Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 97 - You Bore Me

If we were ever to create a utopian society, our first order of business would be to tear it down—just to give ourselves purpose again.

—

Diamond Kingdom

Bang! Bang! Bang!

High above, in the stratosphere, a colossal, ancient devil and an even more gigantified, earthen-chained titan traded blow after blow—right hooks meeting right hooks, left uppercuts colliding with downward swings, fists slamming into jaws with devastating force.

Each impact was deafening, an explosive crack that echoed across the skies, rattling the eardrums of not just the two combatants but the Diamond Kingdom's citizens watching from below.

The ancient devil's upper arms twisted in a deadlock with the sprouted, rocky limbs that had emerged from the titan's shoulder blades—a grotesque wrestling match in the sky. They pushed, pulled, and grappled, each trying to throw the other off balance. But their sheer, titanic strength was too evenly matched. Neither gained the upper hand.

So, they simply kept swinging.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Eerie grunts and strained moans sputtered from the ancient devil's maw as every strike sent chunks of flesh, shattered bone, and bloody teeth flying from its face. But before the wounds could even fester, a malevolent cackle burst from its lips. Its healing factor kicked in instantly, knitting flesh and reforming bone as if the damage had never happened.

And then it would strike back.

One blow blasted a chunk of stone—each fragment large enough to dwarf a boulder—off the impassive titan's face. Its hollow eye sockets flickered, glowing a brighter, burning gold. Orange motes of light shimmered across its battered visage, dematerializing the broken rock and reforming its face in an instant. Then, without hesitation, the titan retaliated.

For a full minute, the battle raged. Fists collided. Flesh and rock shattered. The air trembled under the weight of their brutal, unrelenting blows.

But then, the ancient devil seemed to grow tired. No—frustrated. This slugfest was going nowhere.

With a sudden move, its elongated claws lashed out, gripping the titan's rocky arms like iron shackles. It dug deep, pinning the titan in place as it opened its gaping maw.

The air trembled. Ambient mana surged toward the devil, drawn in through its massive wings and the ominous black moon disk floating behind its back. That mana twisted, corrupted in an instant, warping into something vile—negative mana, raw and unfiltered.

And it all converged at the devil's jaws.

A chaotic orb began to form, rapidly condensing.

A speck of raw destruction.

Well, a speck only in comparison to the giants.

In reality, it was as massive as a two-story house.

But this wasn't like the chaotic explosions the devil had conjured before—mindless eruptions of negativity and despair. No. This was something different.

This was a moon.

It bent the light around it, twisted the air itself. A false celestial body, warping the tides of the world, pulling and pushing as if it had its own gravitational field. It was unnatural, an aberration, a grotesque perversion of what the moon should be.

Its eerie glow didn't lull one into peaceful slumber. It dragged one into the depths of a nightmare.

It was wrong.

The moon was meant to reflect sunlight. This one blotted it out.

It didn't illuminate the world.

It swallowed it whole.

And then, cackling like a rabid beast, the ancient devil fired the dark moon point-blank into the chained titan's face.

The orb transformed in an instant—what had been a celestial mass of corruption became a beam of raw destruction, streaking forward in black, gray, and deep purple, exploding outward like a laser.

The chained titan didn't react. It couldn't react.

Its head was obliterated in an instant. Everything above its neck incinerated before it could even begin to resist.

Yet, there was no satisfaction in the ancient devil's expression. Its rampage had only begun.

With a monstrous snarl, it seized the titan's rocky limbs, one after the other, and ripped them from its body. Four arms made quick work of the dismemberment, tearing and yanking with merciless glee. And then, as if in a frenzied bloodlust, the devil bit down, gnashing the titan's stone flesh between its teeth, swallowing chunks of rock like they were the finest delicacy.

It chewed, gulped, and tore—until suddenly, its wicked grin faltered.

Its hands clutched at its stomach. Its legs staggered, knees buckling as it stumbled.

"Ugggghh!!!!"

Its triumphant cackles warped into howls—piercing, agonized screeches. Its stomach lurched violently, flesh writhing and twisting as though something inside was clawing its way out.

"Raggg—"

The devil's cry was cut short.

From every pore of its grotesque body, jagged spikes of rock exploded outward. Flesh shredded, blood burst in all directions. A grotesque spectacle of crimson mist and ruined muscle.

And then, the ancient devil went still.

Completely limp.

For a moment, silence.

Then, from one of its bloodied nostrils, barely noticeable even to the keenest eye, a single speck emerged.

Tiny. Insignificant.

It glowed with a faint brown hue, tinged with golden luster—before fading away to reveal the Diamond King, Edelstein F. Diamondhart, in all his glory.

Standing tall at six feet, his crown remained atop his head, untarnished. His clothes and hair were slightly disheveled, creased from the struggle, but if anything, it only made him look more imposing.

Perched on his shoulder, the child-like earth spirit Gnome yawned, patting its tiny mouth lazily.

"Is it over now?"

Edelstein narrowed his eyes. Even with the devil's mana fading fast, he could still feel traces of its life force lingering. And like his late father, Edelstein was a pragmatic man.

"It's better to not take any chances."

He outstretched his arm. His once-vast mana reserves now felt like a dried-up reservoir, the energy trickling through his veins in shallow remnants.

Gnome groaned weakly, grumbling in defeat.

"Fine... I'll help you one more time. But after this, I'm done for the day—no, the week. Yeah, the week. I was just born a month ago, you know." @@novelbin@@

Edelstein said nothing. He didn't need to.

Gnome smirked despite itself and floated forward, merging seamlessly into Edelstein's palm.

Power flared in an instant.

Mana erupted from Edelstein in a cascade of interwoven hues—orange, brown, copper, and gold—flashing wildly as his grimoire floated to his side, pages flipping open of their own accord.

Above the pinned and impaled husk of the soon-to-be corpse, a massive, rocky hand materialized—an executioner's palm, looming like judgment itself.

Edelstein straightened his palm. The giant hand mirrored the motion.

Then, with a sharp, decisive swing downward—

The colossal hand slammed into the ancient devil.

The impact was absolute. The monstrous entity was flattened in an instant, its form reduced to nothing but a streak of bloody mist.

From Edelstein's right hand, golden-brown motes of light flickered outward, reforming into a much smaller Gnome—barely the size of a golf ball.

The tiny spirit plopped down in Edelstein's palm like it was a throne, then let out a tired pant, looking up at him with droopy eyes.

"Now, it's definitely over. Right?"

Edelstein's lips twitched—just for a second—curving into something resembling fond amusement. He parted his mouth to answer.

But before he could say a word, he froze.

A voice—the same smooth, seductive male voice from before—whispered in his mind.

"It's over. Not bad. We'll be in touch in the future."

Edelstein tensed. The sensation was immediate. A lingering presence. A mark. A gaze that felt like it was still watching.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax.

Gnome was still looking at him, head tilted curiously, waiting for an answer.

Edelstein narrowed his eyes, momentarily surprised. He didn't hear that... Spirits and their hosts were linked mentally—unless one was deliberately suppressing or hiding their thoughts, the other should have sensed it.

His sapphire eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion before he smiled, soft and unbothered, like nothing had happened.

"Yes. It's over."

Gnome's tiny face lit up, joy and relief washing over it. But before it could celebrate—

"You still have to help me put this back."

Edelstein pointed to the platform beneath them, then downward—to his kingdom, a mere speck in the distance.

"I'm out of mana, and I don't want to drop this on my kingdom."

Gnome's entire body drooped.

It groaned, its little beady eyes visibly welling up with tears.

Edelstein almost felt bad.

But only almost.

—

A Few Moments Ago, Heart Kingdom

The lanky ancient devil spun on its heel, twisting backward as it attempted another swipe.

Its long, sweeping arm cut through the air, the sheer force of its colossal grasp conjuring a violent gust of wind. A wind that tore through mountains, uprooted forests, and shredded the land like paper—

But the devil found no satisfaction.

Because, just like before, Conrad flickered away at the last possible moment. Effortless. Untouched. As if he were deliberately mocking the devil for its sluggish speed and limited agility.

Snarling, the devil lashed out again, swiping and slashing with all four of its arms.

Conrad didn't move an inch.

Not until the very last second—only dodging, weaving, and shifting at a hair's breadth. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to.

And through it all, he kept smiling. That same disarming, infuriating smile that made anyone want to sock him in the face.

"Raggghhh!!!"

The ancient devil roared, frustration spilling over into pure, unfiltered rage. The black sun behind its back pulsed ominously, drinking in the ambient mana from the atmosphere.

Hovering midair as if standing on an invisible platform, Conrad stroked his chin in mild interest. He watched as the devil gathered mana, the beginnings of another destructive sphere forming in its grasp.

But this wasn't like the previous ones.

This wasn't just an attack—it was a sun. A corrupted, blackened sun.

A sun that didn't nurture life.

A sun that stole it.

Conrad's gaze sharpened.

The records are scarce, but... when a human becomes a demon, they lose their magic. And this monster didn't use this against Isolde... If it had, that fight would have gone very differently.

His eyes flickered—sigils and runes flashing across his pupils like lines of computer code as he broke the spell down in real time. A single brow lifted.

"Demon Sun Magic?" Conrad murmured, his curiosity piqued. His brows furrowed slightly.

He knew of only one place in the world that possessed Sun Magic.

"I heard there was a coup in Spade a year ago... Don't tell me this is Loyce..."

He chuckled darkly, trailing off with a shake of his head. Then, with a casual shrug—

The devil fired.

A beam of pure black flame, burning with an unnatural hunger, streaked toward him like a lance.

Conrad didn't flinch.

He simply raised his right arm, his white-and-gold grimoire flipping open beside him.

And as he parted his lips, his voice rang clear:

"Key Magic: Janus Torquere." [1]

A glowing green keyhole appeared in the air before Conrad, expanding into a two-meter, turquoise, arched doorway. Transparent and radiant, its surface shimmered with intricate embroidery.

The massive magic blast, large enough to swallow a mountain, tore toward Conrad—only to suddenly veer off course, as if pulled by an unseen force.

It curved toward the doorway.

As it approached, the attack compressed itself, funneled into the keyhole, and poured through the gate like an endless torrent. The energy spiraled into the unknown depths of a pocket dimension, vanishing without a trace.

Then, as quickly as it had formed, the doorway flickered out of existence, dissolving into motes of light.

The lanky ancient devil blinked all three of its eyes in blank unison.

Conrad smiled and lifted a finger, subtly pointing behind it.

The primitive devil didn't understand. Maybe it couldn't even register the gesture—after all, Conrad was little more than a speck in its vision.

But then—

Its instincts screamed.

It tensed, trying to spin around, but it was far too slow.

Right behind it, an identical doorway snapped into existence.

And from it—its own attack came surging forth.

The flaming, corrupted sun blast, now even faster than before, roared straight for the devil's exposed back. It hadn't simply been stored—it had continued traveling.

By the time the devil processed what was happening, it was already too late.

The beam of black fire speared through its gut, carving a blazing hole through its body before continuing downward, drilling into the earth like a divine thunderbolt.

The devil trembled.

Bloody tears streamed from its vacant, darkening eyes. Its body sagged, shuddering on the verge of collapse.

But kings never leave things to chance.

Just as Edelstein had done, Conrad calmly outstretched his right hand once more.

His smile was gone. Only somberness remained as he spoke.

"If you are Loyce... or just some poor soul from Spade who fell to despair... let me set you free."

The devil gave no response. Conrad didn't need one.

"Key Magic: Janus Abigail."

Once again, the turquoise-green magical doorway appeared before him. But this time—there wasn't just one.

There were dozens.

From each gate, a different element coalesced—bolts of lightning, gusts of wind, spheres of water, slabs of rock, scorching flames, twisting vines, thick sludge, jagged ice, blankets of snow, and more.

Magic Conrad Leto had stolen throughout his life, each power manifesting through its respective doorway.

Then, all at once, they fired.

Elements that should have clashed, should have negated each other—merged seamlessly in a dazzling display of compound magic.

A multicolored beam, raw and unbridled, shot forward, engulfing the devil's lifeless form—

And then—

It incinerated it to nothing.

The explosion that followed could put even the grandest firework display to shame.

When the light faded, nothing remained of the devil.

Only motes of brilliant color drifted through the air—glowing, shifting, enchanting.

Conrad's gaze remained somber and cold, magic runes flickering through his eyes before fading. He exhaled—a slow, tired breath, laced with nostalgia and contemplation.

"I don't get it... There's no way Lemiel could fall to something so weak..."

His words trailed off into silence.

For a moment, he stood still. Then, with a slight shake of his head, his smile returned—bright, effortless. Whether it was genuine or not... that was for him alone to know.

In the blink of an eye, he flickered, reappearing a hundred meters away—now standing before the weakly upright Queen Isolde. His smile softened, warm and gentle.

"We can draw up a formal treaty and contract another day. You and your people have been through a lot. You should go see them."

Isolde hesitated.

Then, slowly, her frustrated features eased, softening just a little.

"...Thank you."

This time, her expression was real.

Conrad gave a calm nod and snapped his fingers.

Two magical gates materialized—one before him, another before Isolde and Undine.

No explanation was needed. Without a word, Isolde and Undine stepped through their gate, vanishing from sight.

Conrad watched them go before turning his gaze north—far north. His eyes narrowed.

"Peace never seems to come easy, does it?"

No one was there to answer.

With that, he stepped through his own gate.

A moment later, both doorways flickered out of existence, dissolving into scattered motes of light.

—

Spade Kingdom

"Peace never seems to come easy, does it?"

The words lingered, echoing across space and time.

Seated at the round table in the heart of the Spade Kingdom's throne room, three figures watched intently. Dante. Zenon. Samyaza. Each of them fixed their gazes on the magical projections before them, watching as Conrad spoke.

His voice repeated in their minds. His eyes burned into their memories.

It felt as if he saw them. As if he was watching them. As if he had spoken directly to them.

Then, as Conrad disappeared through his gate, Samyaza chuckled inwardly, amusement flickering behind his piercing gaze. So that's Janus' chosen... what an interesting human.

His thoughts were cut short by Dante's voice.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Samyaza barely lifted a brow, tilting his head toward the eldest Zogratis.

Dante crossed his arms, irritation seeping into his tone. "What do you mean hmm? That was barely an appetizer. Bring those monsters back—let them rage for round three."

Zenon nodded, his voice detached, impassive. "Drop them on the Clover Kingdom this time. If we can draw out that woman... or Novachrono... we'll get a clearer grasp of their strength."

Samyaza stilled. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he raised a hand to his forehead as if struck by a particularly persistent headache.

"Children, children, children..." He waggled a single finger at them, his tone dripping with theatrical condescension. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? It's not time to directly provoke Clover yet."

Dante scowled. Zenon's expression barely shifted.

Samyaza leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a knowing amusement. "If that woman knew who you are, it's not unthinkable for her to know the origins of your brothers. And if that's the case... attacking Clover is basically inviting a counterattack on Spade."

The room fell silent.

Dante and Zenon stiffened in unison.

Zenon's brows furrowed slightly. "Does that make a difference? If she already knows our origins and passes that knowledge to Heart and Diamond, we may end up under attack from three kingdoms."

Samyaza merely smiled, settling back into his seat as he propped his feet against the table with an air of complete ease. "You don't need to worry about that. No one will be attacking Spade for a while. You have my word on that."

Zenon's face darkened, his voice carrying the first true trace of frustration. "Your word is worthless to us. Just bring those monsters back and have them finish off Heart and Diamond for good. If things have escalated this far, I'd rather have fewer potential enemies in the future."

Samyaza chuckled. "First off, I don't know where you two got this absurd impression that I can just snap my fingers and bring your brothers back again."

His smile widened, sharp and taunting.

"They're dead. Dead and liberated for good this time."

A brief pause.

"And even if they weren't..."

He dragged his tongue over his lips, his grin turning almost predatory.

"Even if I could revive them again and again and again... I wouldn't."

Dante's gaze sharpened.

"It would serve no purpose," Samyaza continued, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "It would only make us the highest priority target. And besides... I've already achieved my goals with this little stunt."

Dante's posture shifted. He crossed one leg over the other, his interest unmistakable. "Oh?" His voice, for the first time, carried genuine curiosity. "And what may that be? What exactly have you achieved?"

Samyaza's smirk remained unchanged. "Like I've told you before—you're a smart man. Think for yourself."

A vein popped in Dante's forehead. His irritation was palpable, but Samyaza ignored it, turning his attention to Zenon instead.

"Relax, child. You don't have to worry about anyone causing us trouble in the near future. Not Clover. And especially not Heart or Diamond."

Zenon's already unamused expression strained further. His lips parted, his voice emerging low, measured—yet furious.

"Stop calling me child. Stop calling those monsters my brothers. Stop acting so mysterious."

His aura pulsed, dark and oppressive.

"Now explain yourself. Give me something concrete. If you want me to continue going along with your plans, then stop playing games and start talking."

For a long moment, Samyaza simply stared at him.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, he placed a hand over his chest, looking every bit the troubled, deeply inconvenienced man before flashing another teasing grin.

"Fine, fine. I get it. It's like this—"

He stopped.

His entire demeanor shifted.

Samyaza's eyes flickered. His smile remained, but something else glinted behind it—something sharp, aware.

Because someone—no, something—stood behind Dante and Zenon.

Tall.

Dark-haired.

A black sun mark on his right temple.

Wearing the uniform of the Grey Deer.

Yet neither of the Zogratis siblings noticed. They remained utterly unaware. Blissfully unaware.

And they would stay that way.

Because the moment Lucius Zogratis snapped his fingers, his mana surged outward like a wave, expanding in an instant.

The throne room fell silent.

Time stopped.

Everything—Dante, Zenon, the barely-breathing Morris Libardirt—froze in place.

Nothing moved.

Nothing except—

Lucius' sharp purple eyes narrowed.

Because across the table, one figure remained untouched.

Samyaza.

Unmoving. Unfazed.

And smiling.

Bright.

Seductive.

Amused.

"So we finally meet, Blasphemer." Samyaza spread his arms, voice thick with mock warmth.

"Come give Grandpa a hug."

Lucius didn't move.

His expression darkened, curling with something between disgust and intrigue.

"And who might you be?"

Instead of responding, Samyaza conjured a glass of deep red wine from nowhere, swirling it between his fingers before taking a slow, deliberate sip. The rich aroma filled the still-frozen air.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the glass vanished as effortlessly as it had appeared. He crossed his arms and snapped his fingers.

A throne materialized between Dante and Zenon—ornate, regal, positioned as if it had always belonged. Samyaza gestured to it with an inviting smile.

"Have a seat, my child. Talks should be comfortable."

Lucius' purple irises swirled with something unreadable as he studied Samyaza for a beat too long. Then, with measured grace, he took his seat.

Unlike Samyaza, who lounged with easy arrogance, Lucius sat upright—back straight, arms and legs crossed with the practiced poise of a noble. A stark contrast of discipline against chaos.

Then, at last, he parted his lips.

"You seem to know who I am... Only those zealots call me a Blasphemer. But I don't know you. Mind settling that disparity?"

Samyaza's smile stretched, bright and all-knowing.

"Of course, my beloved child! I am one of the few who have rebelled against Heaven's mandate and lived to tell the tale."

He spread his arms in a grand flourish, as if unveiling a divine truth.

"Samyaza. One of the leaders of the Grigori. Former angel, now supreme devil—standing before you, in the flesh."

Lucius barely reacted, though his brow arched slightly.

"One of?" he muttered, his mind already sifting through layers of thought.

Azazel had a partner...? No. That's impossible. I've never seen anything like that in my prophecies—

"It's better not to rely too much on that."

Samyaza's voice cut through his thoughts as though he had plucked them straight from Lucius' mind.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, but not a flicker of unease crossed his expression.

"What do you mean?"

Samyaza's smirk softened into something almost paternal.

"I mean you shouldn't put too much blind faith in your predictions. You might turn out like pitiful old Balaam."

Lucius stroked his chin in mild interest.

"Hmm... you don't seem to be some sort of faker. So tell me—why have I never seen you in my visions?"

Samyaza's grin widened.

"That's a secret!"

Lucius chuckled, low and soft.

"Then how is it that you're not frozen?"

Samyaza didn't hesitate.

"That's also a secret."

Lucius clicked his tongue in mild annoyance.

"Then what about this whole child business?"

Samyaza leaned forward, his eyes glinting with something deeper, something far beyond amusement.

"You carry my blood. You are my descendant. It's not wrong to call you my child."

He spread his arms wide, as if waiting for an embrace.

"My blood runs thickest through your veins—far more than your brothers'. Looking at you... it's like seeing my own son. So come, give me a hug."

Lucius' expression darkened.

Then, without hesitation, he spat in Samyaza's face.

A disgusted scoff followed.

"I'd rather die."

A beat of silence.

Then Samyaza sighed, reclining back into his throne as he wiped his face with the flick of a wrist.

"Is it because I missed a couple of your birthdays? What are you now, twenty-eight?"

Lucius blinked.

Samyaza carried on, unbothered, as if they were discussing casual family matters.

"I suppose you have the right to be angry with me. Fine, then." He rested his cheek against his knuckles, eyes lidded with lazy amusement.

"Tell me what you want, child. If Grandpa can give it to you, I will."

Lucius blinked again. Once. Twice. Then he shook his head with a quiet, tired sigh before parting his lips.

"I want you to answer my questions. Truthfully. All of them."

Samyaza's smile returned, knowing, unwavering.

"I'll answer any that don't concern my secrets. And I have not once lied to you since we first spoke."

Lucius snorted as he leaned forward in his chair. "What are you doing in Spade, with my brothers?"

Samyaza rested his hand on his fist and answered immediately. "That steel princess has made little old Dante here nervous. Adding on to poor Vanica's passing, your siblings have gotten desperate."

"So my old pal Lucifer, out of options, had no choice but to seek me out, hoping to bring a bit of balance to the great power gap between our two sides."

Lucius tapped his fingernail rhythmically on the table, deep in thought.

Samyaza frowned and pouted. "What a cruel man you are, child. You show not the slightest displeasure at the news of your sister's passing."

Lucius didn't react to Samyaza's teasing and instead fired another question. "How strong are you?"

Samyaza twirled a strand of his hair. "A bit better than Megicula and Baal."

Lucius snorted, his eyes narrowing. "Only a bit?"

Samyaza sighed and raised his hands disarmingly. "Fine, fine, you got me. In terms of mana, only a bit, but hey, when all powers, abilities, and whatnot come into play, that gap will only widen."

Lucius smiled. "An angel is a higher life form than a devil. And a fallen angel is still an angel at heart. Is that right?"

Samyaza beamed and said nothing.

The two sat across from each other, smiling—creepy, closed-eyes smiles—before Lucius finally parted his lips.

"Does Lucifero know about me?"

Samyaza shook his head. "No. But ol' Lucifer is a lot brighter than he lets on. I suggest you don't underestimate him as you plot against him."

"Hmm..." Lucius nodded absentmindedly before smiling darkly. "You're being so forthright with me. Is it that you wish to be my collaborator—"

"No."

Samyaza cut him off immediately, shaking his head. "Not at all. Not one bit."

Lucius paused, scratching his chin in interest. "Explain."

Samyaza smiled, but it was no longer affectionate—more like a patronizing smirk.

"The things liars treasure most are credibility. Our own above all."

He leaned back, voice light but firm. "I made a promise. A deal with Lucifero, with ol' Beel, with your brothers, and I intend to carry that out."

"I will set those two free. I will make a world where Dante can rage freely. And I will deliver Zenon the strongest Spade Kingdom."

Lucius narrowed his purple eyes. "Although not entirely undesirable, none of those things contradict my plans too much. So why do you truly choose to reject me—"

"Because you're boring."

Samyaza cut him off again, his once-amused expression twisting into something cold and disinterested.

Lucius' smile vanished. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's not that hard to understand, Blasphemer," Samyaza scoffed. "I chose to go from mere watcher and observer to actor and player precisely because humans intrigued me."

"Humans are weak. They may possess weak abilities and fragile souls—just like you despise—but humans have potential. For growth. For change. Something we angels, and many other races, lack."

"That's what first drew me to them. Hoping to guide them on the path to realizing that potential to the fullest... and I might have succeeded if not for that backstabber..."

Samyaza trailed off, the hate in his voice unmistakable, before eventually carrying on.

"Anyway, I like humans precisely because they can always grow and surprise. Because they can vary so greatly from each other yet act alike at the same time. Humanity is a race of walking contradictions, and that's what makes them interesting."

"Yet you want to take that away. Elevate them into something no longer human. Just slaves without free will, bound to serve you and only your interests."

Lucius tensed. How much does he know—

"I want no part of it."

Once again, his inner thoughts were cut short as Samyaza kept going, raising a finger and pointing skyward.

"That One. As much as I hate him, That One gave all things free will in some shape or form. Yet you want to take that away."

"There is only one person I'd ever accept serving like that, and it's the one I hate most—That One himself. Why? Because he is the closest thing to the Almighty and the All-Seeing."

"But you? You will not only limit humanity's infinite potential but your own in your schemes. You will never even come close to omniscience or omnipotence, so why on earth would I help you?"

Samyaza sneered. "Child, I know you hate the world you live in, but the world you're trying to make is far worse. Human worth is built on inequality. On the freedom to pursue their own paths, even if they're self-destructive. The world you're trying to create is a cage, far worse than what you have now. Utopias are just dystopias in disguise."

"Even if people could be happy in such a world, I wouldn't. There'd be nothing to yearn for, nothing to chase, nothing to pursue. It'd be so boring. And to me, boredom and the forbidden are hell. I do as I please, I always have, and I always will."

"I honestly don't know how you won ol' Adrammelech over, but then again, he was one of the very few I could never quite read. Never knew what he was thinking. Never knew what he was after."

"...That all aside, let me repeat myself and make myself completely clear. I will not be your friend, ally, or collaborator if this is the path you stay fixed on."

Lucius' face was dark and expressionless. "You'll regret this."

Samyaza shook his head. "I live the way I do precisely so I never experience regret. There's only one thing I've ever regretted, and I will correct that in due time. Now, if there's nothing else..."

Without another word, Lucius flickered away, disappearing to who knows where. The throne he sat on vanished with him.

Not a moment later, the hall that had been frozen in time was undone, and Dante and Zenon were free.

Unaware of what had transpired, Zenon raised a brow and spoke darkly. "Why'd you cut yourself off? Finish your sentence."

Samyaza smiled like nothing had happened and snapped his fingers.

The pair of magic projections in front of each of them floated up, splitting into six screens, each depicting a figure.

Dante and Zenon's eyes widened as the images arranged themselves into two even columns.

On the right, from top to bottom—Conrad, Julius, and Acier.

On the left—Queen Isolde, King Edelstein, and the Witch Queen.

Samyaza chuckled. "No one said we have to be the ones to deal with Clover ourselves. We're not the only ones with a bone to pick with them. We're not the only ones who have a problem with their growing power."

He tapped the round table rhythmically. "There are three kingdoms standing between Clover and Spade. Only a fool wouldn't take advantage of that."

Dante and Zenon sat in silence for a moment before the former raised a brow. "And how do you intend to do that?"

Samyaza casually stood up, dusting himself off. "I have my plans. But anyway, I have to excuse myself."

Zenon furrowed his brow. "Where are you going?"

Samyaza grinned. "I have things to do, errands to run, an old friend to meet. I'll be back in a few days. Don't miss me too much, alright, kiddies?"

Dante and Zenon both popped a forehead vein in irritation, but before either of them could react, Samyaza vanished in an instant, smug smile and all.

The two Zogratis quickly clamped down on their annoyance before Zenon turned and began walking toward Morris, whose life continued to fade away.

"Where are you going?" Dante demanded, still irked.

Without turning around, bones protruded from Zenon's back as he picked up the magic scholar. "I need to make sure this cripple doesn't die. Apparently, he has some use—"

"Wait."

Zenon turned, raising a brow. "Why?"

Dante cracked a knuckle. "That lech put me in a sour mood. Let me vent some anger." He eyed Morris like a punching bag.

Zenon blinked before shrugging. "Alright. Just don't kill him." He dropped Morris onto the marble floor like a sack of potatoes.

Dante licked his lips in anticipation as he wound up a punch.

—

Author's Notes

[1] Janus is the Roman God of gateways and doors, and Torquere roughly means warp in Latin

[2] Feel free to join the Discord! https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar