Round 42: Between Rounds

A Teflin sat alone in the shop. There were countless outcasts from various realms in Sealmark City—reclusive, eccentric, irritable, some ashamed or proud of their non-human bloodlines. But this one was different from his brethren. He had a handsome face, his dark skin tinged with a hint of red. His long, black hair was tied back into a smooth ponytail. His pupils were pale, almost as white as those of someone with severe eye disease, yet flickered with flames within. There was an almost imperceptible scent of anxiety about him, as if something was burning day and night, but it wasn’t the unpleasant stench of sulfur—it could almost be mistaken for a uniquely styled men’s perfume.

He had been there for some time now. He ordered a cup of milk tea and then occupied the entire table, focused on arranging the cards. Some people tried to approach him, but he simply said without looking up, “I’m waiting for someone.” So they stood there for a few seconds before leaving, as if his excuse were perfectly reasonable, and they were the most reasonable gentlemen among the realms.

Another person pulled up a chair across from him. This time, the Teflin didn’t refuse.

“Let me see…” The man with an aristocratic air sat down and pointed at the complex stack of cards, then suddenly pulled one out and flipped it to reveal the top card. “This one!”

“Hmph, Azuth,” the man sneered dismissively. “Tradition, reason, knowledge, thought, the teaching and learning of magic arts… nothing but nonsense. What does he represent for Balthazar? Inevitable failure?”

“Under the older rules, this card is actually Saphras, the god of prophecy and divination. You’re late, Your Highness.” The Teflin gathered the cards one by one, smiling at him.

“Half a chicken, a piece of Lorth meat, some wild beast cheese, a bottle of white wine, a plate of roasted mushrooms with lots of sauce, and a few apples, cut for me…” Xyrik ordered a bunch of things at random before leaning back in his chair.

“Whatever. I don’t believe in divination anyway. It’s just whatever people want to interpret it as.” The God of Murder still had O’Sullivan’s appearance, crossing his legs. “That god is nothing but a damn toilet—valuable when needed, disgusting when not. I say, you really screwed me over this time.”

The Teflin shuffled the cards gracefully. “How could you say that, Your Highness? You won. The lady you chose triumphed in the duel. It was completely unexpected, truly. A divine aberration, a service from the Faeani… I’d bet my life on Kanya against you—this is a treatment even Mistra doesn’t offer.”

“Ha, so you’re just making things convenient for your own people?” Xirik sneered. “I went home like a fool, waiting for a fair, just, and open friendly match. But what did I get? You even sent an army after her! What else? Let me think… Hellfire, binding spells, time stoppage… I’d even bet against you using the Supreme Throne, Lord Mephistopheles—you didn’t even go to such lengths when dealing with Balzeb!”
He brought his palms close together and gestured. “How hard did I work? It took me so much effort to earn just this tiny bit of favor. And in the blink of an eye, you ruined everything—later when people ask, ‘Hey, Xirik, what were you doing while I was risking my life against a heavily armed opponent for your bet?’ I’ll say, ‘Oh, sorry, dear, I was busy enjoying virgins at a festival praising my power!’ Well? Fine, go ahead. We’ll settle accounts later.”
With all the space taken up by plates, Mephistopheles had no choice but to fiddle with the cards in his hands.
“I didn’t violate the rules we agreed upon.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m just unlucky. Hey, are all demons made of rats? All so good at finding loopholes.” Xirik bit off the bottle cap with his teeth, poured himself a full glass, and began spreading cheese on an apple.
“Your Highness… how long have we known each other?” Mephistopheles asked after listening to Xirik’s chewing sounds for a while.
“Hmm, a few hundred years, I guess.” Xirik swallowed the food in his mouth with a big gulp of wine. “Why?”
The King of Demons sighed lightly. “Yes, it’s been hundreds of years in the blink of an eye. I remember back then, Glaciera was just a spoiled young lady, but now she can rule Marboggi on equal footing with us old folks.”
“Tch.” Xirik scoffed. “Sitting around eating fruit—after playing for most of our lives, why aren’t you tired of it? All serious matters get delayed. If I had my way, if you’d intensified that fire back then, half of the Divine Kingdom would be completely different now.”
“Life is full of uncertainties—that’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it?” Mephistopheles drew another card. A purplish-black sun framed a pale skull. “Who would have thought that among those four adventurers who recklessly explored my temple back then, three of them would become immortal gods? Besides, Yeg, Bal, Morgoth… I still prefer you.”
He gently turned the card, and the image kept changing, forming sacred symbols of those great beings before turning into skulls, as if glaring at each of them. The God of Murder curled his lips slightly—the light on the card vanished instantly.
“Come on, save your sweet talk for your old man. They say a fallen phoenix is no better than a chicken, but you and that big slug have been competing since my great-grandfather was alive, haven’t you? Still haven’t resolved it yet… Can’t you flatter him a bit to get him to help you?”

Xirek reached out and tore off half of the chicken leg. “And what exactly is the reason you asked me out? Surely it’s not to ask me to mediate between you and that idiot with the dumb head—you must have angered him; I still don’t even know what to do with my own problems.”
“I certainly understand. There are always only a limited number of seats by the table,” Mephistopheles said, still maintaining his charming smile, even when mentioning the two things he despised the most. “I won’t compete with you, and I’ve already gotten what I wanted. The power brought back by the scattered Hellfire is very interesting… even beyond my expectations.”
“Was this your plan from the start?” Xirek raised an eyebrow at him. “So you weren’t serious?”
“I’m not a snake; I don’t have such huge appetites. To be honest, even if my men somehow managed to win, I wouldn’t touch a hair on them. Eating too fast and too much can choke you—haste leads to failure. To build a tower of success, the materials must be details and patience.”
“I get it. First, win the paper game; then come the real money. You don’t need to keep reminding me.” Xirek spat out the bone with a pop.
“Please forgive me if I offended you,” the great demon said, picking up the still-warm milk tea. “It’s actually a small request… Your Majesty, could you give me the soul of that red-robed mage? I will forever remember your generosity.”
“Who? Which red-robed mage?”
“The one you killed in Kasseli. I remember his name was Seth. Since I didn’t get him, I suppose he’s fortunate to become part of your collection?”
“Oh, that guy. I almost forgot about him.” Xirek held up his fork. “I’m not really interested. But mages are usually lawless and unafraid of anything. I did this just as a precaution, to prevent him from falling into Kaylanwo’s hands. Damn, all that talk about the cycle of faith and existence, the judgment day for the unbelievers… such nonsense. There’s nothing to fear while alive, and nothing to care about after death—what’s wrong with that? What do you want him for? Now?”
“To fulfill a contract,” Mephistopheles replied. Another card was drawn—still a skull, but this one wore a golden crown studded with gems, with needle-like evil glimmers flashing in its deep, empty eye sockets—symbolizing the ultimate realm that magic and necromantic power can achieve.
“Alright. I’ll look for it. Hopefully, that woman isn’t around.” Xirek’s eyes darkened. “By the way, I heard you built a replica of the City of a Thousand Doors somewhere in Bato, and you often capture unlucky people from there for research? Aside from Batzu, no one else could pull off such a thing. Any progress?”
“It’s just some preliminary construction. Without that woman, emptying the entire Seal City won’t help. Thank you, very much.” The great demon took the soul prism handed to him by the God of Murder and nodded with a smile.
“Keep working hard, comrade. The revolution will succeed one day.” Xirek wiped his mouth roughly and stood up. “That’s about as good as I can do—still having to rely on divine intervention just to get breakfast.”

After the God of Murder left, Mephistopheles sat alone for a while longer. The gods of the multiverse fluttered around his fingers; with just that skill, he could be a competent dealer in most casinos. The entire deck had changed many times over the ages—some cards added, some removed, some altered. Yet it remained a complete set. A brand-new card, never seen before, suddenly appeared on top. It lacked any divine symbol, and its surface was blurred, indistinct as if seen through fog. The Great Devil stared at it for a few seconds before shuffling it back in. Nothing, not even the gods, remained unchanged forever… only order endured.

As he stepped outside, he was stopped.

“Is there a problem?” the Great Devil asked her. The soul within that frail body was filled with intense emotions of struggle against fate, as resilient as twisted steel—worth paying attention to.

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t accept blood coins,” said Eponee, the temporary helper, holding the timid girl in charge of collecting payments one hand while firmly blocking the path of the second most powerful figure in hell with the other.

“Oh… of course.” Mephistopheles’ smile faded, and he reached into his pocket to look for money.

The blood sun that illuminated the Vast Plain never set. It resembled a vast, unblinking eye, scanning the endless plain covered in extinguished ashes, abyssal fissures, molten metal fountains, and massive metal fortresses—the starting points of countless evil worlds. No god from the realm of light claimed any connection to the red sun of the bottomless abyss, though most known layers of the abyss were bathed in a similar, shadowy red light, bright enough to seem as if bathed in molten metal showers.

Forty-seven sat on the sunlit side of a barren rock slope. Melted and then re-solidified metal clung in clumps to the soil and rocks, waiting for pressure underground to build up again until it could tear the earth apart once more, spewing boiling death. The Tin Man hadn’t reverted to human form—perhaps out of laziness, or maybe lying down was better for basking in the sun. He opened his outer armor, and numerous energy-absorbing metal plates extended from his body, shining under the scorching sun, clearly enjoying the dual heat from the sun and geothermal energy.

The succubus hid in the shadow of her wings, strolling nearby with a charm that inverted the hearts of beings. A glint of light, different from the reflection of metal, slipped across the soil—instead of bending down, she stretched out her foot to push aside the dust, picked up the half-hidden black gem with her toe, and brought it to her hand by bending her ankle and knee behind her other leg. The whole movement was eerie yet graceful, especially the curves of her waist and hips, which could make any male creature who saw it lose its breath.

But facing a car… it was, in any case, a bit like trying to flirt with the blind.

The reason for stopping was that Morriel and Kaylo had gone to the other side of the cliff to deal with some “personal matters” that needed to be resolved. Hmph, such weak and troublesome mortal beings. Can’t they even endure a short while? The succubus thought, fiddling with the obsidian. Yet the relationship between the female mage and him was indeed unusual and difficult to deal with, as proven by various events along the way. The succubus turned back, secretly giving a glare at Forty-Seven who was sunbathing. He didn’t even talk to her—how infuriating!

Should she take the initiative like before? Her thoughts flickered like her fingers. Phylgas and Kayli had gone east and west respectively, both quite far away—now it was almost just her and Forty-Seven left. If he were human, the succubus wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. There were too many stories of deep love leading to separation; the tide of emotions couldn’t be held back by fragile bonds like vows or trust. Beneath all appearances lay the essence of “chaos,” which, with little effort, could break free from the chains of reason like a hungry beast. But he was different. Having shed the mix of demons he had absorbed, he had become stronger, deadlier, indestructible, and even more elusive than the broken, mad metal warrior she had first met, just like his form, which could change at will. Perhaps deep within his rigid shell, there was some softness hidden away? The female mage might have discovered it, but the succubus had no idea. Or should she consult Pippi again? The Qwasim often were looked down upon by the Balo because of their small size and weakness, but she wouldn’t underestimate the highly concentrated malice in those little demons. Huh? She hadn’t noticed—where had it gone?

She saw Morriel approaching, bypassing the collapsed rock walls, ignoring the massive insects crawling in the stones and metal. Holding that formidable staff, she finally managed to create some distance from that unsophisticated wandering mage. A woman’s strongest weapon was never the Meteor Burst, the succubus thought cheerfully as she waved at the female mage. Why was Pippi following her?

“Morriel, should we find a fort to rest for a while? You seem a bit tired,” the succubus said. “There’s no choice—the Bottomless Abyss can exhaust even the strongest travelers at the fastest pace. Each of its layers is larger than a world. Thinking of Broken Realm Town, we still have a long way to go—even with Forty-Seven’s help.”

“I think we might not need to go to that Broken Realm Town,” Morriel shook her head. “There are many paths. Why take the longer way?”

“What?” The succubus frowned slightly. “But Miss Morriel, every traveler goes there first. There’s no place in the entire Bottomless Abyss that’s more convenient or safer than Broken Realm Town. I mean, to explore this dangerous yet fascinating land, we can’t just jump into the first crack leading downward like people cornered by pursuers. We need to be prepared, have a plan…”

“No need. I’ve never found any plan documents with him.” Morriel’s staff also glowed brightly under the scorching sun. “You helped Fergas escape from the demons chasing him. Those demons are very powerful, right?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t anything serious—just a bit of skill and luck. What? I thought we’d already discussed this.” The succubus sensed a hint of ominousness.
“I just found out they were acting on orders too… The demons who command them must be even more formidable. You see, Vadalia, I’m a mage.” The female mage’s eyes were deep and dark, as if they could draw people in. “So, naturally, I think more. I take the liberty of assuming you didn’t help Fergas by chance, did you? She was in critical condition at the time, and I wasn’t fully aware of the situation… But I heard the pursuers were met with fierce resistance. What kind of person could mobilize two groups of elite demons to fight to the death?”
The little demon flew beside Morriel. Noticing the succubus’s gaze on it, it screeched loudly in defense. “Don’t blame Pipi! Pipi is now a magical pet, and magical pets have no secrets! It has nothing to do with Pipi!”
A magical pet? She would actually do such a thing! Since they were practically inseparable, mages were very cautious when choosing magical pets. If they couldn’t find a suitable one, they preferred to forgo the many benefits such pets could bring after years of observation and cultivation—Morriel simply let the little demon fly around freely. The succubus couldn’t help but imagine what kind of painful expression the female mage would have if she were to strangle Pipi.
“Hurry up, there’s no time to dawdle.” Kaili moved silently, even with her high heels on metal. “Your emotional reactions have wasted too much time. Now that we’ve found you, his matter is settled. It’s time to deal with mine. I don’t care what you plan to do—this was agreed upon… Hey! Speak up! Could you please stop hiding and pretending to be dead? You promised me we had to go find the Lord right away!”
“Sigh, then I’ll repeat what Pipi said. When two demons work together, one never knows more than the other.” The succubus was at a loss—things were already out of her control. When two demons collaborated, whatever one could accomplish would surely be ruined by the other. Hmph, that little rascal could just be left to trouble that reckless female mage.
Forty-seven remained silent—he quietly packed up his equipment to make room for the group of women. Fergas stood beside him, ignoring everyone, gazing intently at the abyssal sun in the crimson sky, perfectly playing the role of a fashion model.

“…That’s exactly how it is. I’ve told you everything I know! I merely obeyed the orders of Her Majesty Mekansuth. As for why Her Majesty is interested in Miss Filgas and which forces are pursuing her, I really don’t know much.” The demoness had some suspicions, but she didn’t voice them. After all, an entire squad of male demon warrior knights had sacrificed themselves, along with a maid who was very favored by the Demon Queen. The task of getting close to Filgas wasn’t supposed to fall to her… She wasn’t sure if her “submission” would anger Mekansuth, even though she had tried her best—after all, who could predict the strange and capricious logic of the Demon Queen?

“In that case, if we want to meet the Demon Queen, could you introduce us?” Moriel asked. The demoness wasn’t sure if that was really her intention.

“I can at most take you to the entrance of the Queen’s palace… Believe it or not, it’s just a coincidence that Her Majesty Mekansuth would pay attention to someone as unremarkable as me.”

The female mage didn’t ask anything further and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. A gentle warmth seeped through her robes, warming her back—very comfortable.

Even the Demon Queen Mekansuth is paying attention to you… You must be quite charming. She sent a mental message to Forty-Seven. What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything? That’s not like you.

If you don’t want to hear it, then don’t say it.

…Thank you. Moriel whispered softly.

Thank you for staying with me. You could have been free to do whatever you wanted… No one could have done anything to you.

If you want to play, go ahead. If you don’t study properly, you’ll end up like an ass.

Sigh. Can’t we talk seriously? The female mage didn’t ask; she already knew the answer. After resting for a few more minutes, she remembered the Murder God’s instruction—time to settle what needed to be settled.

How’s that thing? Don’t force it.

It’s done. Call him over. Forty-Seven replied immediately: It’s a piece of cake.

Let me see it.

The intricately designed metal belt came out clattering from a nearby machine, similar to those old computers that used paper tapes—though Moriel had never seen one before.

The female mage took it and examined it for a moment. Then she opened the car window—the hot wind rushed in instantly, and she tossed the metal belt outside.

Huh? You’re not doing business with that pretty boy anymore? Then don’t throw it away. I can use it to decorate my fender.

He can get it. Moriel continued to close her eyes, a smile on her lips. It’s better not to call him over… I’m afraid you’ll kill him.

A Soul Judger quickly spotted the metal belt left in the dust. It had been following the unobtrusive steel sports car from a distance for some time, trying to figure out the purpose of this “thing” and whether it could bring any benefits to it. The Soul Judger immediately realized the belt wasn’t ordinary. Though it couldn’t yet determine its nature or function, the intense magical aura was undeniable. Maybe it’s a belt? Why throw it away? The Soul Judger swiftly swung its arm as thick as a tree, uttering a series of blasphemous curses along with its foul breath. The magical backlash made even a fly unable to hide, and it also confirmed that there were no traps on the metal belt.

After scouting, the Soul Judger snatched up the belt; it resembled a delicate bracelet in his palm. The demon prepared to teleport away at once, returning to a less important lair—where it could study it slowly. If things went wrong and it needed to retreat, the losses would be tolerable. Its plans were too perfect, and it failed to notice the danger right before it. The demon’s own shadow surged up, choking it. Desperate terror flashed in the Soul Judger’s usually cruel and merciless red eyes. The demon’s laughably small wings flapped frantically, in vain attempts to escape the shadow’s grip—the lightless darkness rippled for a few seconds before the Soul Judger’s twenty-foot-tall body was torn apart.
The shadow didn’t dissipate; it writhed on the ground, mixing with blood and seeping into the rust-colored soil. The shadow spread like a black carpet, welcoming their supreme ruler. Footprints appeared out of nowhere, faint yet visible, with sunlight reflecting an empty silhouette. A pale, slender hand picked up the metal buckle from the Soul Judger’s remains. Countless slowly rotating gears shone like mirrors, reflecting the Murder God’s grim eyes.
Was it complete? Was it certain? The Godslayer’s Sword hummed, whispering in his ear.
“You’re taking a risk, my love.”
Xyrik held the metal belt and joined its ends together. Its mechanisms were now flawless; energy flowed smoothly within it, circulating perfectly and endlessly.
“Life itself is a risk.”
The Murder God raised the belt with both hands. From his perspective, it encircled the sun—seemingly trapping the fierce red disk.
……
PS: Besides darkness, Xyrik, Warhammer 40K, and Star Wars, there’s one more element in the previous chapter.
Or rather, I think there is…