Round 39: The Quietly Played Requiem

“You really know how to cause trouble—big trouble!”
The River Styx ferryman’s shriveled lips curled back to reveal deathly gray gums and rows of bony fangs. His eyes glowed red with fury—a sight enough to frighten anyone with a weak will. “And you’ve dragged me into this too! Let me tell you, if I get hurt—even just a slight scratch—I’ll abandon you. Even if you’re strong enough to destroy an entire army of demons, you’ll still get lost forever in the endless waters of the Styx! No more Riverfolk will serve you!”
Yet he rowed much faster, almost doubling his original speed.
“Who forced us to kill each other just to get boat tickets? Who made us walk among those stinky, hard-skinned Batzu? And who chose such a path that forced us to endure the misery and despair of those gray ruins for so long, leaving us with nowhere to escape now?” The succubus hid comfortably beside the steel elf, looking up at the ferryman’s terrifying face without showing fear.
“I’m sorry, but I had to do this. I sensed my enemy hidden among that fleet. Once she finishes her preparations, our situation will be far worse than now.”
Morrill appeared weary, her eyes reflecting the light of the raging flames in the distant sky. That power was familiar to her, as she had once pushed her former colleague, Dagulas, into a similar inferno.
Along with the heat rose hatred. If inanimate objects could feel anything, it would be the rage emanating from the burning coals in the furnace—enough to cause even the female mage slight mental pain.
The flames rolled and expanded, swelling rapidly yet remaining cohesive, like a giant, ferocious stingray. Within the bright flames, dark red hues could be seen, as if the beast’s skin had torn apart due to the strain of its massive size, revealing its bloody internal organs.
The flames pressed down on the chaotic fleet, ready to ignite at any moment. Seven or eight fast boats had already separated from the main group, forming a fan shape as they pursued—each boat carrying fire, spewing thick smoke. Driven by scorching magic, they accelerated, closing in faster and faster. Most demons weren’t afraid of fire, but the waters of the Styx were not something races other than the Riverfolk could easily endure. For both personal and practical reasons, they had to fight desperately. The women and the blind had powerful backers, and no one knew how much longer their wooden boats could hold up in this hellish chase.

A fireball surpassed the sporadically launched arrows of the demons and flew toward the fugitives. As if suddenly endowed with eyes at the back of his head, the boatman swiftly steered the small boat. A scorching wave erupted, instantly filling the water within dozens of feet with steam. Phylgas retaliated immediately; his intricately crafted bow gleamed as he drew the string at such speed that it was impossible to see clearly, shooting arrows one after another in an unbelievably perfect straight line. The silver arrows hovered in the air for a moment before a small but intensely bright flash appeared among their pursuers. The launcher of the fireball was undoubtedly annihilated by this deadly barrage—yet this minor setback brought the two sides a little closer, and before long, similar attacks would rain down on them.

“So you’re stupid enough to fight in the River of Styx?” The boatman took a breath after performing a difficult evasion maneuver. For some reason, his attitude seemed to soften slightly when he noticed the elegant and cruel steel elves. “I admit your strength far exceeds my estimates. But you must also understand that once my boat is damaged, falling into the River of Styx means certain death! There might be a thousand demons behind us—how long can you hold on?”

Several streams of burning black smoke emerged from the edge of the fire cloud, spreading wildly like a giant, abominable deformed hand.

“That’s why I earnestly hope you can get us away from them before we run out of strength.”

Morriel was well-versed in her magic; a few words wouldn’t affect the accuracy or speed of her spells, but she wasn’t yet perfect enough to be distracted by choosing her words carefully. Colorful lights emerged with her words and gestures, beautiful rays of various colors intermingling and flashing as they rose from the sorceress’s hands, quickly forming a dazzling rainbow wall between her and the smoke cloud.

Another invisible spell propelled the rainbow wall toward the serpent-like, scorching black smoke, forcing it to thin out, disperse, and burst into sparks. The filthy forces of hell were repelled, and the flying demons could no longer hide in the black flames to launch surprise attacks. This time, the boatman truly showed surprise—just as even the most ignorant materialists could sense the wind direction, inhabitants of other planes knew something about magic. He certainly understood how difficult it was to activate a defensive spell that was originally stationary and keep it functioning; many spellcasters would even declare it impossible. This required even more skill than summoning a storm… She had stirred up the demon army briefly before retreating quickly, seemingly only to conserve her strength.

Since there was still fighting to be done, the Riverfolk had no habit of abandoning their clients easily. Profit and risk were directly proportional; the Yugros wouldn’t fly into rage over a slight insult or offense, nor would they be overly bound by their orderly nature to fall into cunning traps with no way out. It wasn’t chaos nor order that drove the multiverse forward—it was profit. If it weren’t for the noble and hardworking Yugros working day and night to secure their interests, what valuable thing could this damned bloodbath create? For example, one of the Corpse Cities ruled by a Yugros warlord was entirely built using the bodies of those who died in bloodbattles.

As for the fact that bloodbattles drained too much energy from the demons of the three major races, deepening their mutual hostility rooted in their souls day after day—how many evils were diminished, how many worlds became peaceful, how many families found tranquility, and how many good and beautiful things were preserved—these factors were completely beyond the Riverfolk’s consideration.

A chill seeped into the Riverfolk’s withered skin, making him shiver. The young sorceress released a stream of cold air that mixed with the waters of the River of Souls to form a gray mist. This mist, imbued with the power of the river water, was stronger than any magical spell. Firecloud had to pause its next attack and summon strength to erect a wall of fire in front of the entire demon fleet to block the freezing mist. The Riverfolk suddenly realized that his pride in his resistance to magic seemed to vanish in the face of the girl’s cold air—this scared him more than her sudden loss of that silly expression. Causing his clients mild fear had always been his favorite form of entertainment; now, with the situation reversed, it didn’t seem so much fun anymore.

“I’m trying!” he raised his voice to reinforce his role as the guide. “I was offering you a smooth path! There’s no choice but to take some risks now… Let’s agree beforehand that you won’t blame me for not warning you later.”

The long pole was raised and lowered—the Riverfolk acted like the engine of the wooden ship, precise and powerful.

“We Riverfolk analyze the currents of the River of Souls to calculate the route. The river is unpredictable, so the routes rarely repeat. But it’s safe and reliable—unless adjustments have to be made temporarily because of the passengers, like now. The consequences of hasty changes are unpredictable, so don’t expect me to take you out of these gray ruins in an instant. Don’t blame me if something goes wrong!”

A rain of fireballs was unleashed from Firecloud, half of which were neutralized by the female mage’s counter-spells, while the rest were detonated by arrows from the steel elves.

“I never blame mistakes,” Morriel said. “After all, mistakes are inevitable in life.”

Meanwhile, the chaotic chase also prevented Dagulas from reorganizing her forces. Frustrated and angry, she sent several mental commands to restore order, kicking a bloodbattle mercenary off the ship without reason. Only when she teleported beside Ale did she realize that the man was likely beyond control.

Judging by his appearance, it was even a question whether he could still recognize his companions. Dagulas couldn’t stop him; the temperature around Ale was now so intense that it made her feel unbearably hot. The dark flame lurking within her body also seemed restless, eager to burst forth, proving that the power granted to the fire mage by Lord Bato might even surpass hers. Dagulas had never considered this possibility before—she should have been the one valued more. How naive. Even the flame monarch who dominated everything had to kneel at the feet of Mephistopheles, trembling and at his mercy. What right did she have to expect the King of Hell to pay her any attention? Ale’s seemingly ever-burning body and soul—weren’t they a better vessel for hellfire than her?

“Don’t be impulsive!” Dagulas tried to stay calm. “I have tracking scrolls bestowed by His Majesty Mephistopheles. No matter where they flee, we can track them down. If we engage Morriel in a battle on the River Styx, it will only create more complications! Don’t you understand her? She’s best at taking advantage of chaos!”

Ale didn’t respond; his mechanical organs, which helped him speak, had long since melted away. A corona of black magical fire surrounded his head, his flesh gradually burning away until only a burning skull remained. The tattoo marks, symbols of the red-robed mage, were still visible on the skull. Flames rose from his head into the dark-red clouds of hell, or perhaps he was now just a puppet controlled by the flames. More and more blackness merged into the fire clouds, overwhelming even the indifferent atmosphere of the gray ruins. Driven by the evil heat, the demons began to go mad. The fleet spread out like wings, closing in on their prey like a monstrous maw ready to devour.

Dagulas’s words seemed to work. Perhaps the name of the Lord of Hell still held some sway over Ale, or maybe his burning brain had already lost the ability to make independent decisions. The fire clouds didn’t destroy their own fleet further but instead advanced steadily, creating an environment similar to Bato’s. As the chase continued, the pressure exerted by the hellish army on the fugitives grew. Spells and explosions became more frequent. The non-Bato mercenaries, under siege from both inside and outside, were the first to suffer—those who could hold on were killed by the enemy, while those who couldn’t were burned to death by their own allies. Then, demons of lower ranks stepped in to fill the gaps.

After several back-and-forth battles, the size of the pursuers had shrunk significantly, but the ratio was still hundreds to one. And almost all who remained were demons—after eliminating the weak ones, they became even more difficult to deal with.

“That’s impossible!” The boatman appeared exhausted, his shriveled chest rising and falling beneath his gray robe. “Your enemies must have some method to track you, otherwise they couldn’t keep up every time! You must find a way to solve this problem, or I won’t be able to shake them off!”

Phylgas’s red eyes flashed. Her arrows seemed endless, but Morriel hadn’t used any spells for some time now.

“I’ll go.” The steel elf put away her long bow and began calculating the most promising attack routes.

“No,” the female mage stopped her. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What would my master do? I know clearly—it’s my duty.”

“You’re not him—so don’t imitate him. I just made that mistake.” Moriel shook her head. “Messing everything up and then fighting our way out is that guy’s specialty… But although we can create chaos, we still have to find a way out in the end.”
She turned to the boatman. “You’re right. It seems our opponent is better at cheating. There’s no choice but to go ashore.”
“Ashore?” The river dweller sneered. “I’ve already told you—I can’t do anything in this situation. But I also oppose this lady’s reckless plan. Facing hundreds of Batzu alone, with a great demon leading them, is utterly insane. I think you still have some strength left, Lady Mage—perhaps enough to protect yourself in a crisis. But I think this is exactly such a crisis, and you need to do something. As a high mage like you, you must have some tricks unknown to outsiders.”
Moriel sighed.
“Alright, I do have a few spells left. But I thought you could do this more easily…” She pointed in a direction. “So far, I’ve only found one hidden portal over there. I think it leads to land, but I’m not sure about the details—the power of the River of Darkness is too strong. I hope you can tell me a better option.”
“Joke!” The boatman’s panting suddenly grew louder. “What do you know? The River of Darkness distorts any observer’s vision. Everything you see is an illusion! Except for us river dwellers—”
“Nobody knows the River of Darkness and its portals better than you. It’s your people’s innate talent, I know.” Moriel’s tone turned cold again, as if reciting a spell, and indeed she was casting one.
A firm, unyielding force seized the wooden boat. The boatman could feel it and couldn’t resist. It was turned around and drifted toward the direction the mage had indicated.
“No! Stop!” he cried in panic. “You’ll kill us!”
“That’s possible. What’s predicted is never exactly what happens. But as you said, this is a crisis—shouldn’t we do something?”
Using spells to teleport was indeed not as stable as the boatman’s skill at steering. Within seconds, the River of Darkness rushed toward them like a wall, its swirling gray-black waters creating an oppressive sensation that made even the heart seem too tired to beat. The boat still hadn’t left the river, but its direction had changed—now upside down. The ladies used their magic to fly away, while the boatman, though in a difficult situation, managed to push off with his oar and land safely. The overturned boat fell down the waterfall from dozens of feet high, shattering against the gray rocks at the bottom.
“You…” The boatman trembled with grief as his boat was destroyed. “My boat! You destroyed my boat!”
“It’s just a small boat. The money we paid is enough for you to buy ten bigger and newer ones. You stingy wretch! Will you refuse to work just because of this?” The succubus watched gleefully as the wooden pieces spun and sank on the bubbling water before being carried away by the river into the underground passages—possibly leading deeper into the gray ruins.
“You know nothing!” The boatman threw his pole violently onto the ground. “I’ll tear off your wings and replace them with ten bigger ones to see if you can still fly! My boat is my second life!”

“Is that so? I thought seducing others and sowing discord was your second nature.”
“Stop arguing, let’s go!”
The waterfall, shaped like a door between the cliffs, quickly began to emit steam. The space trembled as something trying to resist instinctively beyond the passage’s limits was transported in, only to be torn apart soon after. Flames burst out of the waterfall, as if a small volcano were erupting. Countless burning shipwrecks emerged from it, crashing to the ground and creating massive fireballs. A wall of fire replaced the waterfall and spread rapidly.
Morrill and her group ran fast, but they still couldn’t match the Devils, who could use their teleportation ability once they reached solid ground. With a series of sudden flashes around them, Osses, skeletal in appearance, and Barbabras, covered in scales, appeared out of nowhere to block their path. The Osses bent forward, raising their long scorpion tails; they appeared briefly before vanishing—those few that weren’t invisible waved their arms and huge heads, using their other innate ability to raise jagged ice walls to separate the enemies. The Barbabras all let out deafening roars, charging forward with serrated broadswords in one hand and glowing fireballs in the other. Kayro made a gesture, dissolving all the ice walls and turning them into a whirlwind of shattered ice that was sent back, splashing black blood everywhere in its path. Phylgas rushed at the Devils right after the ice ring, her clawed blades creating a flowing silver light around her, causing the Osses’ internal organs to fall out of their bodies. Finally, the silver light dispersed and entered the bodies of the three Barbabras. The elf stopped in her tracks, raised them overhead, and after a second’s pause, the six broken bodies flew in different directions.
Flames shot into the sky, and more and more Devils emerged from the sea of fire. Tornas flapped their wings and rose into the air, somewhat resembling miniature versions of the Deep Prison Demons. From their grotesque mouths, they murmured incomprehensible spells. Another batch of inferior demons—resembling masses of flesh formed by crushing, tearing, and reshaping one or several humanoid creatures—was summoned to join the Devil army. Hundreds of these monstrous creatures with twitching limbs formed a filthy, chaotic moving forest. It became even harder to escape the chaos, so Morrill and her group ran along a small valley toward the broader plains.
“Where’s Vadalia?”
Morrill glanced quickly and found the succubus missing.
“Damn it! Tanali can teleport too. We’re supposed to stick together—do you think she’s some celestial apostle?” Without the River of Souls ferry, the ferryman could only follow behind, cursing angrily.
A Torna flying high suddenly roared loudly. It swung its claws, firing an orange fireball. The bright explosion not only produced flames but also a terrifyingly shrill scream. The screech was like a starting gun, and at least fifty tall monsters with sharp beaks and claws, twisted in shape, appeared on the gray stone slopes. At least 80% of them were illusions, as the next two fireballs easily eliminated a dozen of them—but the appearance of these demons marked a turning point in the situation.
“Hey! Over here, come quickly!” The succubus appeared on the other slope, waving her arms to call for Morrill and the others.
The female mages changed direction, and huge flames rose behind the Flo Demon squad.

“Bartzu, you stinking worm!” A roar shook the heavens as the form of the great demon flickered in the blazing flames. A scorching shockwave erupted the moment the Balor Flame Demon appeared, sweeping everything near the waterfall portal. The air was unbearably hot; the lesser demons, which had remained unharmed in the fire, stopped moving and began to melt—their formless masses of flesh boiling as they flowed into the jets of flame. After several pulsations, like a heartbeat, the flames seemed to solidify into a thick black substance. Fireworks danced in the air, and a storm ensued. The Balor Flame Demon shot skyward like a fire meteor. The swirling smoke almost engulfed it, and by the time it broke through the darkness, most of its protective flames had been consumed. Without hesitation, it used teleportation to distance itself from the black flames and let out another furious cry from afar. “Oh no, Lord Hazeeral will surely hold grudges against me now.” Hazeeral must be the name of that flame demon; even Pippi hadn’t expected the succubus to be able to attract it so quickly. “A flame demon can’t stand against the Flame Lord,” said Philgas. The blood on his body evaporated in the burning wind, his lips sharp as blades. “You go first. I still have a score to settle with it.” “There’s no need. I’m lucky… Lord Hazeeral isn’t acting alone. Look,” said the succubus. The gray ruins dulled senses, so without magic, Morriel needed the succubus to remind her of the faint anomalies on the horizon. In an instant, her gaze became as sharp as an eagle’s, scanning the dull slopes, dead bushes, and weathered ruins… This was probably the most successful use of eagle vision the female mage had ever experienced, for what she saw next was utterly breathtaking. One demon is terrifying; ten demons bring despair. Dozens, hundreds, thousands—seemingly in just a few breaths, demons emerged from every visible and invisible place. Their howls merged into a wave of malice, and various grotesque, terrifying forms quickly flooded the gray wasteland, yet the scene felt like a dream. There were no challenges, no one-on-one fights—each army of demons surged forth like a corrupt tide, overflowing. Countless such tides collided, forming an ocean of pure evil. Flesh, armor, roars, flames, magic—visible and invisible storms tore through the silence of the gray ruins. Bartzu and Tanali were like blood gushing from a wounded earth, intertwined, crushed into fragments, turning into dark, mud-like masses. Was the gray wasteland desolate and indifferent because even the realm itself couldn’t bear such brutal madness? Countless screams, cries, and murmurs mixed together, passing from one mind to another through the telepathic abilities of the hellish creatures, endlessly calling for more victims to come forward. The two major hellish races sent countless soldiers on expeditions every day, determined to wipe out each other completely. But before reaching Afonas or the Abyssal Plains, they first had to conquer the Central Line—so the demon legions came to the gray ruins, wandering in endless despair. A clash between a lesser demon and a timid demon could spark a massive battle.

The female mages fought their way through the chaos. Kayro protected everyone with mist and icy winds, while Phylgas took the lead, slaying demons that blocked their path. The female mages used their heightened senses to endure the insane, overwhelming chants that would break ordinary people, searching for a way out. Despite the growing number of demons and fiends arriving from all sides, they did their best to push toward the edge of the battlefield.

The blood-soaked steel elf delivered a sweeping kick, cutting from beneath the first demon’s hips all the way to the skull of the third.

“Listen?”

After a brief pause, she turned to look at the pale-faced female mage. Both of them caught a signal—a new wave of demons was approaching from afar, but this time their frenzied, evil voices were mixed with a completely different sound. It was strange, clear, powerful, and beautiful, with peculiar rhythms and tremolos—

It echoed throughout the bloody battle.

“War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Un-hun
……”
……

P.S.: Well, my ever-recurring cliché is to have the protagonist show off after a bunch of nonsense…