In the dim cinema hall, Belphegor sat alone in the audience, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it into his mouth, making a crisp crunching sound, then took up his drink and downed it in one go.
The image on the screen froze at the last mont of the film; this beautiful story had ultimately co to an end.
For a mont, Belphegor unexpectedly felt a sense of powerlessness, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in years. Belphegor is an omnipotent devil, one of the malevolent wills ruling this world; he can move mountains and fill seas, he can cause landslides and ground fissures, but he cannot stop a story from ending.
Belphegor beca lancholy, and then he was sowhat angry, angry that he was actually rejected by a mortal, a twisted emotion tangled endlessly in his mind, until at last Belphegor suddenly began to laugh.
He laughed maniacally, clapping his hands forcefully. Belphegor’s applause was extrely powerful, each slap sent out transparent ripples, causing the entire cinema to shake and quake, and those stacked dark boxes to sway along with it, while a wave-like sobbing sound echoed within.
After the commotion passed, Belphegor lay exhausted on the chair, mumbling.
"Completely seen through, huh."
Belphegor rembered Ewen’s words, all artistic creations stem from the fear of death, the fear of being forgotten.
Not long ago, Belphegor had discussed with Bologue in this very theatre about what if devils would too perish one day? Then, what would be left behind?
Nothing would remain; such is the vast void, the despairing deathly silence, that even devils might shed tears for it.
Ewen had guessed what was on Belphegor’s mind; "Endless Poems," rather than being Belphegor’s pursuit of the beauty of art, was more his fear of endings. Thus, Belphegor would not allow stories to have an end, in his eyes, stories should only extend infinitely.
Yet a story without an ending, how could it be called a story?
Belphegor furrowed his brows, deeply sighing, his lant echoed throughout the cinema, then ca the sound of clear footsteps, a woman dragging a fiery red gown walked toward Belphegor, then sat beside him.
The two sat in silence for a long ti until Belphegor pretended to smile, saying, "Is this considered a tie?"
Asmodeus coldly responded, "Very strange, why did you sit idly by?"
This bet involved not only Asmodeus but also Belphegor, yet at the final narration, Belphegor seed as though he had given up, not interfering at all, simply calmly observing.
Belphegor explained, "I greatly respect the artists; I don’t want to interfere with their creations."
"I thought you’d think of a way to incorporate him into your ’Endless Poems,’" Asmodeus said, "You really like him, I can tell."
Belphegor looked up into the darkness, then said, "Actually, sotis, I won’t intentionally collect. On the contrary, I’ll carefully enjoy."
He said playfully, "I’m very selfish, this beautiful story will belong only to a few, I don’t want to share it out."
Belphegor stared intently at Asmodeus, mocking, "But as for you, ah, besides that numb bliss, have you finally felt other emotional fluctuations after so long?"
Asmodeus remained silent, while Belphegor continued to laugh heartily. There were no winners in this bet, yet Belphegor still felt he had won.
"My dear blood relative, among us, you’ve always retained the most humanity, who calls your authority to be such?"
Many emotions can reach the so-called joyous desire; it can be extre indulgence and pleasure, or a certain beautiful and sacred mont, Asmodeus is trapped by such power... All devils are trapped by such power; they are the will of power and also slaves to it.
Belphegor warned, "Humanity allows us to better understand humans, to manipulate their minds, but it will also beco our weakness."
Belphegor also retains a considerable amount of humanity; otherwise, he wouldn’t love artistic creation so much. This obsession born from power and humanity often causes devils to make sowhat unreasonable decisions, like this bet over the poems.
Every ti Belphegor thinks of this, he envies his other blood relative, that Eye of Eternal Fury with never-ceasing rage, the so-called humanity is scant in him, he is like a personification of war, what he brings is only a cruel bloodstorm.
But then Belphegor thought, even such incomplete humanity, the Eye of Eternal Fury eventually still felt weary, craving peace.
Like a curse, this is the devils’ contradiction; the more they master sothing, the more they suffer from it. This reflects not only in the Protection of followers but also in devils themselves, just like Ewen’s mumblings at that ti.
The seemingly vibrant emotions of the Joyous Desire Witch, under that hot alluring shell, is a heart that doesn’t truly feel anything; even if there are fluctuations, they fade quickly, then fall into another round of pursuit for emotional fluctuations.
Of course, compared to all of this, what truly makes Belphegor envious is the strongest among their blood relatives. Even after a thousand years, Belphegor still detects not a trace of softness in him. Compared to other blood relatives, he is truly a pure devil.
"You may ridicule all you want, Belphegor," Asmodeus said, "You know, the disputes between us, our blood relatives, are far from over."
"Even at a ti like this, are you still thinking of clashing with to the death?"
Belphegor covered his face, casting a sidelong glance at Asmodeus, "Consider my proposal, Asmodeus, let’s unite."
Asmodeus remained silent; currently, the Zongge Orchestra still possessed so strength, whereas Belphegor was already at the end of his rope. Without the alliance of the Astronaut, he could be considered as having exited the stage. Asmodeus could agree to Belphegor’s proposal, but she wanted to maximize her own benefits.
"Let tell you so unfortunate news."
Belphegor saw Asmodeus’s hesitation and spoke directly, "After a century, the strength of the Night Race has grown again."
Asmodeus was sowhat surprised, as if she couldn’t believe it.
Belphegor interrupted Asmodeus, "I know you want to say they should have been eternally imprisoned, but this is the reality. Several Night Race mbers managed to escape... You’re aware of their speed of expansion; soon, the Eternal Night Empire will be making a coback."
"How did they break the oath?"
Asmodeus knew the power of the oath, which cos from the use of the Devil’s Power. Under the restriction of the oath, even the Devil finds it hard to break the rules.
"Why don’t you consider who really needs the Night Race to rise again?"
In Asmodeus’s mind, a figure of elegant arrogance erged, his gaze always directed toward the void, as if no one could enter his sight.
Belphegor appeared with a mysterious smile, "In past disputes, he always erged a winner until the Dawn War dragged him off the gambling table by mortals. Now he’s returned, and you know about his relationship with Beelzebub. These two madn get along well—once they prepare their forces, they’ll only set the world ablaze."
"It’s not that I love this world, but once this world falls into endless turmoil, it will weaken our power, just like in the past. They always win, and we only get their leftovers."
Belphegor grabbed Asmodeus’s hand, pressing with force, "In this power vacuum, you must have tasted the pleasure of feasting on souls. Can you give that up?"
"Even more so... Aren’t you afraid of being replaced?"
Belphegor spoke as if revealing a secret, quietly saying, "Those humans were right; we are all slaves to power.
The truly indestructible is this eternal, sinister force."
The cinema was plunged into deadly silence.
Asmodeus was not swayed by Belphegor’s words; she countered, "Then how do you plan to retaliate? You’re just a parasite of the Order Bureau; you can’t control this beast."
"His Night Race, Beelzebub’s Kagader Empire, not to ntion other guys involved. Do you really think you have a chance?"
"The Eyes of Eternal Fury will find it hard to control itself; it won’t casually join the fight. Even if it does, madn like that only attack indiscriminately, and as for Mammon... Whoever bids higher, he helps them."
Belphegor considered the situation, discussing his point.
"As for us, from this perspective, indeed we don’t stand much chance, but don’t forget, we have another ally."
That eerie, damp sound of scales rubbing appeared once again, and Asmodeus glanced sharply toward the back of the audience, seeing that a bulky diving suit had quietly taken a seat there.
Asmodeus disliked the Astronaut; in her eyes, the threat posed by the Astronaut and that person was similar. The difference was, that person never covered up his actions, always displaying his power overtly, but the Astronaut was different; he is the weaver of sches, and before you brutally tear away his disguise, you’ll never know what he’s doing.
Just like during the Fall of the Holy City, as Asmodeus discovered then.
Even now, thinking back invokes terror and rage... then desire.
The Astronaut nearly ended this endless conflict, becoming the sole winner across endless ages, shattering that cage of shackles; in such a view, perhaps only he can reverse the situation.
Asmodeus asked, "Where is your chance of success?"
"King Solomon was my previous Chosen One."
The Astronaut spoke while raising his hand, making a fist, a simple gesture full of the sense of strength, as if grasping the heavens and earth.
"The Red Dragon is in my hand."
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