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《The Feast of the Dead》

๑BEELZEBUB๑

༺𓆩♱𓆪༻

༺𓆩♱𓆪༻

The fires of hell were extinguished that night.

Not because of the rain, but because hell itself refused to look at its master.

Beelzebub walked alone down a long corridor of bone and iron.

His head was slightly bowed, his blond hair disheveled, obscuring his eyes, which once shone like gold.

Now, the light was dim—like dying embers.

His every step echoed off the walls, whispering:

“The king of flies who lost his way...”

“The devil who forgot why he lived...”

Beelzebub stopped before the great black gate that separated the underworld from the land of the dead.

He lit a cigarette with his red-hot fingertips, drawing in the smoke deeply until his chest burned.

Then he whispered—not to anyone, but to himself:

“If I still have a heart... let this night be my time to atone for it.”

The sky above him was a deep red.

The shadow of an angel flew in the distance, bringing a light too holy for this land.

And Beelzebub smiled faintly—the smile of a man who knows that regret is his only remaining prayer.

“Heaven may come for me,” he said quietly.

“But tonight... let me come for the dead first.”

He opened the gate, and the world beyond breathed with the scent of death.

Souls whispered his name.

Beelzebub stepped inside, and in that moment, the sky began to drip blood.

And so it all began—the night Beelzebub walked toward judgment,

not for his sins against heaven,

but for his sins against himself.

༺𓆩♱𓆪༻

🩸 Mood & Genre:

Main Genre: Dark Fantasy, Psychological Drama, Gothic Romance

Emotional Tone: Tragic, bloody, regretful, melancholic

Central Theme: A tonement, the conflict between heaven and hell, and guilt as a force

Symbolism: Blood as a symbol of memory; angels as moral reminders; cigarettes and hellfire as symbols of Beelzebub's remaining humanity

༺𓆩♱𓆪༻