Chapter 193: Proof

Pazuzu’s POV

Seraphel was telling the truth, and Pazuzu did not need a divine revelation to know it.

He could hear it in the way the mortal’s voice kept shaking, and he could see it plainly enough in his face.

No simple omega invented something like the Demon King’s resurrection out of thin air, and no one faked panic that Obvious

Pazuzu rested his chin lazily against his knuckles, violet eyes glowing faintly as he studied Seraphel from across the long table.

He was fascinated, and he did not bother hiding it. He had met a great many mortals over the centuries, but this one carried himself like someone who had already stood knee-deep in ash and watched an entire world burn down around him.

There was no deceit anywhere in his spirit. Only the frantic, bleeding edge of someone who had barely escaped with his life.

"You came from the future?" Sariel asked. His amber-gold brows shot up, his mouth twisting into a nasty little grin.

The Sin of Envy leaned forward, his eyes burning with an ugly, bitter light.

It was so entirely like him to take offense at something like this. Sariel could not stand the thought of anyone possessing something he did not have, whether it was knowledge, authority, or power beyond his reach.

The idea that this fragile, pregnant human, someone who had barely stepped into the first stage of cultivation, had somehow touched the river of time itself was clearly eating him alive from the inside.

Pazuzu had spent years watching the seven sins from the safety of the shadows, always wondering what sort of men had come from Ophaniel’s blood.

Sitting among them now, he found Sariel easily the most pathetic of them. The man was so thoroughly wrapped in his own bitterness that he could not see past the end of his own nose.

"How exactly are you supposed to come from the future when you have only just entered your first stage?" Sariel continued, slamming both hands down on the polished surface of the table and leaning his full weight onto his palms.

His voice dripped with disdain. "Not even the high seers of Elysium, who spend entire lifetimes predicting what is to come, can break temporal law like that. Unless you expect us to believe our dead father tore the universe apart simply to send one mortal backward through time? You do not have the spiritual strength to hold open a simple rift, let alone leap back and forth as you please. Time does not work that way. Those rules exist for a reason, and not one of us is going to swallow this nonsense."

"He is telling the truth," Pazuzu said smoothly.

Sariel let out a sharp, mocking laugh that bounced off the stone walls. "No one here has to listen to a single word out of a demon prince’s mouth. Nobody in this room cares for your opinions, dog."

Pazuzu’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. Beneath the table, hidden entirely under the heavy silk cloth, he reached out and deliberately caught hold of Luceriel’s hand, lacing their fingers together in a tight, unyielding grip.

Luceriel went rigid beside him, his bright green eyes snapping sideways in furious warning, but Pazuzu only squeezed harder, his thumb brushing casually over the thin skin of his wrist.

"You will care plenty soon enough, dear brother-in-law," Pazuzu purred, his eyes locked firmly on Sariel. "Because sooner or later, you and I are going to be brothers."

Sariel slammed his fists down hard enough to rattle the crystal goblets. "I refuse," he yelled, practically spitting the words across the table. "I refuse to be brother-in-law to a filthy demon. And I know Luceriel’s pride would never allow him to lower himself to someone like you regardless."

Pazuzu turned his head slightly, that teasing smirk still firmly in place as he looked at the tense sin sitting directly beside him. "Is that so? Does your dear brother speak the truth, my love? Is that precious pride of yours truly going to stop you from claiming your own fated mate?"

"Pazuzu, let go of my hand before I remove yours at the wrist," Luceriel hissed through clenched teeth, his knuckles gone white beneath Pazuzu’s grip.

Taizel took a long, unhurried drink from his cup, set it down with a soft click, and finally spoke without looking at anyone in particular. "You are all arguing about a wedding while the Demon King gathers his lords. I find that remarkably stupid, even by our standards." He turned the cup slowly between his fingers.

"Though I suppose if the demon can keep Luceriel breathing through what is coming, I am hardly in a position to object. I have no interest in burying any brother."

"Nobody asked you," Sariel snapped.

"Nobody ever does," Taizel agreed, and drank again.

Sariel crossed his arms, sneering. "See how it is? He despises you. You are nothing but an abyssal stray forcing your way into our family, and no matter how you twist this council in your favor, you remain an unwanted dog barking at our gate—"

"Enough." Seraphel’s voice cut clean across the hall.

The room went silent.

Seraphel was trembling from head to foot, both hands gripping the table’s edge hard enough to drain the color from his fingers. He dragged a hand roughly down his face and let out a heavy, shuddering breath, as though whatever headache sat behind his eyes had grown teeth.

"I do not care about your petty little fights," Seraphel said, his voice strained and raw. "All of you are sitting here arguing about your pride while everything falls apart around us. How else was I supposed to meet Ophaniel if I had not come from the future? I do not care about your rules. I lived through it."

He turned sharply, leveling a shaking finger at Pazuzu’s chest. "You. You are a demon prince. You must have some way of checking whether I am lying. So do it. Look into my head, dig through my mind, do whatever you have to do to see the truth of it. And Lumiel can do the same, can he not? Let him read my mind too."

The moment the words left his mouth, Seraphel’s knees buckled.

A violent shudder ran through him, and he doubled over, coughing into his sleeve as his chest fought for air.

Azriel was on his feet before anyone else could move. He crossed the space in a heartbeat and gathered Seraphel against his chest, holding him tightly enough that he looked afraid the mortal might dissolve in his arms.

"Easy. Just breathe, Seraphel," Azriel murmured, his deep voice thick with worry as his hand moved up and down his mate’s back.

He lifted his head, crimson eyes flashing dangerously at his brothers as his aura spiked, heavy with burning sandalwood and something far more protective underneath it. "Look at him. He is shaking. Stop shouting at him, all of you. My mate is carrying my child, and I will not allow any of you to put him through this. Watch your mouths."

"He is telling the truth," Pazuzu repeated. "His soul is carrying the weight of something that has not happened yet."

Lumiel leaned back, resting his chin against his folded arms with a grunt. "Of course you would say that. You would agree to anything that earns you an alliance, particularly one that ends with you married to Luceriel."

"There will be no marriage," Luceriel said flatly, pulling his hand free from beneath the table and setting it stiffly in his lap. "Not now. Not ever."

"Oh, there will be a wedding, sweetheart," Pazuzu replied, perfectly calm.

He pushed his chair back and stood, dark robes brushing the stone floor as he walked slowly around the table toward the corner where Azriel held Seraphel.

Azriel tensed at once, shifting his weight to place his body between Pazuzu and the trembling omega, his red eyes narrowing with open hatred. "What do you want?"

"Only to show everyone what your mate saw," Pazuzu said, stopping a few feet short and holding both hands out at his sides to show them empty.

"Your brothers will clearly not believe words alone. But if I show them the memories etched into his aura, they will have no choice in the matter."

"Absolutely not," Azriel growled. "I am not letting you put your claws anywhere near his head."

"Azriel, please." Seraphel’s fingers clutched desperately at the front of Azriel’s robes, and he looked up at his mate with wide, glassy eyes. "Let him do it. He is not going to hurt me. If they do not see what is coming, they will not prepare, and you will die all over again. I cannot let that happen."

Pazuzu met Azriel’s eyes directly, leaning in a fraction with a low, taunting murmur. "Are you truly so afraid of what they will see, little prince? Or are you simply too weak to make the difficult choice?"

Azriel’s eyes flared a blinding crimson. The veins along his neck stood out sharply, and a suffocating pressure exploded outward from him, heavy enough to threaten the ceiling.

He looked entirely prepared to tear Pazuzu’s throat out with his teeth. But before he could move, Seraphel’s small, warm hand pressed flat against his chest, directly over his hammering heart.

"Azriel, stop," Seraphel said softly. "Please. For me. Just let him."

The touch worked like cold water poured over an open flame.

Azriel let out a long, ragged breath, and the lethal energy sank slowly back beneath his skin. He did not drop his glare, but he shifted aside, giving Pazuzu room. "If you hurt him," Azriel promised quietly, "you will not leave this room alive."