Enough with the whining,"* he thought, his inner voice as cold as ice.
He rose from his worn-out bed and stepped out of his room. The hotel's air was heavy, thick with dust and faint traces of ash and spilled liquor. Everything seemed to hold its breath in his presence—even the battered, crooked furniture appeared to lean away from his unseen gaze.
Vaggie, ever suspicious, approached with her spear, its tip glinting faintly under the flickering neon light. She had no idea this would be her biggest mistake.
"I hope you don't have... any weird plans," she threatened, but her voice cracked the moment she met Ñakariy's indifferent stare.
He watched her, unflinching, as Vaggie was suddenly struck by memories of her time in Heaven:
Adam and Lute's daily insults.
Her sisters being executed for being deemed weak.
Adam's constant harassment.
How Lute tore off her wings and one of her eyes.
She stepped back, trembling, while Ñakariy kept looking at her as if she were invisible. The distant hum of fluorescent lights crackled above them, heightening the sense of imminent danger.
"Lower the spear. And don't challenge me again. Understood?" Ñakariy said, his voice firm and icy.
Vaggie obeyed, stepping aside, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet. Ñakariy moved forward, each footstep echoing like metallic reverberations through the empty corridors. Husk set down his drink at the bar, visibly nervous, the glass clinking with a sharp sound that seemed to amplify the tension.
"He's... terrifying," Husk whispered, wiping the counter with trembling hands.
Ñakariy didn't glance at him and headed straight for the hotel's entrance, where the cold outside breeze seeped in, carrying the smell of soot and damp streets. He stopped like a dark guardian, his silhouette stark against the orange city light filtering through the broken window.
Niffty approached cautiously, holding a tray of cookies. The sweet fragrance contrasted sharply with the oppressive atmosphere, making her nervousness even more palpable.
"Want one?" she asked, her voice shaky.
Ñakariy took a cookie, tasted it, then looked at her, his shadow stretching like a tentacle across the cracked floor.
"It's fine. The cookies are acceptable. Go back inside the hotel. You'll be safer there," he said with his usual coldness.
Relieved, Niffty withdrew, leaving Ñakariy alone at the door. Night wrapped around the hotel like a dense, damp cloak, and every corner seemed to hide invisible eyes. His attention sharpened instantly with the appearance of the Radio Demon, whose unsettling grin lit the place with irregular flashes, like warning lights.
"Well, well... I didn't know you had feelings, my friend," Alastor laughed, his voice modulating as if coming from an old radio, echoing through the empty hallways.
"Alastor, the Radio Demon. A power few sinners have achieved in this hell... impressive," Ñakariy responded, holding his gaze steady, as the night wind stirred fallen leaves and rattled old doors.
"Ah, seems you know me," Alastor smiled, his tone playful, his laughter cutting through the stillness like a knife.
"You were on the right track at first. You killed almost all of the supreme Overlords, except Zestial, the oldest. You had the power, but nothing makes you invincible," Ñakariy said, firm and calculating, as the shadows of fallen buildings danced around them.
"How... do you know that?" Alastor asked, intrigued, feeling the weight of the darkness surrounding him.
"You lost to Adam and your popularity plummeted. Then you used Vox to recover. Clever. But don't try to compare yourself to me," Ñakariy replied, his voice like ice, the night breeze whistling through the cracks in the ground.
Alastor's smile tightened, unsettled by Ñakariy's confidence and power.
"Oh, my dear, don't get arrogant," Alastor taunted.
Ñakariy raised his hand, and without warning, a demonic tree in front of them burst into flames, disintegrating in seconds, leaving a trail of black smoke that swirled beneath the moonlight.
Alastor stepped back, stunned, while Ñakariy stood tall, imposing, impossible to ignore—as if the night itself had chosen to protect him and tremble in his presence.