(Beelzebub Arc – Chapter 3 of 7)
The rain hadn't stopped for hours.
Thunder rumbled over the outskirts of the ruined industrial city, where old factories stood like rotting teeth against the sky. Black birds circled in swarms, shrieking wildly—as if warning the land of something ancient returning. In the heart of that decay stood a coliseum of rusted metal and flesh. Twisted scaffolding, cannibalized vehicles, and bones fused together to create a temple of indulgence.
And on the throne of iron stomachs... sat Beelzebub.
The Lord of Gluttony.
He was a bloated king with a massive, regal presence. His body shifted constantly—muscles flexing under layers of divine fat, veins glowing with corrupted gold. His jaw was monstrous, split at the middle, unhinged like a serpent, capable of devouring whole men. His crown was forged from melted kitchen knives and butcher tools.
And he was eating.
A live beast. Giant. Screaming.
He bit through it like bread.
Across the stadium, Lucen—no, Zaqel Fallmoon, his true name echoing inside his skull—stood silent.
The scent of rotting food, roasted flesh, and spilled wine stung his nose. He wasn't just looking at a monster. He was standing inside Beelzebub's domain, a glutton's kingdom crafted from his own sin.
Lucen was still struggling.
The lust curse hadn't faded. It whispered to him through wandering eyes, poisoned thoughts, and moments of weakness. He'd stayed away from people. Avoided contact. He was scared of what he'd do. And now, walking into Gluttony's world, he felt something worse—the temptation of excess.
"You reek of discipline," Beelzebub spoke, voice echoing like drums under flesh. "I'll devour that first."
Lucen didn't reply.
He adjusted the wrappings on his wrists. His breathing was calm. His mind was racing.
He remembered what Michael told him: You mustn't fight Sin with Sin. Use what it gives you—never become it.
But how do you outthink a being that consumes strategy itself?
Beelzebub dropped the beast's corpse with a wet thud and rose. Despite his size, his movement was fluid. Graceful even.
"You're the favorite child now, aren't you?" he asked. "Zaqel Fallmoon. The son who refused the feast of Hell."
Lucen's eyes narrowed.
"Not hungry."
Beelzebub grinned. "That's because you haven't tasted what I offer."
Then the storm broke.
A wave of cursed wind blasted from Beelzebub's gesture. His aura surged—an ocean of craving. Around the arena, once-dead figures rose, dragging their distended bodies, faces warped from overeating in death. These were the "Fed," ghouls who had given in to gluttony.
Lucen dodged the first wave. He summoned the Lust Flame Dagger, the weapon Asmodeus had granted him. It pulsed in his hand—violet, seductive, flickering dangerously. He didn't want to use Lust here, not now. But Beelzebub's attacks came in endless waves. Lucen had no choice.
He fought like a shadow—agile, vicious, smart.
But something was off.
Every time Lucen struck one of the Fed, they exploded into gas—a hallucination-inducing mist that made Lucen's body feel light, high, full. He stumbled for a moment, breath heavy, eyes fogging. Hunger bit into his chest like fire.
"Now you understand," Beelzebub whispered directly into Lucen's mind. "Hunger is the only true faith. Love fades. Hope fails. But hunger... always returns."
Lucen fell to one knee, breathing heavily. The arena around him began to shift. The coliseum walls turned into giant mouths, chewing endlessly. The storm of gluttony poisoned the air.
And then... a memory.
Lucen was young again. Ten years old. Sitting under a tree, holding a loaf of bread. He hadn't eaten in two days—training with the monks had been harsh. He was about to take a bite when he saw a wounded wolf limping nearby. He split the bread, gave the wolf a half.
That wolf followed him for a year.
He'd called it "Brother Hunger."
Lucen stood up.
Eyes clear.
"You're right," he said to Beelzebub, his voice low. "Hunger always returns. But that doesn't mean you feed it with greed."
Beelzebub's grin faded. His hands tightened on the throne.
Lucen closed his eyes—and switched powers.
He let the Lust dagger vanish and called on one of the Virtues granted by Michael.
Temperance.
It flowed into his body like cold, calming water. His heart steadied. His stomach stopped twisting. His senses cleared. He could still smell the roasted meat and the rotting wine, but it no longer controlled him.
He moved again—faster, wiser.
This wasn't about hitting Beelzebub. Not yet. It was about learning.
What was his true weakness?
As Lucen darted through the arena, watching Beelzebub bark orders and consume anything in reach, a pattern began to form.
He doesn't fight for dominance.
He fights to never feel empty.
Lucen whispered, "Then I'll make you feel everything but hunger."
And for the first time since the fight began, Lucen smiled.
—
To be continued in Chapter 23.
Next chapter:- CHAPTER 23 — "Belly of the Beast"
(Beelzebub Arc – Chapter 4 of 7).