*Author note: to refer to beings of certain power level I'll use pronouns such as 'Him' or 'Her'(for example) to express their nature, while to indicate those that could be called normal beings or mortals, I'll use 'he' or 'her' (for example)*
In one of the corners of Pandemonium, the world where demons are born, sits between two steep mountains a dark castle, covered by a veil of deep grey mist.
To demons living in the area surrounding it, the palace is considered with the same respect and fear that humans give to a holy ground.
Every single inhabitant, since the first demons were born in that area, in a very far past, has placed themselves and their bloodline, every generation, under an oath and a curse, not to trespass into the palace's territory, with the consequence of an excruciating death being reserved to those who dare breaking it.
Why are demons so afraid of Demons? That's simply because demons aren't the same as Demons.
Demons are mythical creatures, never seen or even glimpsed at by demons; these are the ones that embody the Seven Capital Sins. While the ones referred to as demons are on the lower one plane of the power hierarchy; they are the common inhabitants of the world of Pandemonium, creatures with almost no magical power, that go along their lives the same way common humans do in the world of Midgard.
So, from the point of view of demons, Demons are unknown creatures, with an almost divine aura of mystery around them, whose existence has never been revealed to them and is uncertain. From the point of view of Demons though, demons are mere ants, sacrificial lambs and pawns to their interests and scheming.
Anyway, turning back to the mysterious palace, zooming beyond the fog, the building walls, and into the main room of the the complex, one finds themselves in the sight of a mysterious being: a humanoid in appearance, with long grey hair cascading on the throne on which he sleeps soothingly, wearing on His lean and pale body a dark light armor, adorned with numerous silver gems and obsidian motives.
Beside Him lies a spear, 2.2 meters long, its shaft made of a dark wood covered in dark incomprehensible runes, and its blade made of a golden demonic ore-native to the deepest and darkest uninhabitable regions of Pandemonium.
If one's gaze lingers on the spear's head for a while, they are awe-struck by its sharpness and craftsmanship, seeing the thin lines and motives circling it from one side to the other, and the rich illustrations depicted on it.
On the spear's head is engraved one story, older than most mountains and landscape elements in the world of Pandemonium, in three scenes: the first one represents a valiant Demon, a warrior, preparing his armor for battle; the second one illustrates the same warrior standing in a battle stance, with a spear, in front of a fearful dragon; the third and final one depicts the warrior standing atop the decapitated dragon in a triumphant pose.
The images there seen can bring one to look again at the owner of such a weapon, to test whether the sight is truly the one seen before their eyes: a being, with no aura around Him at all, sleeping calmly on a throne, in an empty palace with no guards whatsoever. One then would certainly doubt the fact that the one sitting before their sight is one of the Seven Demons, the being who, in the spear's bas-relief, killed that mighty dragon.
But, they would be making a grave mistake in trying to judge through the blind lens of myth and children tales the nature of the extraordinary being in front of them. Because that is not any other Demon. He is not the show-off that the rest of His siblings are.
He is Belphegor, the mighty and feared Demon of Sloth.
His lack of aura isn't a lack of power, but simply the result of His honing his ability through hard and unceasing work with the purpose to contain it so much in Himself that it seems almost nonexistent to the external eye.
His sleeping calmly doesn't share the same purpose or meaning that it does for common humans and for demons, because Demons like Gods don't need sleep, but it is the reflection on the physical plane of the metaphysical pseudo-divine nature of His existence. An extraordinary existence, which on the physical plane might change or even be destroyed or damaged, but on the metaphysical plane it exists perpetually in eternity through eternity, always ready to project Itself into the physical realm if Its manifestation were destroyed or erased.
His sleeping, for the last 300 thousand years, has been a constant state, since his defeating the dragon as engraved on the spear's head... till that exact moment, when the heavy boots of the messenger of the Demon of Wrath, Belial, resounded through the room, reaching the ears of the sleeping Demon.
For the first time in almost 300 thousand years since He had killed in one spear move the mighty dragon Typhoon, the Demon of Sloth opened His eyes and set them upon the approaching towering figure, His silver irises reflecting the quiet discomfort of having His sleep disturbed.
And, again, for the first time in eons, He sat up straight on his thrones and took His spear, lifting it with ease and placing it before Him.
While the towering figure, clad in a dark heavy armor, finally arrived in front of Him, with a sealed scroll on his hand, and keeled, bending his head to pay Him respect, and spoke with a trembling yet deep and loud voice "Your majesty. My lord, the Demon of Wrath has send me as His messenger to deliver this letter to you and to share with you....His warm greetings."
Belphegor, didn't reply instantly, but lazily observed the visitor and then, He placed his hand before His mouth, opened it -revealing rows of sharp pearl colored teeth- and then He yawned.