Samiel relaxed in what remained of the changes to Penelope's cottage. He was alone for the time being. It looked more and more like just another room in the Parish with each passing day. Samiel busied himself making contracts, and was doing a good business across half a dozen worlds. He was slowly gaining power. For all he was a demon, for all he had the appearance and qualities of a devil, he still cared for mankind.

Made in his father's image? He wanted to laugh. He really...really wanted to laugh. And yet when he opened his mind's eye and peeped one by one into the struggle of human life across so many thousands of worlds he could only feel fury. He wasn't entirely sure if the 'White God' of that single forbidden realm had truly made humanity, not any more, but he did know that by leaving the rest of it to struggle their way through life in the cosmos was unacceptable.

So Samiel did not gain power quickly, or at least as quickly as he could have. His contracts were forgiving compared to many others, and yet–

Samiel's hand slammed to the table within the Hells. Shadows darker than night, deeper than the abyss, swarmed the room seeking out flesh and magic cast forth from his hand, and yet where they struck they found nothing.

Samiel's eyes darted about the room. In his mind he did not hear voices, the fallen angel for all else he was, was very sane. Very sane and very, very perceptive. His grasp of magic was unparalleled. His mastery of the Shroud of which he shared with Ivan to use and create his own was equally unmatched. It was what allowed him to easily drift between the barriers of the worlds, and be the contract broker that he was.

He could have ruled realities. He could have built cults, and become something of a 'Black God' opposed to his father, and besiege the realm of his reality seeking some sort of revenge, but what would he get out of that?

Samiel's hand twitched; the shadows shot around the room once more, snagging nothing more than air, and yet Samiel could feel the eyes upon him. There was perhaps a hundred. Maybe a thousand or more. It was changing, and yet each eye spied upon him at that very moment, each eye perceiving him from a different angle.

“Who are you?” Samiel asked.

There came no answer.

Samiel smiled, something of his fury behind it, a little excitement and curiosity replaced the furious boredom normally in his eyes. The handsome almost elven features he had chosen for himself appeared cruel and wicked behind the haze of shadows about him.

The watchers remained. Perhaps if there had been only one Samiel would have been able to divine some fragrance of emotion from the strange magic they used to look in upon him, but alas there were too many, their attentions wavering, spinning, and orbiting about him in ever changing angles. Yet knowing their presence did not make them retreat.

“Curious.” Samiel said, voicing his thoughts aloud.

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He reached out toward one of the hundred pinpoint silent and invisible viewers he could just barely sense. His being was mystical, divine, and more. Especially in the Hells there should be no object or substance that was not tangible to his being and senses. But his hand passed through the viewpoint, it at once becoming the focus of dozens of others, and its position being taken by a few dozen more.

“What are you little watchers? From where?” He voiced aloud again.

He cupped his hand around the point, as if taking the thing he couldn't see or touch in hand. As he thought it might, some of the pinpoints of focus he sensed followed with, cradled in the palm of his hand. He brought them forth, and sat back in his chair, staring into his empty palm.

Slowly more and more of the little pinpoints gathered into his palm. They seemed to want to be cradled there. Others still were content to view the scene from outside his reach, some very close, and others still from high or low vantages. They seemed aware of him. Aware of his thoughts and focus. They were here watching him, and yet it was as if they wanted to place themselves into the scene.

“Very curious.” Samiel murmured.

He squeezed his hand shut. Some few of the pinpoints remained in his hand. Others watched from outside it as before. Others still tried to peak between his fingers, floating about his hand. It seemed that through his awareness they were gaining awareness of each other, and yet like him could not truly see or sense one another...and yet as they watched him they were there.

Samiel peeked into the side of his fist, opening his first finger and thumb. A great many of the watchers he could sense shifted themselves to peer out from the grip of his fist.

Samiel chuckled.

It was a sound that was strange to the Hells. It wasn't the sound of a monster cackling in the dark over thoughts of its next horrible deed, but a sound more akin to what Samiel had once been. The shadows about him wavered like candle flames. The sound might have even drawn the attention of Azalea had she been 'next door' to sense it. The Hells themselves seemed to shiver.

It was a sound that would have made babies laugh. It was a sound that should have come with events like the sun rising on a cold morning, bringing light and warmth to a new day. It broke from the shadow of Samiel's form, and would have filled the heart of anyone who heard it. It was a lovely sound. A forgotten sound. A sound that Samiel was not aware he could still make as a fallen angel.

Samiel took a moment to bask in the small moment of joy this strange encounter had brought to him. It made him smile, but that smile was something of the shadow being he had become. He was as much a living nightmare to some as he was a savior to others. There was satisfaction in that. There was fairness in that.

Samiel leaned his chin on one palm and raised up another before him like a tiny stage for the invisible and untouchable watchers to stand upon. A good many of the ones in the room gathered there as he thought about how to address them.

“Have you been enjoying yourselves?” He asked, never expecting an answer.

“I can only assume you've been there since the beginning, hmm? I'd expect so, but maybe not. I do wonder which of the realms you might be from. It would be so tragic if I ever found out, but don't worry your precious little hearts and souls. I don't expect I will.” Samiel mused.

If he was honest with himself he was pouting a little. To be presented with a challenge, and so suddenly and thoroughly be set aside in his attempts to sniff out some other lingering trace other than he was being watched was upsetting.

He sighed.

“Well if you haven't been here the whole time, or are some force seeking out the Fate let me entertain you for a while. There's a story to be told here. A new dark hero rising. Some might call him villain or murderer, but I can only imagine what will happen if he doesn't kill Theadus at this point. The world of Ballenlight will fall into true chaos. Not neat and orderly chaos, but pure unproductive madness.” He said, speaking to the gathering of nothing upon his palm.

If anything, if he could keep their focus long enough he might figure something out about their nature. Where they came from at least, or how they gazed upon him in an area as well magically fortified as Penelope's domain. He would start at the beginning, and explain everything.

The End of Book 1 of Paladin to Demon Lord: Betrayed by the God of Light