you mean enough?! You want to pretend this is nothing?!”
Lucifer’s gaze held firm, his brow furrowed, but his voice remained iron: “I said enough. Losing control will only make things worse. We can’t afford panic. Calm yourself, Satan.”
Satan’s jaw clenched tight. He drew a sharp breath, hissing through his teeth, then turned away with a bitter click of his tongue. Though resentment burned, he fell silent—for he knew Lucifer was right.
“Ahh…it hurts…” Asmo whimpered, his voice trembling. His hands pressed hard against the wound, but blood seeped endlessly through his fingers. His eyes shimmered, brimming with tears as his voice broke: “Why… why isn’t it healing…?!”
Levi flinched beside him, his own hand shaking as he bit nervously at a fingernail. His words stuttered, uneven: “O-our demon bodies…they should’ve healed by now, right?! Th-this isn’t normal at all…”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. His gaze shifted from Levi to the wound itself: “It’s the curse’s doing. It prevents recovery.”
“…A curse?” Bel’s low voice carried through the silence, his tone unusually grave. His eyes scanned the house with sharp suspicion: “I checked already. It’s not just the front door. Every window reacts the same. Anyone who tries to open them will be struck back immediately.”
Levi paled, voice cracking with panic: “Y-you mean…we’re trapped in our own house?! This is straight out of a horror game!!!”
Bel said nothing more, but his solemn nod was answer enough.
The air grew heavier, silence thick as lead.
Satan’s eyes slid back toward Mammon, who was still clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. His teeth ground together, voice low and harsh: “But that’s not the only problem…”
The entire room stilled, every gaze snapping toward him.
“…Mammon isn’t with us. And it seems…he can’t even see us.”
The words froze the air solid. A suffocating gloom settled thick and heavy over the brothers.
“And then…” Satan continued, stepping toward his own spectral double. His scowl deepened as he watched the ‘other Satan’ kneel anxiously by Asmo’s side—like some grotesque mirror of his own reflection,
“These things… just what the hell are they?”
…
“I already tried.” Bel pressed his hand against the image of himself, eyes cool and judging—yet tinged with something faintly sorrowful: “We can’t touch them… not even Mammon.”
A heavy silence swallowed the room for a few fleeting seconds, broken only by Asmo’s ragged, trembling breaths. Then suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, shattering the tension—
“I’m back with the first aid kit—!”
Beel came running, sweat still clinging to his temples. He skidded to a stop beside Lucifer and held the box out to him.
“Here.”
Lucifer wasted no time: “Thank you, Beel,” he said, his voice low but taut. He snapped the kit open, pulling out gauze to tend to Asmo’s wound. His hands were steady, precise, but the tight furrow of his brows betrayed the storm beneath his composure. Blood kept welling stubbornly, staining the cloth crimson.
“Asmo, hold on just a little longer.” Lucifer murmured.
“It hurts…”
Asmo bit down on his lip, a faint cry slipping out when Lucifer’s careful touch brushed the bleeding injury. No matter how gentle Lucifer was, the pain still ripped through him, sharp and unrelenting.
The truth was, finding the first aid kit had taken Beel far longer than expected. As demons, they had never needed such human things—their bodies usually healed on their own. But Lucifer, ever cautious, had kept one in the house. Still, it had taken Beel precious minutes to track it down.
Now, with a moment to breathe, Beel finally took in the room. His steps faltered as his eyes landed on the uncanny “reflections” of himself and his brothers.
“What…what the hell is that—?”
“Illusions,” Bel answered flatly, his voice languid as always, though his gaze never left the phantoms: “Born from the curse.”
Beel pressed his lips together, unease sinking deep into his chest. He looked around for Mammon—but Mammon wasn’t there. Only a distorted “Mammon” sat slumped near the door, clutching his hand in pain. A cold shiver crept down Beel’s spine.
“That…” Beel swallowed hard, dread pressing against his ribs. “Mammon, he…”
“He’s been separated from us. That much is obvious.” Bel’s eyes flicked to Beel, then gestured toward the Mammon by the door: “That’s him.”
Beel froze, his gaze trembling with disbelief. “Th-that can’t be…” The atmosphere thickened with a suffocating weight.
“…But are you sure? What if that’s just another illusion—” Beel began, but Satan, who had been watching in silence, cut him off.
“It’s certain.” His voice was firm, enough to draw both Beel’s and Bel’s eyes to him. Frowning, Satan explained: “From what we’ve observed, that’s the real Mammon. Because we can still hear his voice, but—”
“…we can’t hear the voices of our reflections. They only move, like mute puppets.” He finished with narrowed eyes fixed on Mammon, as though dissecting a puzzle only he could solve.
…
“I can’t reach the outside. The DDD won’t connect, won’t access anything—” Levi’s shaky voice burst in, pulling everyone’s attention toward him.
“...”
“This is a nightmare. Worse than any horror game…” he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes locked on his device as his fingers trembled. He was clearly fighting for composure, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him.
Bel leaned closer, peeking at Levi’s screen. His expression darkened: “It seems… time itself has stopped. The clock on your DDD has frozen.”
Levi’s breath caught. He stared wide-eyed at the screen, desperate to prove it wrong,
“I hate this—!! This isn’t fun at all…!!” His voice cracked, sharp with panic.
Beel winced at the sight of Levi unraveling. Though the dread clawed at him too, he quietly stepped forward, placing a broad hand on Levi’s shoulder in silent comfort,
“Calm down, Levi. We’re still together… for now.”
“...Except for Mammon,” Beel added softly, his gaze drifting toward the brother hunched by the door.
Satan’s eyes followed, his brow knitting tighter. Mammon hadn’t moved. He still sat clutching his wounded hand, breath ragged and shallow. He hadn’t even tried to bandage it himself.
Why…?
And those illusions—none of them so much as looked his way. They circled around the false Asmo instead, that grotesque copy kneeling on the ground with its mock expression of pain, clutching its fake wound like a cheap performance.
Satan’s fists clenched. He loathed admitting it, but those illusions…unsettled him in a way he couldn’t name.
…
“Listen.”
Lucifer’s voice cut through the room, deep and commanding, pulling every gaze toward him. He rose to his full height after tending Asmo, his dark coat shadowing his sharp frame. His crimson eyes flicked to Mammon, and for an instant, his frown tightened, heavy with weight unspoken.
“Satan and I will find the source of whatever is binding us here.”
The words fell like iron, sinking into the silence. Satan raised a brow but didn’t look surprised. He only let out a scoff, unwilling to openly agree but too pragmatic to refuse.
Lucifer then turned to Levi: “Take Asmo back to his room. Stay with him.” Levi hesitated, glancing at Asmo, then nodded reluctantly: “…Alright. Leave it to me.” He muttered, moving to help Asmo to his feet.
Next, Lucifer’s gaze shifted to the twins. “Beel, Bel—watch Mammon. If anything unusual happens, report to me immediately.”
Beel’s lips parted, eyes full of worry as he looked toward Mammon. He didn’t argue, only nodded slowly: “…Understood.” Bel, however, gave Mammon only a fleeting glance. His dark eyes seemed to pierce straight through him before he turned away in silence, his hidden hand clenching tighter.
“And don’t try to break out unless you’re certain. Don’t get hurt.” This time, Lucifer’s voice carried no coldness, no strict command—only a subdued weight, a trace of concern carefully buried beneath his control.
…
“Satan. Let’s go.”
With that, Lucifer strode down the hall, his boots echoing against the floor, each step heavier, sharper. Determination burned in his eyes. This curse would be broken. He would never allow these “phantoms” to replace them—not Mammon. And he would not let some false Lucifer steal what was his. By any means necessary, he would shatter this wretched spell.
His stride quickened, shoulders squared, the shadows of the hallway swallowing him whole. Satan followed close, arms crossed and a scowl tugging at his lips. Just before the dark consumed them both, he cast one sharp glance back—eyes flashing with vigilance—before pushing on into the unknown.
***