Terror.
Fear.
Dread.
Simple words.
Human words.
Words far too weak to describe what mortals feel when their soul starts to crack.
Belzebuth, however…
had never known them except by proxy.
Never in his flesh.
Never in his mind.
Never in that primitive sensation that crushes the throat and reduces willpower to ashes.
He understood them.
Yes.
Intellectually.
The way one understands an illness they've never had.
The way one observes another's pain without ever living it.
Because he was the Prince.
Because he was the abyss into which others fell.
Because he was the predator,
not the prey.
But this entity…
What stood before him,
what moved within that darkness — liquid, solid, alive…
What bathed the air in the certainty of slow death…
…was different.
For the first time in eons,
something touched the surface of his soul.
Not full fear — he wasn't capable of that.
But a premonition.
An echo.
A shadow slithering between his thoughts.
A sensation unknown,
dangerously close to what mortals call trembling.
Because this entity wasn't simply terrifying in the present moment.
Its movements,
its density,
that foreign and ancient aura,
carried the promise of a future where even Princes would have to bow.
Belzebuth understood.
And that single realization…
almost made him forget to breathe.
But that was when he realized the nightmare…
was only beginning.
His arms cracked.
Literally.
A dry, broken, inhuman sound — as if bones he no longer truly had were still protesting.
Then came the seepage.
At first thin.
Like streams of black oil.
Then heavier, denser, more alive.
A moment later, they were no longer droplets:
they were floods.
Torrents of liquid shadow erupted from his forearms,
flowing like an inverted river,
like ancient poison dredged back to the surface.
His arms
hadn't been human in a very long time.
But even for him,
even for a Prince,
this sensation was new.
He began to feel interference.
Real interference.
Rips in the link binding him to this infernal dimension —
the 9th floor.
His floor.
His den.
His automatic territory, even though this entire projection was temporary.
And yet…
The ground vibrated.
The walls shuddered.
As if the very foundations
rejected his authority.
As if another presence,
an older sovereignty,
a more absolute one,
was claiming the throne.
Belzebuth tensed.
His eyes narrowed.
— …Impossible…
He didn't get to finish.
Because at that very moment,
Thana — or what remained of her —
clapped her hands toward him.
Not a slow gesture.
Not a ritual.
A sharp, brutal, instinctive clap.
A sentence.
He jolted.
A genuine jolt.
A flinch he had never experienced in any world.
He didn't expect it.
Not at all.
But even less…
what followed.
Everything that was,
and everything that had become shadow,
obeyed instantly.
Every particle.
Every wisp.
Every sheet of liquid ink.
They turned as one organism
and surged toward him.
Toward him…
and toward the insect at his side.
The mass of shadow closed in with a single movement.
A silent tidal wave.
A lightless swell.
And in one heartbeat,
it began to orbit around them.
A sphere.
Perfect.
Complete.
Totally sealed.
Outside,
all forms of power disintegrated.
Nothing could pass through that barrier.
No ripple.
No signal.
Not even a speck of stray Magia.
Inside…
isolation.
And that was when Belzebuth realized the worst part:
Even telepathic communication had been cut off.
No links.
No relays.
No projections.
Total suffocation.
A black abyss closed around them both.
Nothing left.
Only the sphere.
Only imprisonment.
Only the icy certainty that he was no longer the master here.
He turned.
Toward the person he blamed for all this chaos.
The insect.
Still beside him.
Hunched, trembling, far too close to tolerate.
Belzebuth clenched his teeth.
The mere sight of Adam made his spine crawl.
But he didn't have time for that now.
He needed a solution.
Fast.
Because if this situation kept spiraling—
everyone might escape this dimension.
His dimension.
His territory.
Even if temporary, it was an intolerable affront.
That single idea made his aura vibrate with frustration and panic.
He stumbled back and collapsed onto his throne.
Not with the assurance of a Prince,
but with barely-contained panic.
Both hands pressed against his head,
elbows resting on his knees,
leaning forward,
scratching at his skull frantically.
The gesture held no elegance.
No calculation.
It was nervous, desperate, raw.
His lips were torn,
cracked and bloody from biting them.
He breathed too fast,
too hard.
His aura fissured under the stress.
He raised his eyes.
Toward Adam.
Again.
And that single sight rekindled a burning irritation in his chest.
— You deserve nothing but slavery, he growled,
after all the shit you've caused…
And that was it.
That word.
Slave.
Something sprouted in his mind.
An idea.
A seed.
Planted and grown instantly,
as if accelerated by an external force.
He shot upright.
His eyes widened.
His pupils contracted.
— …Of course.
A feverish smile tore across his face,
stretching his wounded lips further.
— It could work.
His breathing quickened.
His aura vibrated with a mix of fear, excitement, and madness.
— At this point…
I've got nothing to lose.
Belzebuth called Adam.
A smile distorted his lips —
wide, gleaming, almost too perfect.
The kind of smile that would freeze the heart of any being with a scrap of common sense.
A smile that said: come closer… your fate is already sealed.
Something was wrong.
A vibration in the air.
An anomaly anyone else would have sensed.
But Adam…
Adam wasn't in a position to have an opinion.
His body still trembled.
His knees buckled.
His head tilted as if he wanted to disappear into his own shadow.
— Hurry up, Belzebuth growled.
We don't have much time.
His voice wasn't impatient.
It was sharp.
Electrified.
Tense like a scalpel.
— I'll ask you questions, and you answer clearly.
Adam nodded weakly.
— Do you want to become stronger?
— Mmmmh…
Belzebuth clicked his tongue.
His smile vanished instantly.
His eyes turned blood-red.
— What the fuck did I just say?!
The tone cracked like a whip.
Even brief, the anger warped the air.
Adam jolted immediately.
— Yes!
Yes, I… I want to become stronger!
The smile returned.
Slower.
Softer.
Even more dangerous.
— Good.
He leaned forward slightly, his red eyes gleaming like blades.
— In that case… are you willing to sacrifice everything to make it real?
Adam didn't even have time to hesitate.
— Yes!
Belzebuth nodded, satisfied.
A slow nod, controlled —
like checking off a crucial box in a plan.
— Perfect.
Then form a contract with me.
His voice almost turned sweet.
Almost gentle.
But the aura around him said the exact opposite.
— I'll make you stronger.
Stronger than you've ever been.
And you…
you'll serve me for eternity.
He extended his hand, palm open.
A black flame swirled above it.
— In return…
I'll get you out of here.
Adam stared.
His fear, his shame, his loneliness, his weakness — all mixed together.
He thought he saw a solution.
He thought he heard a chance.
There was no chance.
Only a trap.
But he couldn't tell the difference anymore.
— …Alright!
Belzebuth inhaled deeply.
Then lifted his head slowly, like someone calling on a forbidden power buried too long.
His arms spread,
and he began chanting.
The syllables leaving his mouth had nothing human.
Nothing natural.
They bent the air around him,
made the shadows vibrate,
and pierced Adam's ears like burning needles.
Adam screamed.
His ears bled instantly.
His eyes too.
His pupils trembled like they were about to rupture.
And still, Belzebuth kept chanting, unfazed.
— « Sha-ron velhtar oss'minar… »
At the final syllable,
the black sphere shivered.
A breach opened.
Tiny.
Barely wide enough for one person.
But enough.
And the silhouette that stepped through…
even made Adam flinch.
The Guide's replacement.
He appeared with absolute calm.
Not afraid.
Not surprised.
As if he had simply been waiting for someone to call him.
He adjusted his outfit, brushed off imaginary dust,
then offered his brightest smile —
a smile far too polite to be honest.
— I am here, he said lightly,
because I understand…
a new contract needs to be signed.
Belzebuth nodded, satisfied.
Adam didn't even dare breathe.
The replacement Guide extended his hand.
A scroll of black light materialized between them.
— Very well.
I shall repeat the clauses… so both parties hear them clearly.
He did.
Point by point.
Without hesitation, without trembling, as if reciting text written into the structure of the Tower itself.
Belzebuth agreed.
Adam agreed.
And the replacement Guide sealed the pact with a precise gesture.
— Be aware, he added as his hand closed,
breaking a contract sworn before the Cosmic Axis…
with me as witness…
is equivalent to signing one's own disappearance.
He smiled again.
Soft.
Pleasant.
Promising nothing good.
And the moment the contract was sealed—
The sphere exploded.
A dull shock.
A burst of shadow.
A circular wave tearing across the platform.
Belzebuth didn't flinch.
It was exactly what he had expected.
What he had planned.
The replacement Guide didn't seem surprised either.
— Naturally…
the sealing magic generated by the Tower is far too powerful to be contained long by a construct of this kind, he said calmly.
A brief, amused glance toward Belzebuth.
— …at least, not yet.
The dust settled.
The mist scattered.
Belzebuth straightened, free.
Adam too.
And Kael…
was on the ground, unconscious, vulnerable.
The nightmare had only begun.
The explosion rippled through the entire central platform.
Veda, Gravyor, and Kiyoshi were thrown back by the shockwave,
rolling across the cold stone, momentarily unable to grasp what they had just felt.
The black mist…
was gone.
Not dissolved.
Not evaporated.
Ripped away.
As if something — someone — had forced the sphere to burst from the inside.
Veda rose first.
Her golden eyes still trembling.
She searched for Kael, finding his body exactly where they had left him.
But he wasn't alone.
A chill ran down her spine.
— No… no no no…
Gravyor grabbed the hilt of his weapon.
His ragged breathing formed white mist in the cold air.
— I… I feel two presences…
he said, voice trembling despite himself.
Not one.
Two.
Kiyoshi didn't dare move.
Something pressed against his chest,
as if the air itself refused to pass.
— That's impossible… he whispered.
We trapped them.
We REALLY trapped them…
Veda set a hand on the stone to steady her legs.
She could still feel Thana's flakes on her forehead,
the visions crashing inside her mind.
She knew.
She knew what Kael had endured.
She knew what Thana had sacrificed.
So when she lifted her gaze…
And saw them…
Belzebuth, standing.
Adam, standing.
The replacement Guide, perfectly composed, hands clasped behind his back.
The stone beneath their feet still vibrated,
as if recognizing a new master.
Veda felt her heart stop for half a second.
Crushing silence swept across the platform.
Then she whispered, almost voiceless:
— …We lost the advantage.
Gravyor clenched his teeth so hard a crack sounded.
— Let them come, he muttered.
I'll hold them off.
Kiyoshi grabbed his arm and shook his head violently.
— No.
You won't "hold off" anything.
They'll crush us without lifting a finger.
He was right.
Even Gravyor knew it.
So the three turned toward Kael.
Motionless.
Wounded.
Vulnerable.
Gravyor drew a deep breath.
— Whatever happens…
we protect him.
Veda nodded, her fingers tightening around her weapon.
Kiyoshi nodded as well, eyes wet with rage and fear intertwined.
And they positioned themselves in front of him.
Without hesitation.
Without thinking.
Simply because they no longer had the right to retreat.
Facing the Prince.
Facing the betrayed friend.
Facing the replacement Administrator.
The three of them…
still stood.