Defy The Alpha(s) - Chapter 706

Capítulo 706: Belongs To Hell

They said hell had no fury like a woman scorned, but even hell would kneel before the fury of a male whose mate had just been taken from him.

Micah had always kept his demon side buried. The world was wicked enough, he didn’t need to add to its darkness. But the moment Adele vanished, the chains holding him snapped. They wanted to see the demon? They’d see him.

There was nothing human about Micah as he descended into hell.

Most people thought hell was a pit. Some cramped little torture chamber where the damned burn forever while demons poke them with pitchforks. Cute imagination, truly, but wrong.

Hell was a kingdom.

And like every kingdom, it had a ruler, a capital, a hierarchy, and its laws. The living realms only knew one layer because it’s where they’re thrown. But Hell was vast and boundless. Never getting overpopulated because it always grew, accommodating the numerous souls doomed for eternal damnation.

Entire landscapes were carved out of fire, iron, shadow, and bones. It’s cities built into canyon walls, fortresses suspended over molten seas, with whole districts where the air tasted like gore and smoke.

Hell was not just for the damned souls, it was homes for the demons too. And just like every other kingdom, there were divisions in the demon society too.

Lesser demons were the bottom-feeders. Imps, shadowlings, bone-gnawers, and whisper demons. They haunt the outer territories, and were perfect for torment duty. They swarm in packs, obey without question, and feed on scraps of fear and despair. They’re the ones sent to torment mortals in nightmares.

The next tier were the hellhounds, wrathspawn, wraiths, gargoyles, and blood reavers. They were stronger demons and they govern small territories, command lesser demons, and keep the damned in line.

Then of course, were the princes of hell, or rather, the Archfiends. Each of them embodies a cosmic sin: Pride, Envy, Wrath, Greed, Lust, Sloth, and Gluttony. The princes were older than human history, and ruled massive provinces, complete with cities larger than Aster City and armies ready to shake the mortal worlds if unleashed.

But above all of them sat the Emperor of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.

Not that Micah cared. Lucifer did not concern himself with insignificant beings like him unless they disrupted the machinery of Hell itself. And Micah had no intention of begging for the devil’s attention tonight.

He had only one destination.

Micah was headed straight for the Court of Hunger, ruled by Asmodeus—the demon who created him, if one could even call it “creation.” Asmodeus, Prince of Lust, the sovereign to whom every incubus and succubus ultimately belonged.

Not that Asmodeus cared for his children.

He had spawned so many across the realms that numbering them would be pointless. They were legion, scattered across Hell and Earth, thriving or perishing, and Asmodeus would not shed a single tear for any of them. To him, they were simply extensions of his appetite—beautiful, useful, and entirely expendable.

Micah included.

Micah appeared in the Court of Hunger like a falling star, his feet touching hell stone. At that moment, he looked very much like a prince of hell, beautiful, lethal, and very unrestrained.

He was swallowed by darkness so thick it felt alive, but hell shifted around him as if recognizing one of its half-claimed children returning home at last.

The sky was an expanse of crimson fog and pheromone smoke, while the air itself had a sweet, cloying, sickeningly and finally intoxicating smell like a perfume brewed from lust itself. This was no place for a mortal. Certainly not his mate, Adele.

The ground upon which Micah stood was so warm, it was almost feverish. Rivers of molten gold flowed through the realm, illuminating everything in a seductive glow. The unfortunate souls drifted along the banks, caught in trance-like loops of ecstasy and agony, feeding the realm with their endless longing.

Incubi and Succubi — brothers and sisters they called each other, even though they didn’t act like one — strutted through the walkways in all forms. Some of them were beautiful, some monstrous, and some a blend of both, their laughter so intoxicating it was enough to drug a mortal senseless.

And the lesser lust demons, skeletal things with elongated limbs and glowing eyes crawled along the pillars like predators waiting for scraps.

Every creature Micah passed turned back for a second time, not just because of who he was, but because of the dark, potent, and furious aura rolling off him in waves, and disturbing the very air.

A few flinched, none wanting to be at the receiving end of his anger. It was not hard to find Rivere. Micah already knew the one place he would be.

The Pit of Thirst, the heart of Asmodeus’s domain.

And, as always, it was “fun.”

Only one thing fed their kind, desire and sexual energy, and the Court of Hunger was all about it.

There were bodies writhing in every direction. Literally everywhere.

Incubi, succubi, lesser lust demons, some of them with wings, or horns, or both, and they were all having an orgy. There was no shame as they tangled with one another in a frenzy that looked almost ritualistic. It wasn’t just mere pleasure; it was an offering to the hunger that ruled this place.

Sensual music thrummed through the hall, heat rising from the ground, and mingling with pheromones heavy enough to choke a human. Of course, it drew Micah in. It was akin to being offered a meal, one he couldn’t resist.

But nothing mattered more to Micah than his mate.

Some of the demons noticed Micah and smiled, their fangs flashing. A succubi reached out to him, wanting him to join them. Micah’s mixed blood was a rarity among them, and rarities often stirred excitement here.

But Micah ignored her entirely. Rivere was somewhere in this den of maddened delight, watching and waiting for him.

Micah lifted his gaze toward the throne dais, and there he was.

Rivere lounged on their father Asmodeus’s throne as if he had been born in it, one leg draped over the armrest, his fingers tapping lazily against the carved surface.

Their eyes met and a slow, knowing smile tugged Rivere’s lips to the side.

Finally.

There was no reaching Rivere, not when the entire floor of the pit was a writhing ocean of bodies.

It was obvious Rivere had thrown this orgy for one reason only, and it was to slow Micah down, and force him to crawl through his place like any other desperate creature.

Even when Micah glared at him, Rivere was unbothered, smugly watching Micah assess the situation.

Micah’s jaw clenched hard. Not even an army of demons would be enough to stop him from getting to his mate today.

So Micah took a step forward and planted his foot on a demon’s back. The creature shrieked in pain, but Micah didn’t flinch. If anything, he shifted his weight, grinding down until the demon choked and went limp beneath him. Then Micah stepped onto another body, and another.

Like that, he began to use them as stepping stones. A spine cracked under his heel, and the demon howled. One of them even

reached up to plead with him, but

Micah slammed his feet onto its face, cutting the scream short as its teeth cracked under pressure.

Micah did not spare even a glance downward, his eyes were locked on Rivere, his target.

Soon enough the cries of pleasure turned to panic as the demons realized Micah was not part of their revelry, instead was using them as a bridge.

Still yet, Rivere was not intimidated, his expression sharpening with interest. If anything, he looked genuinely impressed. His brother was as interesting as he had thought.

As soon as Micah reached the top, there was no stopping him.

Rage detonated through him, raw and unchecked. He seized the shirtless Rivere by the throat and slammed him back against the throne. Then Micah’s fist connected with his face.

“You. Fucking. Son. Of. A. Bitch!”

Each word was accompanied by a brutal blow.

The impact echoed through the court, yet Rivere only laughed, blood slicking his lips.

The sound of his laughter was mocking, and Micah’s vision went white with fury.

“How dare you!” he roared and struck him harder, the force snapping Rivere’s head to the side. Micah lifted him like he weighed nothing and hurled him across the room.

Rivere crashed into a pillar and slid to the floor.

“Where is she?!” Micah thundered. “Where did you take my mate?!”

Rivere coughed, blood painting his chin, then dragged his gaze upward with a slow smirk. “Mates… how cute.”

Micah’s answering growl was animalistic, ripped straight from his demon core. He charged again.

But this time Rivere didn’t just take it. Micah’s fist shot forward but Rivere’s landed first.

The blow was devastating. Micah’s body whipped backward as if struck by a meteor. He slammed into the ground, the air punched from his lungs in a hard, choking gasp.

Fuck. That hurt.

He rolled, desperate to stand but Rivere was already upon him, shadow-fast. His feet came down on Micah’s chest and pinned him to the floor. Micah grabbed at his ankle but Rivere’s strength was monstrous, pure-blooded demon strength, far beyond what Micah could match in this moment.

Rivere leaned down, snarling with savage triumph.

“You forget one thing,” he hissed. “Hell is home to all its spawn and by extension—” his foot pressed harder on Micah’s chest, stealing his breath, “—that includes your mate.”

The blood drained from Micah’s face.

“No.”