Chapter 1158: Core Of The Morningstar
Chapter 1158: Core Of The Morningstar
As Lenny descended deeper into the world known as Purgatory, the atmosphere around him began to change.
The air became heavier, yet filled with an almost intoxicating energy that seemed to pulse with life. And then, he saw them—an overwhelming sight that took his breath away. Angels. No, not just angels, but fallen angels. A multitude of them stretched out before him, as far as his eyes could see.
Each one radiated a beauty so profound it defied mortal comprehension.
Some were vast, swirling masses of wings—feathered and shimmering in hues that no human could name, as though each wing was painted in the colors of dawn, twilight, and every moment in between.
They hovered gracefully, their wings fluttering in a way that seemed to make the very air sing, glowing with a light that was pure, untainted, and yet somehow ancient.
Others were entirely unhuman-like, yet their beauty was undeniable. Massive, radiant eyes, gleaming with a light that felt like it could pierce through the fabric of the universe itself, stared out into eternity. The irises of these eyes shimmered with a cosmic brilliance, each one swirling with galaxies, nebulae, and the very stars themselves.
And then there were those that appeared more human-like, with glowing skin as smooth as marble, radiant with an otherworldly light. Their forms were flawless, their faces sculpted with the perfection of the divine.
Their hair flowed like waterfalls of light, cascading in silver, gold, and colors that could not exist in the mortal world. Their eyes, though, were what struck Lenny the most. They held within them the weight of endless eons, the sorrow of their fall, and yet the majesty of their origin.
They were creatures of both unimaginable beauty and unfathomable tragedy, beings who once stood among the stars but had now found their place here, in Purgatory.
Yet, despite their forms—some little more than wings, others great and terrible eyes—they radiated a glory so immense, so breathtaking, that Lenny knew in an instant that if a mere human had gazed upon them, the sheer power of their beauty would have been fatal. It would have crushed them, burned them from the inside out, for this was a beauty not meant for the frail senses of mortals. Lenny, however, could behold them, his body only able to withstand the awe because of the holy power coursing through his veins. That holy power acted as a shield, preventing him from being consumed by their radiant magnificence.
As he continued to fall deeper, the angels parted, their movements fluid and graceful, as though they were welcoming him into their midst. They did not speak, but their presence spoke volumes.
They were not here to block his path or challenge him—no, they were guiding him, making way for him as though he was expected, as though this moment had been written into the very fabric of time.
Lenny felt it then, a pull at the very core of his being. It was as though the center of Purgatory itself was calling to him, drawing him in with an irresistible force. Every fiber of his being was drawn toward the core, as though something profound—something far beyond his understanding—awaited him there. It was not just a destination; it was a calling, a gravitational pull not only of the earth but of purpose, destiny, and power.
Lenny moved, though still guarded. After all, he had once met an angel, and Uriel was a very cunny one. Then again, beauty carried a certain seduction that made even evil the pillar of beauty.
The angels, with their unearthly beauty, continued to watch in silent reverence as Lenny descended, their forms shifting and glowing, their wings fluttering softly in the void.
Lenny’s heart pounded, not with fear, but with awe. He was being led to something greater, something far beyond the realm of the seals he had encountered. The core of Purgatory awaited him, and every part of his soul was being drawn to it, pulled deeper and deeper into the very essence of this strange, beautiful, and terrifying world.
And as he moved closer to the core, Lenny knew at a subconscious level that change was evident.
After all, this was it. This was the moment he had lived his entire life for.
All those days in the mortal world of the ninth earth as an assassin, he had looked at the Morningstar and believed him to be the best.
For some reason, he saw Lucifer, not as the DEVIL of myths and legends, nor one to be blamed, but a savior, a repenter of sin, after finding salvation in his suffering.
It was a connection that happened from deep within his soul.
And now, he was the epitome of Lucifer’s legacy.
He had been through so much, both pain and pleasure, Cunny and honesty, all to reach this point.
As Lenny hovered before the core of Purgatory, he could feel the sheer heat emanating from it, like standing before a second sun. Its immense power was suffocating, swirling with an aura of raw, unchecked energy.
Yet, his attention was not entirely on the searing core of the planet, but on what stood beside it—a massive, golden seed that glowed with an ethereal light, radiating power unlike anything he had ever felt before.
The core of the Morningstar.
It shimmered like molten gold, its surface smooth, flawless, and alive with a pulse that seemed to beat in time with the rhythm of the universe itself. It was enormous, about the size of a human, suspended in the air as if waiting.
But what truly struck Lenny was the faint sound—no, not sound, but a whisper. It was as if the very essence of the Morningstar was calling to him, a melody as ancient as time itself, tugging at his soul like a forgotten song.
And then, before his eyes, the golden seed began to shift. Slowly, it morphed, the smooth surface rippling like liquid metal, twisting and turning until it reshaped itself. Lenny watched, captivated, as the seed transformed into a majestic harp, its golden strings glowing with power.
The instrument was immense, towering above him, and every inch of it was adorned with intricate runes, each one a law of the universe, binding reality together.
The craftsmanship was beyond anything mortal hands could forge. It was more than an instrument—it was a relic of creation itself.
At the crown of the harp, there stood a symbol—bold, unmistakable, and hauntingly familiar.
Three inverted sixes, the mark of the Morningstar, Lucifer’s brand, gleamed ominously in the ethereal light. This was the final piece of Lucifer’s holy weapon, and Lenny knew the legends well. The first was Anguis, the staff that carried the serpents of Kill, Steal, and Destroy.
The second was the Corrupter, the weapon he had seen near the umbilical cord of the twin planes. And now, before him, the third—the harp, which was both the heart and the core of Lucifer Morningstar himself.
This was not just a relic; it was Lucifer’s essence.
As the harp stood before him, Lenny felt a magnetic pull. He was drawn to it, unable to resist. Without realizing it, his hand stretched forward, and his fingers brushed the golden strings. Instantly, a sound filled the air—a melody so pure, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that it sent shivers down his spine.
It was indescribable, transcendent. The music that spilled from the harp was unlike anything Lenny had ever heard. It wasn’t just music—it was emotion, raw and powerful. It was sorrow and joy, creation and destruction, all woven together in a symphony that echoed across the very fabric of reality.
The angels who watched—those once magnificent beings now fallen—could not contain their tears. Their eyes welled with the sheer beauty of it, for they remembered well the time when Lucifer himself had led the heavenly choir. His voice had been the most beautiful, his music the most divine.
Even in his fall, even in his corruption, that beauty had remained. It was said that the very air around him had once been music itself. And now, in this moment, that forgotten glory seemed to resurface, radiating from the harp and filling Purgatory with a sense of awe.
But then, something changed.
The beautiful melody suddenly twisted, the atmosphere growing darker, heavier. The golden strings, which had been glowing with a soft, ethereal light, began to shift. Lenny barely had time to react before the strings, as if possessed by a will of their own, surged toward him. In an instant, the once-beautiful instrument became something far more sinister. The strings, sharp as needles, lashed out, piercing into Lenny’s body with brutal force.
Pain exploded through him. He hadn’t expected this.
Each string embedded itself deep into his flesh, burrowing into his arms, chest, legs—anywhere it could reach. The pain was excruciating, searing through his body like fire. The golden light of the harp was malevolent, its beauty a deceptive mask for the brutal force that now consumed him. Lenny gasped, blood trickling from the puncture wounds, staining the air with red droplets. The harp’s strings dug deeper, entwining with his very being, pulling at his essence as if trying to merge with him—no, to become him.
Lenny’s mind raced. Uriel had told him that to claim Lucifer’s core, he would have to merge with it, to bind his soul to the Morningstar’s essence. He had prepared for this.
But this? This was something else. This was not a merging; this was a violation.