Chapter 176: Origins of the blood dunes
Amongst angels and demons, an unspoken rule existed. Infighting over territories was forbidden unless one was prepared to declare full-scale war on another faction.
For the angels, the deity presiding over this planet was the Commandment of Piety. For the demons, the Sin of Greed held dominion. The struggle for supremacy was expected to unfold between these two forces, as it always had.
That was why the discovery of a new, rising faction hidden deep within the Arabian deserts came as a surprise.
After a thorough investigation, they realized it was a growing power operating under the Sin of Wrath.
The Blood Dunes were not a religion in the traditional sense. They were a sect born from the desert, shaped by isolation, relentless heat, and something far older than any doctrine. Their founder had once been a wandering ascetic who vanished into the deep desert in search of truth. When he returned, his eyes were gone, burned white as though something beyond reality had gazed back at him.
He claimed he had seen "the Voice beneath creation." From that moment, he was no longer the same man. Every command he uttered carried power. Those who followed him began to change. Their senses sharpened, their strength grew, and their minds hardened into something unyielding.
For them, faith was not belief. It was transformation. The more they obeyed, the stronger they became. They referred to the entity in many ways: "The Burning Will," "The Voice of the Dunes," "HE."
Information on the group remained scarce, as the Prince of Wrath had done well to keep them hidden. Yet despite that secrecy, the sect had already infiltrated governments across the Middle East. They occupied key military and civil positions while maintaining ties with several extremist groups.
"From what I know, they have only existed for a little over seventy years, but they are spreading fast. Before the Prince of Greed realizes what is happening, I am certain they will have seized all of the Middle East and moved into Africa. By then, they will be a force capable of contending with his own," Racheal explained.
She stood before a whiteboard filled with carefully written notes, outlining key details with unusual diligence. Damian had never seen her put this much effort into explaining anything. It felt strangely familiar, almost like being back in school, yet he found himself in a good mood because of it.
For once, he felt included.
"So the plan is for us to initiate the first contact between both groups?" Damian asked.
Racheal nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Exactly. We need to take everyone’s attention off you, and this is the perfect opportunity."
Damian considered the plan in silence. Pitting his brothers against one another was ideal. If they clashed over control of this planet’s mortals, it would create chaos large enough to drown out his existence.
Not only that, it would likely divert the Church’s attention as well.
Still, one question lingered.
"Why would the Prince of Wrath do this when there is a rule against it?" he asked, unable to understand the reasoning.
"Rules are for the weak," Racheal replied with a casual shrug. "With Prince Lin’s death, the three most powerful princes in the underworld are Wrath, Pride, and Gluttony. If Wrath believes he has a chance to come out on top, why would he hesitate? It is not as if they like each other."
Damian nodded slowly. That much made sense. But if such rules existed, were there not forces meant to enforce them?
"Would he not be punished for breaking it?"
Racheal burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as the sound echoed through the room. After a few moments, she noticed Damian waiting calmly for an answer, and her laughter gradually faded into disbelief.
"You are actually asking that?" she said, shaking her head.
This should have been common knowledge.
"Rules exist to restrict the weak from enjoying privileges the strong exploit. If a council is called to address this invasion and Wrath simply ignores them and continues, what exactly can they do?"
Buzz!
Damian inhaled sharply at her words, but she was not finished.
"The only way to stop him is if Pride or Gluttony choose to oppose him. But they will not, because they are doing the exact same thing to their own siblings."
Damian blinked, stunned, yet unable to deny the truth in her logic. Even in the human world, laws often restricted the powerless while the wealthy found ways around them.
The structure was the same everywhere.
"Crazy... but true," he admitted.
Pa!
Racheal clapped her hands together, her excitement returning instantly.
"Good. Now that you understand who we are impersonating, let us go over the people we will be meeting for this trade."
Damian blinked in mild surprise. He had already absorbed a flood of information and assumed that would be the end of it.
Perhaps it was because he had grown used to his wives telling him far less than necessary. Regardless, it did not bother him. He adjusted his seating calmly and gave a small nod.
"Go ahead," he said plainly.
Racheal returned the nod with a smile before snapping her fingers.
Puff!
A burst of pink smoke formed in her palm, shaping itself into a detailed map of Mexico. It floated briefly before gliding across the air and fixing itself neatly onto the board.
"The trade will take place in Lomas de Chapultepec, Mexico City. This is old money territory, occupied by the elite. Nearly all generational wealth in Mexico is concentrated within this region," Racheal explained.
"The targets are the Calderón Virelles Family..."
Another puff of pink smoke erupted around her hands, this time forming a thick file. Without effort, she guided it toward Damian using her demonic force.
The moment it reached him, he took it and flipped it open. Inside were detailed images of the family, their estate, and even their security personnel. It was thorough, almost excessive. Her subordinates had clearly gone above and beyond.
"I can see why you keep minions around. They can be quite effective," Damian said with a quiet chuckle, and Racheal laughed along with him.
"Of course. It is no different from the way you keep Clara around, just with supernatural abilities," she added playfully.
The change was immediate.
The warmth vanished from Damian’s expression, replaced by a cold, unyielding stillness that cut through the room. The mood shattered without warning as his response came just as quickly.
"Clara is not a minion. Do not ever call her that again."
His voice carried no heat, only a sharp, chilling finality.
He loved his wives deeply, that much was certain, but Clara held a place that could not be compared. She had been there before everything, before the power, before the transformation, before the world bent itself around him.
She was the only human who had ever truly loved him.
Not his parents.
Not his colleagues.
Only her.
To reduce her to the level of servants like Loth and Lith was not just wrong. It was an insult he refused to tolerate.