Chapter Four
Castiel Stormborn knew his friends, Lucifer and Killian, were up to something.
Hellfire, the King of Hell was always scheming or planning something nefarious, so that really came as no surprise.
However, Killian Black was usually more straightforward.
The simple fact that the two dark gods had arranged to ambush him together meant they were definitely up to something he wouldn’t like.
At least whatever they were planning came with an elaborate lunch served out on the terrace of Killian’s stunning villa on the Amalfi coast. He hadn’t had to travel far to get there since his own villa was only a few miles away, in a far more secluded location.
It would have only taken him a few seconds to teleport anywhere he wanted to go, in any realm, but the beautiful weather had made for a pleasant walk over to his friend’s place.
And the added bonus had been making them wait for his arrival.
He was petty like that.
Castiel owned several properties all over the world. That was one of the benefits of having lived for centuries. Amassing wealth had come easily over the long years, but filling the void of time with new experiences to chase the boredom away grew more difficult with each passing decade.
The terrace offered a stunning view of the vibrant blue water of the Tyrrhenian Sea, though he preferred watching the sunsets from his own balcony.
The sky overhead was a soft, powdery blue, dotted with puffy, snow-white clouds that drifted lazily across the horizon.
Golden sunlight poured down, illuminating the surface of the water and causing it to sparkle as if scattered with a thousand shimmering jewels.
In the distance, the majestic cliffs were cloaked in lush greenery, and the charming houses perched along their edges added pops of color.
The cool, salty breeze carried the scent of citrus and herbs, but those subtle scents were overpowered by the tantalizing aroma coming from the platters of food spread out over the large table.
Castiel leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine.
Today’s invitation for lunch had been more of a summons than a friendly request. Normally, he would ignore such a thing, but lately, he had been helping Killian and his mate, Seneca, with a bunch of ancient reapers who had recently woken from an enchanted slumber.
The reapers needed help acclimating to the modern world, and so he had offered to lend a hand.
He just hadn’t expected so many to take him up on his offer.
As a rule, he wasn’t a very social creature. Although he couldn’t say he hated being around people, he preferred the quiet company of a good book, a tasty beverage, and a peaceful setting above all else. While most supernaturals desired power and prestige, he simply wanted to be left alone.
He had always been that way, even back before the fall.
Centuries ago, Castiel had suffered the devastating loss of his father and mother during a brutal conflict among the gods.
It was an experience that had left deep scars, both physical and emotional.
Throughout the chaos of war, he had been forced to confront the destructive effects that unchecked ambition and greed could unleash.
Witnessing how the relentless pursuit of power could corrupt even the mightiest of beings, he learned early on that such desires often led to ruin and heartbreak.
Blessed with a keen strategic mind, Castiel quickly climbed the ranks, earning the coveted position as Lucifer’s chief advisor.
Although he possessed the skills and strength to hold his own in combat, his true talent was of a skilled tactician.
He rarely sought out the violence of battle, preferring to leave the bloodshed to those who relished such conflicts.
Instead, he found his calling in orchestrating their campaigns, carefully mapping out the intricacies of each engagement, and ensuring that every move was calculated for the greatest chance of success.
His ability to anticipate the enemy’s tactics and adapt to shifting circumstances made him the architect behind many of their most impressive victories.
However, he hadn’t been able to predict the ultimate betrayal that had almost destroyed them.
And that was something he had never forgiven himself for.
To be fair, most of the blame for the angels’ fall remained with the corrupt gods who had tricked Lucifer’s army into waging war with the Realm of Souls.
It had been dressed up as righteousness.
They had preached about maintaining the balance between good and evil, talked of duty, of a necessary strike before some vague, looming threat could spread.
The reapers and demons had been made out to be a danger to the other realms.
But it had all been a lie.
Looking back, Castiel really should have known better.
The corrupt gods had known exactly what they were doing.
Once they discovered they could use the souls of the dead to become stronger, they tried to consume as many as they could in order to become the most powerful beings in all the realms. They had dangled disaster scenarios like bait to the masses, had twisted the truth until they became the saviors in their distorted stories.
Then, they waited for Lucifer’s army to do the ugly work for them.
Their greed and lies had set off a chain reaction that rippled across realms and through generations.
Alliances shattered. Innocent lives were lost. Countless souls were destroyed, never to be reborn again.
Powerful reapers had disappeared, trapped by a sleep curse that wouldn’t be broken for centuries.
And Lucifer’s army had been irrevocably changed, their light magic turning dark.
While light and dark magic were essentially equal in power, their fundamentals were different in nature. Dark magic didn’t work the same in the Celestial Realm, while light magic didn’t function in the Realm of Souls. That meant the entire army could no longer return home to the Celestial Realm.
In order to protect his own pride and maintain his status, the Emperor of the Celestial Realm refused to take responsibility for what had occurred.
To hide the truth of what had happened and push the blame onto others, rumors had been spread throughout the six realms. Some of the stories were somewhat amusing, while others turned out to be absolutely absurd.
The Realm of Souls, the place where all the souls traveled after death to be reincarnated, was renamed the Hell Realm.
Reapers and demons became synonymous with nightmares, while the celestial gods and angels were heralded as protectors of the six realms. Those who knew better didn’t believe the outlandish rumors.
But others, mainly outside of the supernatural community, continued to spread the ridiculous stories like wildfire.
Some of the fallen adapted without issue.
They found new purpose in the Hell Realm, made peace with darker wings and darker powers, and learned to build new lives out of the ashes of the old.
Others never stopped longing for what had been taken from them.
They carried their rage around with them like a weapon, sharpening it against every decree and every smug, shining proclamation from the high gods about their benevolence.
Castiel held no ill will against the Celestial Realm as a whole. An entire race of beings couldn’t be blamed for the actions of a few. He could condemn the originators of the betrayal, while holding those who had no connection to what happened blameless.
That said, the gods who had been involved deserved to pay for their share of the atrocities.
Not just the ones who had given the orders or spilled blood with their own hands, but the ones who had stolen souls, forged evidence, and those who had whispered poison into willing ears.
Those less visible were no less guilty. They had looked the other way, spread propaganda, and instigated outrage.
To him, that kind of cowardice wasn’t innocence. It was complicity.
Unfortunately, justice rarely reached as far as it should have.
Once the main perpetrators were exposed and dealt with, the rest did what conspirators always did.
They scattered and went back to hiding in the shadows.
Some reinvented themselves, hiding their past behavior with benevolence.
Others vanished into distant realms, where no one remembered the war.
They even helped spread the stories and myths to cover up what had really happened.
Castiel had joined the fighting forces, hoping to tip the scales for good, but the treachery that had been perpetrated shook the very foundation of his faith in people.
He still tasted the bitterness of his own complicity, because he had helped plan a war that should never have been fought.
Tactician or not, he had given strategies that had led to ruin.
And no matter how many centuries passed, nothing could change the fact that numerous lives had been altered, and some wounds refused to heal.
Because of that, he refused to involve himself in causes anymore. Those who knew him understood his reasoning. So, when he had been chosen as a candidate to go through the Merit of Godhood Trials, his friends weren’t surprised when he refused the offer.
It made him an anomaly amongst most of his kind, but he didn’t care.
He didn’t need anyone else’s approval.
Castiel had no interest in becoming a god.
Not if it came with strings. He didn’t want the ties to the emperor that came with being a high god in the celestial court.
He was also unwilling to forsake his dark magic that he had come to depend on.
While he knew there was a singular original source of magic, the distinction between the high gods from the Celestial Realm versus reapers from the Hell Realm was clear.