Cameraman Never Dies

The peaceful, glass-like surface of the lake exploded in a cataclysmic tantrum as Judge smacked it with his thin twin blades like he was trying to spank the water for some deep-seated grievance.

Despite their dainty appearance, the strengthening principle gave those blades the bite of an angry buzzsaw on a caffeine binge.

Water shot skyward, not just like a geyser but like a whole pack of geysers on a group chat hyping each other up. Blinding sprays of liquid chaos hit the demon, Judge, and, heck, even Seraphis, who was chilling up in her favorite tree perch like a smug cat.

With a flash of drama straight out of a low-budget fantasy film, light filtered through the aquatic mayhem, painting Judge in an ethereal blue glow.

His ever-creepy smile widened to Joker-like proportions, and his eyes clouded over, going full "storm's-a-brewing."

Enter the perks of being a Cloud Strider. These bad boys weren't just aesthetic— they were like having X-ray vision, but only for stuff light could pierce through. Water? No problem. Fog? Child's play. Mystery stew in your suspicious tavern meal? Unclear.

(A/N: For the record, no, Judge couldn't see through clothes. Light doesn't go through people, my dudes. Unless you're some weird jellyfish-human hybrid, and in that case, congratulations, you're now canon in Eldris. But in case you are really talking about science, sufficient light needs to pass through the objects.)

Back to the action. The demon, clearly unprepared for Judge's sudden glow-up, launched a chaotic barrage of red energy orbs at Judge's initial position. These things weren't fireballs— they were more like spicy meatballs of death.

But Judge had already bailed on his previous position, leaving the demon looking like someone trying to swat a fly that had moved on five minutes ago.

Meanwhile, Judge's upgraded peepers highlighted two glowing silhouettes through the watery veil. Demon? Check. Seraphis? Double-check, perched and whistling her judgmental tune like some omnipotent referee waiting for the match to end.

Judge zoomed in on the demon, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, look, concrete skin. Again. What is it with demons and the whole 'living brick wall' aesthetic? Can't one of you just be squishy and easy to stab for once?" he muttered to himself, already spinning his blades in a move that would make any ninja weeb blush.

With the grace of a drunk ballerina and the flair of a guy who just watched too much anime, Judge gripped one blade's tip with his fingers and swung it wildly.

Somewhere in the multiverse, a certain flashy white-haired swordsman with three wives and kills demons might have shed a single tear of pride.

The other blade followed, slicing through the water and demon alike with unnerving precision. Cue dramatic geyser collapse and demon disassembly. Its body fell apart like a poorly made meatloaf, spilling black, oily blood that spread across the lake's surface in swirls of liquid goth.

From the shore, a slow, sarcastic clap echoed.

Clap… Clap… Clap!

Seraphis, now back in her prime tree-perching position, smirked down at him. Not a drop of water dared to mar her flawless red jacket, which was annoying because Judge was drenched like a wet sponge that got dunked in a bucket for too long.

"Nice work," she called, her voice dripping with amusement. "Though next time, maybe don't take five minutes to slice something that barely fought back."

Judge sighed, flicking the black gunk off his blades with a flourish. "Oh, sure. I'll just write 'Be dead faster' on the next demon's to-do list, master. I'm sure they'll comply."

Her smirk widened. "If they don't, I'll be sure to grade your performance. D-minus for drama, C-plus for effort."

Judge rolled his eyes. "And what's the grade for saving your perch-loving body, huh?"

"Solid B," she replied breezily. "But only because you didn't mess up my jacket."

Judge rolled his eyes again, but this time he did it so hard it was a wonder they didn't pop out and roll down the lakeshore. "Gee, thanks for the solid B," he said, sounding about as enthusiastic as a guy being forced to attend his ex's wedding.

"You're welcome," Seraphis replied, her voice so sugary sweet it could've caused cavities. It was the kind of tone that screamed 'I just googled: How to passive-aggressively make someone's life miserable.'@@novelbin@@

"Now, shall we get out of this soggy mess?" She dusted off an imaginary speck of dirt from her jacket, even though she was practically radiating "untouchable."

Judge raised an eyebrow, flicking some demon blood off his boots. "Where to?"

Seraphis cocked her head, inspecting him like a mildly interesting museum exhibit. "As much as it pains me to admit," she said, dramatically clutching her chest like she was in some soap opera, "you've gotten… marginally better at wielding those swords."

Judge smirked, sliding the twin blades into some void of mystery that could've been a magical pocket, a tiny interdimensional suitcase, or just vibes. "Oh? Do I sense… praise?"

"Don't push it," she snapped, crossing her arms. "And anyway, we've got to do our next objective."

Judge strapped his pistols tighter on his waist, giving her a sideways glance. "Which is?"

"We're going to find my daughter," she said, her voice softer than usual. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it was the kind of smile you'd wear when trying to convince someone you're fine while actively imploding inside.

Judge groaned, running a hand through his dripping hair. "Ugh, can I at least kill one bastard before December hits? Like, just one. It's a personal goal at this point."

Seraphis tapped her chin, mimicking his exaggerated thinking pose. "Hmm. Which bastard are we talking about? You've got a whole list."

He mimicked her right back, stroking an imaginary beard like he was auditioning for the World's Worst Philosopher. "Oh, you know. That assassin guy who thinks he killed my sister."

"Oh, that guy!" Seraphis perked up, her usual smirk returning with full smug glory. "Yeah, I remember. Alright, fine. Let's deal with him first. But then it's Selena time, you got that?"

Judge flashed her a grin that, for once, was less serial killer and more cheeky troublemaker. "Thanks, Master. But, uh… small detour first. Gotta hit the meeting."

Seraphis's face dropped faster than a rock in a pond. "The meeting again? Seriously? What are they even meeting about now— how to make chairs comfier? Toasters more toast-efficient?"

"I'll be back soon," Judge said, winking. And before she could launch into her next round of complaints, he vanished, leaving only a damp patch of grass and an increasingly annoyed Seraphis.

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"Stupid meetings," she muttered, kicking at the ground like a petulant child. "He better not come back with another toaster."

———

"We greet god's envoy!" The three sins and one virtue practically folded themselves in half bowing to Judge, like overly dramatic theater kids auditioning for the role of "humble servant #1." Then they flopped into their seats with all the finesse of a sack of potatoes being dumped on a couch.

Judge, rocking his iconic red cloak and that grinning mask that screamed "I'm totally fine, but also maybe a bit murdery," gave them all a once-over. His gaze was pure dad-energy, like he was about to ask why the lights were still on in the empty hallway. "Give me the records," he said, voice so deadpan it could have flatlined.

"Yes, master," they all chimed in, as if they'd rehearsed for weeks. Not a single one moved. Why would they? They just sent him the files directly into his brain like it was some kind of mystical Wi-Fi transfer. Judge didn't even blink; he was already diving into the mental pile of data they'd just dumped on him.

First on the docket? The first prince's weekly routine. Riveting stuff, really— if you found watching paint dry exciting. Thanks to his improved Enhanced Cognition (which actually got better with use), Judge could zoom through it without frying his brain like he used to. Back in the day, this would've left him curled up in the corner muttering about "too many details" and "why does the prince even wake up that early?"

Next, he flicked through the highlight reel of his siblings' week. His brother, his sister, and, oh boy, enough mortal drama to make a soap opera writer weep tears of envy. Then came the grand finale: Lucifer's recordings. Now this was where things got spicy.

Apparently, the assassin heads had made some groundbreaking progress on the case of "Who Tried to Murder Judge's Sister?" Their latest jaw-dropping revelation? The assassin could shape-shift into other people.

Judge almost facepalmed. Oh, wow, no way, shape-shifting? Groundbreaking discovery, folks. I only figured that out ages ago while yawning. Are you guys actually solving this, or just writing the assassin's autobiography?

But then, bam— something actually useful. The guy with the triangular hat— you know, the one Judge and his master had run into during that fun forest detour— was making moves. Apparently, he had sent a letter to Noel Rivet, giving the whole "I'm coming to town, prepare the trumpets" vibe.

The letter was encoded after writing, giving Judge plenty of time to look at its contents.

Judge's brain kicked into overdrive. If he played this right, he could squeeze some serious benefits out of this. Or at least score some amusement, which was basically the same thing in his book. Behind that ever-present grin of his mask, Judge was already scheming. Anyone watching would have immediately thought, "Yeah, I'm just gonna quietly step away and hope he's too busy plotting to notice me."