Right now, in the pocket world, Sulpharlo sat cross-legged with her eyes closed, as if in slumber.
The wounds on her chest and abdomen had vanished; she looked perfectly healthy. Only her clothes were still in tatters, revealing large stretches of smooth, snow-white skin.
Those rips were from Charles' Eldritch Blasts and had never been repaired. With so little power left, she'd barely managed to heal her injuries and purge the toxins in time not to die on the spot—that alone had been a struggle.
Now, she had no idea how long she'd spent here. This pocket world had no day or night, and even with her keen five senses, she couldn't perceive the passage of time at all.
Time itself seemed meaningless in this place. Only her vigorous energy and relentlessly active mind felt every minute and second of crushing loneliness.
That was the worst part. If her body had been weak and lethargic, time might not have felt so hard to kill. But she was an angel. Once her wounds and toxins were healed, her overflowing energy had nowhere to go—it was enough to almost drive her insane.
That absolute solitude tormented her, wore her down. No matter how many times she tried to pep-talk herself, even muttering aloud just to hear a voice, under such long, grinding pressure, all that effort did next to nothing.
She even began to despair, to suspect Charles really had forgotten her—that he was going to leave her here until her thoughts stopped altogether before finally coming back to drag her out.
Luckily, that worst-case despair never came true. At last, one day, a portal suddenly opened—and the Charles who had "forgotten" her finally appeared in front of her again.
Sulpharlo opened her eyes. For a split second, a strange, wordless delight surged up from the depths of her heart.
She forced it down, struggling not to look at the living color of Charles' presence against the pure blank of this void. She closed her eyes again, pretending indifference.
She had no idea that simply opening her eyes just now had already betrayed her true desire.
Across from her, Charles' gaze went slightly unfocused; he knew his strategy had worked. The corners of his mouth lifted a fraction as he floated over to her. "Looks like you've been living pretty comfortably in here, Sulpharlo."
Sulpharlo's eyes snapped open. All the loneliness from being left to stew for so long twisted into grief and rage, making her unable to hold back the urge to speak.
But as an angel, she knew she couldn't lose the battle of posture. The worse her situation was, the less she could show weakness.
So she let out a cold laugh. Though her body trembled with anger, her voice stayed mocking: "Ha. Save your concern, victor. Congratulations—now you can take my creations and indulge your every desire."
Her tone dripped with scorn, but Charles knew she was just venting. He didn't feel the slightest irritation.
He stared at Sulpharlo and suddenly asked, "So you even shelled out for a hundred sets of custom plate armor and weapons for them, huh?"
She even began to despair, to suspect Charles really had forgotten her—that he was going to leave her here until her thoughts stopped altogether before finally coming back to drag her out.
Luckily, that worst-case despair never came true. At last, one day, a portal suddenly opened—and the Charles who had "forgotten" her finally appeared in front of her again.
Sulpharlo opened her eyes. For a split second, a strange, wordless delight surged up from the depths of her heart.
She forced it down, struggling not to look at the living color of Charles' presence against the pure blank of this void. She closed her eyes again, pretending indifference.
She had no idea that simply opening her eyes just now had already betrayed her true desire.
Across from her, Charles' gaze went slightly unfocused; he knew his strategy had worked. The corners of his mouth lifted a fraction as he floated over to her. "Looks like you've been living pretty comfortably in here, Sulpharlo."
Sulpharlo's eyes snapped open. All the loneliness from being left to stew for so long twisted into grief and rage, making her unable to hold back the urge to speak.
But as an angel, she knew she couldn't lose the battle of posture. The worse her situation was, the less she could show weakness.
So she let out a cold laugh. Though her body trembled with anger, her voice stayed mocking: "Ha. Save your concern, victor. Congratulations—now you can take my creations and indulge your every desire."
Her tone dripped with scorn, but Charles knew she was just venting. He didn't feel the slightest irritation.
He stared at Sulpharlo and suddenly asked, "So you even shelled out for a hundred sets of custom plate armor and weapons for them, huh?"
Sulpharlo's smile vanished. The memory of that night's battle flashed back; her fists clenched tight. "That's right. It's just a pity those Duergar screwed up their delivery. If those armors and weapons had arrived one day earlier and my girls had all put them on, the one who died that night would've been you."
She couldn't keep up the act anymore; the hatred and rage inside her could no longer be buried.
Charles fell quiet for a moment, thinking of the Duergar-forged gear, the Dark Angels' physical strength, and the spells they could cast. He had to admit: if things had gone that way, the outcome of that fight really might've been up in the air.
But then he smiled. "Don't dump this on the Duergar. They almost finished your delivery."
"Thing is, I was the one who intercepted that shipment."
As he spoke, he raised a hand and opened a viewing channel, revealing a scene inside the monastery. Sulpharlo focused on it and saw a hundred matching sets of plate armor neatly arrayed in a Training Grounds hall—each suit perfectly sized, with vertical slits in the back tailored for wings.
So that Duergar cargo ship had been robbed by this guy!
The thought made her hatred spike; her teeth ground audibly. But in the end she forced a mocking smile and said coldly, "Well then, congratulations, Priest Charles. From now on you can use them as your blades and conquer one patch of land after another."
Charles shook his head, not in the mood to mock someone already on the brink of a breakdown. "I never planned to use them as weapons, Sulpharlo. As a believer of the Goddess of Life, my first duty is to treat those girls as people."
"Their futures are their own to choose. All I'll do is give them basic education."
Sulpharlo actually clapped, unable to suppress her need to argue. As angry as she was, venting beat stewing alone. The more she talked, the more animated she became. "Wow, how noble. You're so noble you make the gods themselves look cheap in comparison!"
Charles watched her. "Is that noble? I'm curious, actually. You were once an angel—do you truly feel no sense of blasphemy creating and then remodeling these lives? You never once considered what they might want for themselves?"
"So what?" Sulpharlo didn't care in the slightest. "You're a priest—you should know this much: every creature in the material world, and we angels as well, were created by gods."
"If you want to ascend to godhood, you have to create life of your own. You yourself were created by gods, weren't you? So what gives you the right to question me for doing what the gods already did?"
"No, that's not it." Charles said suddenly. "I, Hattie, and the others… we're really not the same sort of 'creations' as you deities' toys."
Sulpharlo froze. "What did you say? Then where did you come from?"
"I was born from my mom," Charles answered.
Sulpharlo: "…"
For a heartbeat, she saw something in Charles—an unvarnished, primal wildness, an innocence unpolluted by knowledge. She suddenly couldn't quite classify this human anymore.
But no matter what she thought, the negotiation had to go on. Charles let his smile fall away and decided to switch strategies.
He'd realized this stubborn fallen angel's mindset was still stuck ten thousand years in the past, back in the age of creation. She couldn't grasp why the gods had cut back intervention in the material world, or why they'd granted sapient beings free will.
His understanding, thanks to having read the lore, made it simple. Gods were embodiments of ideals—justice, endurance through suffering, the amassing of wealth, the pursuit of joy, and so on.
They wanted those ideals to be understood, lived, and practiced by sapient beings, so that souls would resonate with them—feeding and fulfilling them. That was why they created the world, shaping life in their image.
But if deities personally cast miracles to steer the material world, sapient beings would only worship their power, treating their ideals with lip-service at best and contempt at worst. The more gods flaunted brute strength, the more believers would latch onto "might makes right" and ignore the actual philosophies behind it.
So once the gods recognized this, they gradually pulled back from the material world, leaving it to mortals. Only when magical beings solved problems through their own effort would they truly appreciate the gods' ideals—giving the divine real recognition, resonance, and strength.
Sulpharlo clearly didn't get any of that. She still wanted to imitate the gods of the primordial age—personally creating and modifying sapient beings, then controlling them as expendable assets, hoping to recreate the gods' ancient feats through her own "epic works."
With someone this old and stubborn, Charles knew he'd never talk her around.
So he dropped the ethics debate over clones and went straight to business. "Sulpharlo, would you like a chance to regain your freedom?"
Sulpharlo finally snapped out of the shock from his simple answer and gave him a playful look. "What, you're actually going to set me free?"
Charles drew a deep breath. "We didn't have any real grudge to start with, did we? I don't have a reason to keep you locked up forever. If you agree to one thing, we can call our past scores even, and I'll let you go. How about that?"
Sulpharlo's smirk faded as she locked eyes with him, then let out a derisive snort. "And what's your demand? Don't tell me…"
Her gaze turned knowingly sly. "You're here to beg for those Dark Angels, right?"
Having his intention laid bare brought a flash of irritation, but Charles forced it down and nodded. "Yes. I want you to sever the life-link between yourself and those girls—give them back their freedom."
Malena and every Dark Angel's life was tied to this fallen angel's existence, and it left Charles on edge.
For now, as long as Sulpharlo was intact, the girls were fine. But what if she woke up one day in a bad mood, muttered a simple incantation, and snuffed out one of them on a whim? How could he live with that?
Having lives in someone else's hand was exactly what Charles refused to accept. So he was here to negotiate, ready to spend every bargaining chip he had to buy those girls their freedom.
"If you agree, I swear I'll let you go and won't come after you. From then on, we walk our own paths. What do you say?"
Charles thought the deal was fair—unfortunately, Sulpharlo threw her head back and laughed. "Hahahaha… you think I'd agree to that? You're so naive it's cute, human."
Charles stared at her. "You used to be an angel. You should understand what people like us mean by keeping our word."
"If I promise you something, I'll do it. And I won't play those word games devils love—you know even better than I do how followers of the Goddess of Life conduct themselves."
Sulpharlo stopped laughing and gave him a cold look. "Yes, I believe you'd keep your word. But that doesn't mean I accept this deal."
Charles frowned. "Name your price, Sulpharlo."
He assumed the fallen angel was just opening with an outrageous demand and started mentally tallying his chips.
But to Sulpharlo, this was never negotiable. "There is no price—because what you're asking, I can't accept at all."
Her crimson eyes glared straight into his. Jaw clenched, she ground out the words. "The Dark Angels are my life's work. For them, I betrayed the deity who created me, deceived all my colleagues—even the mortal family that once followed me died for this."
"Charles, and you think a few sentences from you will make me abandon them completely? Heh. I'd rather die here, have you obliterate my soul right now, than agree to that."
She fixed him with a near-mad stare.
But the crazed expression was mostly for show. In truth, she was already sure of one thing: since Charles cared about the Dark Angels' lives, there was no way he'd actually kill her.
He wouldn't even leave her rotting in that empty void anymore—that much she knew. He was scared. Scared that if something happened to her, those women would suffer as well.
That life-link was her biggest bargaining chip, and she would never give it up.
Seeing how intractable she was, Charles' face hardened.
"You're certain?" he asked quietly. "You're really convinced that 'kill you' is the only tool I've got?"
His voice grew colder. Opposite him, Sulpharlo sneered, "Bring out whatever tricks you've got, believer of the Goddess of Life."
"I'll only warn you once: any harm you do to me will echo back onto the Dark Angels. I look forward to your methods. I've seen devils torture people—you'd better not be some childish disappointment."
Charles stared at her. Instead of losing his temper as she'd expected, he suddenly smiled in relief, as if shedding a weight from his heart.
"Good. That works." He nodded lightly. "I already gave you your chance, Sulpharlo."
"I've been wondering how I'd ever get to use the tools that came with the new level of the Dungeon. The witches, once I purified them, all turned so obedient they never needed those harsher measures."
Sulpharlo didn't understand a word of that, but unease crawled up her spine. Charles, however, just grinned, almost giddy. "Looks like all those toys are going to see some real use after all."
"Sulpharlo, you're about to become the first person in this world to see the monastery's prison Dungeon in its true form."
Leaving those words behind, Charles turned and left. Sulpharlo felt a chill lance straight through her. Her instincts screamed that some vast horror was bearing down on her—something that would change her into a shape she could never have imagined.
Her heart hammered. But now, it was too late to call out and beg. All she could do was keep her expression steady and spit one last threat at his retreating back. "Do whatever you want—I can take it."
Charles didn't answer. He stepped out of the pocket world and back into reality. The void returned to blank, suffocating silence.
Sulpharlo thought the day would just drag by like this; loneliness crept in again, and she even started to secretly look forward to his next visit.
But then the portal opened again. A colossal force yanked at her, dragging the fallen angel helplessly through and back into the material world.
"Mm—"
She hit the ground, but found it covered in straw; the impact didn't really hurt.
She pushed herself up and looked around. This place seemed to be an underground cell. Thick iron bars stood before her, and there wasn't a single window in the walls—just a few braziers burning in the passageway, flames dancing and casting the shadows into an eerie, shifting flicker.
He brought me back to the material world?
The thought had barely formed when she realized: there still wasn't a trace of magic in the air. She couldn't recover so much as a sliver of power.
Then she heard it—chains rattling. Four heavy chains slithered across the stone floor, coiling around her wrists and ankles, yanking her back against the wall and pinning her in place.
"Ugh—!"
Her head thunked against the stone; she couldn't stop a low grunt of pain. She lifted her gaze to see Charles standing in the dungeon, looking at her with icy, merciless eyes.
She let out a cold laugh, but inside she actually rejoiced to be free of that monotonous void. "Whatever you've got, bring it on. I'll see it all through."
Her mouth stayed defiant, but her eyes darted, taking in every detail. Her mind raced, scenario after scenario flashing through her head as she tried to piece together an escape.
Charles' voice cut across her scheming—quiet, assured, as if he'd prepared this for a long time. "No need to act tough, Sulpharlo."
"I've already planned every penalty you deserve."
He reached down to the Bag of Holding at her hip and pulled out a sharp pair of scissors.
Her white leather armor had already been riddled with holes by Eldritch Blasts; almost no part remained whole.
Even now, the chest piece was barely hanging together. Her full breasts strained the torn leather until it bulged, pale flesh plainly visible. One couldn't help but worry that the slightest movement would rip it open completely, sending those heavy mounds bouncing free.
Charles didn't hesitate. He opened the scissors and slipped one blade down through her collar, then squeezed—
Snip—
The outer leather, along with the center of the white under-bra beneath it, parted as one. Both garments fell away, and the long-bound fullness of her chest sprang loose at once.
An angel's constitution was far beyond mortal standards—Sulpharlo's especially. She was over a thousand years old, yet her bust was no smaller than Malena's. Even so, they stood as firm and high as a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girl's, with not the slightest hint of sag. Even her nipples and areolas were a delicate, tempting pink, enough to stir anyone's appetite at a glance.
Sulpharlo's heart lurched; her pulse jumped wildly.
She had centuries of battle experience, and she'd blessed mortal families with her power before, but always in indirect ways—like cutting her fingertip to smear a drop of blood on a supplicant's brow to complete the ritual.
As for baring her body to a man, let alone sharing any kind of physical intimacy—she had never done such a thing before. As a battle angel who strictly guarded her purity, such acts were out of the question.
After her fall, she'd been obsessed with creating new life and fleeing her former colleagues' pursuit. She'd never had time or interest to think about such things; her mind had been completely filled with her Grand Work.
So when Charles stripped her, exposing a nakedness she'd never shown another soul, her reaction was hardly better than that of a girl facing her first experience.
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