Chapter 32: Notebook
Here’s the grammar-corrected Chapter:
Amon said nothing.
He simply reached into his coat and took out a ring. It was shining gold, plain, with three thin lines cut into the band. Nothing fancy. Nothing like some glowing enchantment. Just pure metal.
The two figures behind Astaroth stepped back at once as the woman grabbed the old man’s sleeve, as if some deep traumatic memory had come back to her.
She looked at him, and he looked at her. Both of them looked ready to run.
But Astaroth did the opposite. Call it his pride, or whatever — he just walked forward, his boots scraping the asphalt like he owned it, a confident smirk on his face as if he belonged there.
"You finally show something interesting," Astaroth said. "I was starting to think the stories about you were... inflated."
Amon stepped forward one pace. His right hand rose. Two fingers closed in the air, thumb and forefinger, as if pinching something invisible between them.
"You came to talk?" Amon said. "Talk..."
Astaroth’s mouth opened. No sound came out.
His eyes widened suddenly as he clawed at his own throat, feeling as if something was stuck, as if something was inside his windpipe, squeezing. But there was nothing — not pressure from outside.
Just something that had already bypassed flesh and sat directly on the air he needed.
Amon’s fingers tightened a fraction.
Astaroth staggered. He tried to speak again, but only a wet, choked rasp came out.
"Wh...d...yo...d...?"
Amon did not move closer. He simply pressed his fingers closer together.
"Huh? What are you saying? You said you were here to speak, so... speak," he said again.
The duke waved one hand toward Amon, the other still at his neck. The world between them turned malleable.
System notifications flickered across Amon’s vision in cold blue text.
[Curse detected: Soul Binding – Rank: High]
[Automatic nullification activated]
[Curse detected: Tongue of Silence]
[Automatic nullification activated]
[Curse detected: Infernal Brand]
[Automatic nullification activated]
Astaroth’s face darkened. Veins stood out on his forehead. He dropped to one knee, then both. His free hand slammed against the road. He tried to force words out anyway. Nothing.
The woman and the old man had already backed past the streetlight. They did not speak.
They only watched, seeing the one who pummeled them daily getting pummeled instead, with just two fingers.
Amon’s voice stayed even.
"Huh, why is the Duke of Hell silent? You’re starting to irritate me with that silence. And you know what happens... when I am irritated, right?"
Astaroth’s body jerked. He coughed hard enough that black blood hit the ground. Still no words.
Amon closed the gap between thumb and forefinger another millimeter.
Astaroth collapsed fully. He rolled onto his side, legs kicking once, then going still except for the desperate heave of his chest. His eyes locked on Amon. The smirk was gone. Only raw animal panic remained.
Amon sighed once, short and quiet.
"Last chance. Talk, or there will be no mercy."
Astaroth’s mouth worked. His tongue moved. No air passed. His fingers scraped the asphalt hard enough to leave marks.
Amon closed his hand into a fist.
Astaroth’s body lost shape in less than a second. Skin, muscle, bone — everything turned to fine gray dust that scattered across the road and vanished into the morning air.
Amon lowered his hand.
He looked past the empty spot on the road to the two remaining figures. They had already moved beyond the far sidewalk.
"You two," Amon said. "Want to talk?"
The woman shook her head so hard her hair whipped across her face. The old man did the same. Both of them swallowed hard, then turned and ran. Their footsteps faded fast.
Amon watched until they disappeared around the corner. He took the gold ring off his finger and held it out to Claude.
Claude, confused, took it carefully.
"Why?" Claude asked.
"You have no talent for spellcasting," Amon said. "But artifacts can fill the gap. I’ll teach you how to use them. Starting with this one..."
Claude’s fingers closed around the ring. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He nodded once.
Amon too, seeing him smile, smiled a little, remembering the days when he found his first disciple.
Cain, I wish you were still alive.
Far across the city, on a high floor of an unmarked building, the same woman and the old man appeared inside a room without using the door.
Liliana sat at a long table in the next chamber. A dark book lay open in front of her. She did not look up when the two demons entered.
"Baal keeps sending me these brainless ones," she said. Her voice stayed low and sharp. "They cannot even follow simple orders. I warned you lot not to go — we will only attack when the time is appropriate, when he is in grief or depressed!" she shouted.
The woman and the old man froze in place, not moving a single inch, waiting for her to speak.
Liliana’s eyes stayed on the book. The pages were black. Letters wrote themselves across the surface in pale silver ink without any hand touching them.
The Book of Death.
She had limited access — minutes only, and every second counted. Every second these numbheads wasted.
Her finger moved down the list of names, fast and precise. She ignored the ranks, the dates of death, the causes. She searched for one name only.
Nyima.
The clock in her head ticked down. Forty seconds left. Thirty. Twenty.
When her time came, she found it near the bottom of the current page.
"Nyima."
The record opened under her gaze. Lines of text filled the space. Liliana read every one without blinking.
Her eyes narrowed. The calm on her face cracked as she read. Anger rose first. Then rage. Then something colder and heavier that sat behind her ribs like a weight.
Her throat grew heavy, and she stopped reading altogether.
Ting!
The book vanished the moment the access timer hit zero.
Thud!
Liliana slammed one hand on the table.
"All of it," she said. "Everything he has done. All the moves. All the killings. Because of a woman he spent twenty-something years with?" she complained.
Golden-white light flared behind her. Wings folded inward as Uranus stepped into the room. The light faded quickly, like the world had aborted her angelic existence.
She stood in human form, tall, quiet, watching Liliana’s back.
"What happened?" Uranus asked, seeing all the angels and the restless demons standing in quiet, looking down.
Liliana forced her breathing to slow. She closed the empty space where the book had been.
"Nothing," she said. "Just... men will be men, no matter what wisdom they claim to have."
Uranus tilted her head as words started to whisper from the fellow angels around her and she could feal the disturbance inside Liliana. As they were sensitive to other’s emotions.
"Are you just... jealous?"
The angel who whispered those words slapped her own forehead.
Liliana turned. Her hand closed around Uranus’s throat before the angel finished the last word. The grip was exact, tight, no room for weakness.
She applied enough strength, enough pressure to stop air from passing through her human body, but not enough to crush it.
"Ease your curiosity," Liliana said, soft and even. "Do not dwell on other people’s records. If you do, you will end up in a place where no heavenly light reaches. It’s cold there, utterly dark, and when I send you there, you will stay for... eternity."
Uranus’s eyes widened as she tried to speak. Only a thin sound came out. She nodded once, quick and desperate.
Liliana released her.
"Haaaaa..." she breathed, finally.
Uranus stepped back, one hand at her own throat, breathing hard.
Liliana walked to the wide window that overlooked the city. Her spell still tracked the car. Thin threads of dark energy stretched across the map in her mind. She knew the route before the vehicle even turned.
Amon was heading toward the old storage district — the place where he kept certain items locked away. Of course, one of them was his old notebook.
What is he trying to remember?
She turned back to the room. She couldn’t believe she was now working with demons and angels, but mostly she couldn’t believe they were working together, as they waited near the walls, silent, waiting for orders.
She waved her hand, and the coordinates appeared in the air in front of all of them — clean white numbers and street names.
"He is looking for an old, crappy notebook," Liliana said. "He wants to remember something. That something might be dangerous. In his case, I’m sure it’s lethal.
Follow the coordinates, and do not engage unless I give the word.
Watch. Report. Nothing more."
"Yes!"