My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 156 - No. Satan of Sloth Meets Underworld God

Chapter 156: Chapter No.156 Satan of Sloth Meets Underworld God

[Location: Palace of Hades, Underworld]

The realm of the Underworld was unlike anything ever imagined by mankind.

It was not a place of screaming souls and rivers of flame, nor was it a pit of endless punishment crafted for fear. Those were crude mortal interpretations—shadows cast by ignorance upon a truth far older and far colder.

The Underworld was still.

Though it was divided into many regions:

— Asphodel Meadows: Gloomy plains for ordinary souls.

— Tartarus: The deepest, darkest pit for eternal punishment.

— Elysium/Elysian Fields: A blissful area for heroes and the good souls, where the palace resided.

— Palace of Hades: A golden palace where Hades and Persephone held court, in Elysium, a paradise section.

Other than these, the rest of the realm was covered by the five rivers, being:

— Styx: The principal river, forming a boundary and the site of unbreakable oaths.

— Lethe: The river of forgetfulness, causing souls to lose memories of their past lives.

— Acheron: Often called the "river of woe," it’s where Charon would ferry souls, sometimes instead of the Styx.

— Phlegethon: A fiery river that flows into Tartarus, where certain sinners were punished.

— Cocytus: The "river of wailing" or tears, a branch of the Styx.

...

(Random Soul Reaper’s POV)

I am a lowly reaper.

Not a judge. Not an enforcer. Not one of Lord Hades’ chosen arbiters clad in obsidian gold and crowned with authority older than mortal time.

Heck—I’m not even ranked.

The lowest ranks start at the tens of millions, and I’m... well. Let’s just say if there were numbers below zero, I’d be competing fiercely for them.

My duties are simple.

Escort.

Observe.

Do not interfere.

And above all—

Do not draw attention.

Which made my current situation... unpleasant.

Very unpleasant.

Because right now, I was standing at the edge of the Elysian Court, holding a ledger that refused to stop trembling in my hands, because the one I was told to escort strolled casually across the paradise lawns like it owned the place.

No.

Correction.

Like it was bored by the place.

The Elysian Fields were perfect. They always were.

Golden grasses that never wilted. Skies eternally caught in late afternoon. A warmth that didn’t burn, didn’t chill—just existed, steady and eternal. Souls of heroes wandered in peaceful conversation, laughter drifting softly like a half-remembered dream.

And cutting through all of that serenity—

A presence.

Not oppressive.

Not violent.

Just... heavy.

The kind of heaviness that made your thoughts slow, your limbs feel distant, as if the concept of effort itself had been quietly downgraded.

The grass beneath his feet didn’t wither.

It didn’t freeze.

It didn’t burn.

It simply... stopped trying.

I swallowed.

Satan of Sloth.

Acedia Belphegor.

He has been the guest of Lord Hades for quite some time now... from around seven to six hundred years.

A short time, considering Lord Hades sometimes doesn’t even bother to entertain this demon for more than ten minutes.

And yet.

Here he was.

Again.

Acedia Belphegor, Satan of Sloth.

He walked—if that could even be called walking—with hands tucked lazily into the pockets of a long, ash-grey coat that looked more like a bathrobe someone had forgotten to change out of. His hair was an unkempt fall of pale ash-blond, eyes half-lidded as if the entire Underworld were a tedious inconvenience interrupting a very important nap.

Each step he took wasn’t heavy.

It was... draining.

I felt it in my bones.

The longer he stayed in one place, the more everything around him seemed to give up. Flowers leaned just a bit lower. Heroic souls, mid-conversation, slowed their words unconsciously. Even the ambient warmth of Elysium dulled, not cold—just less motivated to exist.

This wasn’t an aura.

It was authority.

Conceptual.

Sloth wasn’t about sleeping.

It was about refusal.

Refusal to strive. Refusal to move. Refusal to care.

And Acedia Belphegor was its perfect embodiment.

"Oi," he muttered suddenly, voice flat, dragging, without even looking back. "Little reaper."

I nearly dropped the ledger.

"Yes—Yes!?" I squeaked, posture snapping straight as instinct screamed at me to kneel, bow, prostrate, apologise for existing, and then disappear forever.

He glanced over his shoulder lazily, one eyebrow lifting a fraction.

"You don’t have to look like you’re about to die," he said. "If I wanted that, you’d already be... y’know."

He made a vague flicking motion with two fingers.

"...gone."

My knees locked.

"I—I apologise, Lord Belphegor," I said quickly. "I will strive to be... less distracting."

"Mm," he hummed. "Don’t bother."

That was worse somehow.

He stopped walking.

Just... stopped.

And the world followed suit.

The breeze across the Elysian Fields faded. The distant laughter softened into silence. Even the golden light above dimmed slightly, as if pausing to see whether it was worth continuing.

Acedia tilted his head, eyes drifting toward the massive palace at the heart of Elysium.

The Palace of Hades.

Gold-veined obsidian walls, ancient and restrained. No ostentation. No grand declarations of dominance. Power so absolute it didn’t need to advertise itself.

"...He’s still busy, isn’t he?" Acedia muttered.

I glanced down at the ledger instinctively. "L-Lord Hades is... currently in council with Lady Persephone."

Acedia clicked his tongue softly.

"...Counting this one, the same excuse has been used for what? A hundred times? Or a hundred and three?" he muttered, eyes half-lidded. "Hard to tell. I stopped keeping track around the first century."

I swallowed hard. "L-Lord Hades’ councils are... thorough."

"...Yeah~ Yeah~ like we don’t know that his wife is divorcing him for what—"

Acedia stopped mid-sentence.

Not because he was startled.

Not because he sensed danger.

But because finishing the thought required effort.

"...Never mind," he sighed, shoulders slumping further. "Drama’s exhausting."

The Elysian light hesitated—then resumed, cautiously, like a servant unsure whether it was permitted to keep breathing.

I remained frozen in place, ledger clutched to my chest, unsure whether I was allowed to respond, blink, or continue existing. Escorting demons was one thing. Escorting Satans—plural capitals implied—was another. Escorting the Satan of Sloth into the personal domain of the Underworld God himself felt like a cosmic paperwork error that would eventually be solved by my erasure.

Acedia scratched lazily at his neck.

"...Tell you what," he muttered. "I’ll just wait."

My heart skipped.

"W–wait?" I echoed before I could stop myself.

He glanced at me again, eyes dull but unfathomably deep. "Yeah. Waiting’s kinda my thing."

That was not reassuring.

Before I could respond, the air shifted.

Not abruptly.

Not violently.

It simply... acknowledged something.

The Elysian Court parted—not physically, but conceptually—as a path formed toward the palace gates. The golden grass straightened. The light grew steadier. The realm itself adjusted, like a vast organism recognising its master’s intent.

Acedia sighed.

"...Took him long enough."

The gates of the Palace of Hades opened.

"T-This way, please."

The words slipped out of me before I had time to reconsider my continued existence.

Acedia Belphegor did not immediately respond.

He stared at the open gates of the Palace of Hades with the same half-lidded, uninterested gaze he gave everything else in existence—wars, gods, empires, destinies included. The towering doors of obsidian-gold stood wide, carved with scenes of judgment, rebirth, and endings that had swallowed entire civilisations. They radiated a calm authority so old that even Satans usually adjusted their posture unconsciously when crossing the threshold.

Acedia did not.

He yawned.

A long, unhurried yawn that seemed to stretch longer than time itself, shoulders sagging as if even the act of inhaling required negotiation.

"...Ugh," he muttered. "Big doors. Again."

Then he shuffled forward.

Not walking with purpose.

Not striding with confidence.

Just... drifting.

And the Underworld made room.

The golden grass of Elysium bent aside without resistance. The air parted smoothly. Even the metaphysical boundary that separated divine jurisdiction from infernal authority loosened slightly—as if deciding that arguing with him would require effort.

I followed several steps behind, heart pounding so loudly I was certain Persephone herself could hear it from the inner gardens.

Crossing the palace threshold felt like stepping into a different layer of reality.

The temperature stabilised—not warm, not cold. The light dimmed into a muted, amber glow. The air smelled faintly of pomegranate blossoms and old stone. Pillars rose high above us, etched with laws written before mortal language had properly formed.

This was not a throne room designed to intimidate.

It was a place designed to end discussions.

At the far end of the hall, upon a seat carved from obsidian shot through with veins of dull gold, sat Hades.

God of the Dead.

King of the underworld.

One of the original Olympians.

He was not massive. Not towering. Not monstrous.

He appeared almost... plain. (But in my opinion, he’s just majestic!)

Wearing shorts.

Actual, honest-to-gods shorts.

Knee-length, dark blue, faintly patterned with little white skulls if one looked closely enough. A loose Hawaiian shirt hung off his shoulders, half-buttoned, revealing a relaxed posture that felt wildly out of place on a throne carved from obsidian and ancient law.

Sandals.

He was wearing sandals.

—And yet—

He excluded nothing.

That was the problem.

There was no crushing pressure.

No divine glare.

No overwhelming sense of judgment that made lesser beings collapse into prostration.

Instead, there was absence.

A vast, impossible absence—like standing at the edge of a cliff so deep the mind refused to acknowledge it as a drop. Power so complete it didn’t need to assert itself. Authority so absolute it had nothing to prove.

This was Hades.

And he was looking directly at Acedia Belphegor.

"...You’re late," Hades said casually, voice calm, deep, and utterly unhurried.

The sound carried without echo, yet filled the hall.

Acedia stopped several paces from the throne. He didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Didn’t straighten.

He just... slouched.

"Mm," he replied. "Yeah. Probably."

That was it.

My soul nearly exited my body on its own.

I dropped to one knee immediately, slamming the ledger against the floor in a gesture so hurried it bordered on desperate. "L-Lord Hades, I humbly—!"

"Relax," Hades said, waving a hand lazily without even glancing at me. "You’re fine. Stand up. You’re making the marble nervous."

I froze.

The marble beneath my knee did feel tense.

I scrambled back to my feet, nodding repeatedly, body stiff as if any wrong movement would get me recycled into gravel.

Hades’ gaze returned to Acedia.

"...Still wearing that coat," he noted.

Acedia glanced down at himself, tugging weakly at the ash-grey fabric. "Still works. Haven’t seen a reason to change."

"You never do," Hades replied mildly.

Silence followed.

Not awkward.

Not tense.

Just... still.

The kind of silence that only existed when two beings with no need to posture shared a space.

Acedia finally spoke again. "Finally ready to hear me out?"

"I did," Hades nodded. "Figured it was about time."

"...Mm," Acedia hummed noncommittally. "Time’s overrated."

Hades smiled faintly.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But the moment it happened, the entire palace seemed to exhale.

"You’ve been hanging around my realm for... what was it?" Hades tapped the armrest of his throne thoughtfully. "Six hundred and seventy-three years?"

Acedia squinted. "...That long?"

"Give or take a decade."

"...Huh." He shrugged. "Felt shorter."

"Everything feels shorter to you," Hades said.

"That’s kinda my whole deal."

Another pause.

I stood there, utterly forgotten, brain screaming at me to record this interaction, memorise it, survive it, and then erase myself from existence afterwards.

Hades leaned back slightly, sandals scraping softly against the obsidian floor.

"So," he said. "You really came in person every time."

Acedia tilted his head. "You finally decided to stop dodging."

Hades chuckled.

"Touché."

They stared at each other.

Two rulers.

Two absolutes.

Neither asserting dominance.

Neither yielding ground.

"...You know," Acedia muttered after a while, "you could’ve just said that you wanted to talk."

"I did," Hades replied.

"When?"

"Just now."

"...y’know I will struggle you with that sandal of yours."

Hades stared at him.

Not offended.

Not amused.

Just... measuring.

Then, very calmly, he slipped one sandal halfway off his heel.

The entire palace went still.

Not because of fear.

Because the concept of consequences had just entered the room.

"...Don’t," Hades said mildly.

Acedia stared at the sandal.

Then sighed.

"...See? This is why I didn’t feel like it had to be me who’ coming in person."

The sandal slid back into place. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Reality exhaled.

I did too, though I didn’t remember deciding to breathe again.

Hades leaned back into his throne, fingers lacing together over his stomach. The skull-patterned shirt rustled softly as he shifted, posture loose—almost lazy—yet the space around him felt like a verdict waiting to be spoken.

"So," he said again, tone conversational, "what finally pushed you to stop hovering around my borders and actually ask for an audience?"

Acedia scratched his cheek, gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if the answer might be written there.

"...Annoyance," he said after a moment.

I blinked.

Hades raised an eyebrow. "That’s it?"

"Yeah," Acedia replied. "Big one."

Silence.

Then Hades chuckled, low and genuine.

"Of course it is."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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