The light-screen spell that had illuminated the entire chamber had faded, and the dungeon returned to its previous gloom, with only a few torches providing the sole source of light. The earth-shaking crashes and roars had ceased, even their echoes now faded. The only sound in the silence was the occasional crackle of resin-soaked logs as flames licked at them.
After a long while, the Wrath Demon ground out a few syllables through clenched teeth: "What do you want?"
Finally, Simon conceded.
"I already stated my terms," Victor replied, his tone utterly unruffled, as if this capitulation had been entirely expected, requiring no trace of joy or surprise. "Any other Archfiend standing here would understand my meaning—though, of course, with a Wrath Fiend present, I couldn't hope for a more conversational counterpart. To prevent misunderstanding, let me explain plainly: I have demonstrated my sincerity, which is why you stand here holding my key. Now it is your turn to show yours."
"You know full well those conditions are impossible!" Simon spat irritably, a small whirlwind of heat rising from the ground. "No one knows which demons took your things! Let alone make them give it back! More than half of your stuff was either used up or turned to ash in the fighting—that's how the Abyss always works. You should know that."
"True enough," Victor clicked his tongue. "So what should we do?"
He pretended to ponder for a moment, pages rustling sharply like a snap of fingers.
"Let's catch up first," he declared. "So many years since the Abyss was expelled—how are my old Abyssal comrades faring?"
"Shadowwalker Kaspar slaughtered Firewing Inferno Ostgar, expanding his territory westward by vast stretches. 'Shapeshifter' Sa vanished for years but has resurfaced. 'Unknowable' Rashidja isn't dead. That bitch Trianliana still lives. 'Chaos Guts' got half its guts ripped out but the other half remains. 'Six-Mouth Moa' is alive. A few others... can't recall their names." Simon stated bluntly. "The rest are all dead. If you want a tally of the dead trash, I could list them all day! Within this jumble of names too numerous to recall at once lay the shifting history of half the Abyss.
The "old comrades" mentioned by the two Archdevils were, naturally, Archdevils themselves.
The favored children of the Abyss, the rulers of the Abyss, or more commonly, the "Abyssal Lords." Archdevils need not deliberately gather followers or build domains; their very existence represents a rare order within the chaotic Abyss. The domains of two Archdevils rarely overlap, unless they wish to fight. The mutually respected boundaries carved out by their strength and temperaments form the "territories" of these Abyssal Lords. Weaker demons and monstrosities instinctively inhabit the realms best suited to their survival.
The growth of demons is shaped by the Abyss's environment, while mature Archdevils, in turn, reshape it. The fragmented territories of the Abyss resemble shifting ecosystems more than legally defined nations.
For instance, a Netherfire dwelling within the domain of a Flame Lord might one day evolve upward. If it transforms into a Fire Salamander, which thrives in intense heat, it would gladly remain within that territory. but if it evolves into a shadow creature akin to the Shadow Fiends, it will instinctively abandon this land whose attributes now clash with its own, seeking refuge in more suitable corners—specifically, the domains ruled by Shadow Fiend Lords.
When mass conflict erupts, Archdevils can mobilize all demons and monstrosities within their sphere of influence. This sphere overlaps with the environment they have altered, compelling all inhabitants of their "territory" to fight for their sovereign. From this perspective, calling Archdevils "lords" is truly fitting.
Furthermore, the titles mentioned are not their true names.
The notebooks carried by the late Abyss researcher Mr. Webster contained studies on demonic titles. Every Abyssal demon possesses a true name bestowed by the Abyss. These names may be randomly generated at the birth of an Abyssal spawn or emerge when a creature evolves into a mid-tier demon—after all, no creature has ever claimed to know its own name. A demon's true name functions like a serial number assigned by the Abyss—unique, impossibly long, and inherently a spell imbued with magical power.
Demons can use it to sign demonic contracts. Certain spells can also locate a demon's true form through its name, or even enslave it by exploiting the name. While a Greater Demon won't be forced into servitude merely by its name, having its True Name mastered by an equal-tier adversary can prove highly troublesome. In high-stakes duels where victory hinges on the slightest margin, encountering an opponent skilled in this art could mean being tripped up by a True Name spell at a critical moment. Even a split-second delay could spell instant defeat.
Many researchers have attempted to exploit this weakness as a quick, convenient, and pollution-free method, but the results have been disappointingly lackluster. A demon's true name is protected by the laws of the Abyss; no spell can force them to reveal it. This parochial world law is as unyielding as those safeguarding souls on the Prime Material Plane. Unless a demon voluntarily reveals its true name (you may deceive, trick, or cheat—provided you outwit the demon itself), no one can exploit it.
Therefore, demons never announce their names upon meeting.
Instead, they adopt a common name for public use, chosen in any manner they please. High-ranking demons aspiring to become demon lords often give themselves nicknames to distinguish themselves from countless kin sharing the same species and similar common names. Upon truly advancing to Archdemon status, even those who never chose a nickname receive epithets bestowed by others—derived from their combat style, battle records, appearance, and so forth. Victor's common name was Victor—coincidentally identical to the name Tasha had casually given him.
Yet judging by unoriginal, pretentious nicknames like "Shadow Walker" or "Flamewing Inferno," it wasn't surprising the dungeon had dubbed the slime "Devourer of All."
"What about the Reapers?" Victor asked. "Is there still only 'Pale Amon'?"
"Of course not. Didn't you leave 'Lord of No Life' Acheron on the surface?" Simon retorted.
"But it seems plenty of Reapers could advance," Victor remarked calmly. "Hasn't a single new Archfiend emerged in all these years?"
"Of course not. What nonsense are you spouting?" the Wrath Demon snapped. "Is this enough for you?"
"But you've barely scratched the surface," Victor countered. "Forgotten the rest? That answer won't do."
Wrath Demon Simon let out a frustrated growl and punched the wall again.
"You owe me answers! I told you about the Abyss, yet you won't reveal a single thing about the Material Plane. What are you hiding? Who lacks sincerity here?" he roared.
"Fair point." Victor rolled his eyes upward, drawing out a drawn-out "Hmm..." before saying, "If I told you, would you believe me?"
The Wrath Demon stuttered.
"See, that's the problem," the book said, flipping through its pages. "They never expected to encounter me here, so they chose you as their pawn. Wrath Demons are indeed tough and durable—enough for them to write a report analyzing the cause of death after teleporting you back. But frankly, you're not exactly an expert in magic or contracts. It can't be helped—no demon is perfect. You're passable in combat, but you can't be expected to excel in brainpower. Fortunately, I'm a genuinely kind soul. If you're willing to sign a contract with me..."
"No!!" Simon's shout cut him off.
"Why the hasty refusal?" Victor asked innocently. "You don't seriously believe I can alter the contract terms, do you? Those are rumors—the notion that contracts shift in favor of the drafter after completion sounds like an urban legend concocted by ignorant Planeswalkers. It's paranoia. We Abyssal demons trust the Abyssal Laws, don't we?" I swear by the Abyss—if any soul ever lost everything after signing with me, it's because they didn't read the fine print when they signed up."
After this speech, the Wrath Demon seemed even more wary, the spikes on its back bristling once more.
"Looks like you're dead set on refusing my contract. " Victor sighed, as if genuinely regretful. "What can be done? I'm afraid you'll have to serve as my messenger, carrying my demands back to the Abyss."
"Once I go, I can never return!" the Wrath Demon raised his voice.
"Indeed, that is the nature of the passageway—deeply regrettable," Victor said. "But since you refuse to sign a contract with me..."
"Don't push your luck!" Simon snapped, cutting him off. "The portal is already constructed. The gate will open fully eventually. Even if you try to stop it, its complete opening is only a matter of time!"
"But there's still a difference between one year and several millennia, wouldn't you agree?" Victor remarked.
"You dare!" Simon roared, his fury boiling over. "Are you tired of living?!"
"Such low-level threats hold little meaning at this stage," Victor remarked lightly.
The Wrath Demon Simon halted, a sudden look of confusion crossing his face.
Several peculiar twitches ran through his facial muscles, his expression as hideous as ever. To Tarsha, it would have been impossible to discern any emotion from that monstrous face, but the former demon Victor could read it.
That look of doubt made his heart skip a beat.
Up until now, everything had seemed to be going smoothly. Victor appeared completely at ease, playing the Wrath Demon Simon like a fiddle. To an observer, it appeared a one-sided affair. Yet Victor, who had masterfully played the empty fortress strategy, knew full well the true situation was likely another kind of one-sided reality.
It wasn't merely a matter of strength.
Monsters possessed only a faint soul flame. Demons developed souls similar to those of creatures in the Material Plane. Archdemons' souls could exist independently; splitting and merging them was no great feat. Yet a daemon's power is entirely bound to its soul. When the soul suffers severe damage, not only strength but memory and intellect are compromised.
Saimon was absolutely correct—Victor was no longer what he once was. Past glories belonged solely to the past. Compared to the daemon Victor of old, the Dungeon Book's intelligence might have been halved, and its memories were a chaotic mess, vast swathes missing entirely. His recollections of the Abyss were incomplete. The names Victor affectedly mentioned were among the few entities he could recall, each cliché uttered with caution, risking exposure of his pretense.
Victor couldn't fully grasp what the Wrath Demon Simon was saying, just as he couldn't fathom why the other wore an expression of puzzlement.
"Enough with the games," Victor said. "Let's get this over with. I'll open this passage because it needs to be opened—you were right about that. I'll pay the price for 'opening the door' on this side, no question. In return, I only want 'that thing'—the most important one."
To avoid any unexpected complications, Victor activated his backup plan and swiftly pressed on.
Sure enough, Simon's attention shifted.
"That thing isn't in my possession," it growled.
"Then all I need is for you to deliver a message," Victor replied calmly, as if making a tremendous concession. "On the day this passage fully opens, I want to see my thing. I'm not afraid you'll renege. Since I can open this sealed passage, I can seal it again. Try it if you don't believe me—though I personally wouldn't recommend it. Everyone's time is precious."
"Fine!" the Wrath Demon conceded grudgingly. "The 'Unknowable Thing' Rashid-Jaddo will likely consider it. Once the passage opens, your skin will be returned to you!"
An utterly unexpected outcome.
Mentioning the so-called "most important thing" was merely an excuse; Victor couldn't recall what crucial item he'd left in the Abyss. Yet the Wrath Demon, Saemon, delivered a surprising answer: "Your skin."
Here, "skin" didn't refer to the literal layer of flesh.
It meant "body."
The Material Plane struggles to sustain the presence of deities and greater demons. Both cannot linger long among mortals before being expelled, and the unlucky might suffer severe injuries. So how does one truly reach the Material Plane? Deities can use the Descent of the Gods spell, while greater demons resort to various devious spells to skirt the rules.
A common tactic involves discarding fragments of their bodies. While a whole daemon cannot remain, severed limbs can linger in the Material Plane—hence the existence of daemon-forged artifacts. Mortals who find these materials believe they've struck gold.
These small fry, convinced they've been chosen by fate, gleefully collect horn shards, claw fragments, hair strands, scales, and more. Guided by mysterious voices in their heads, they gather materials and enhance their bodies with rare treasures. Just as they draw the magic circle to undergo their transformation, the true owner of those materials arrives as promised. The great demon possessed these fools, who endured countless hardships to make themselves suitable dwellings—like cattle rigorously trained for superior meat quality.
Such bodies could be "worn" longer than divine descent rituals. Though unable to unleash full power, they allowed demon lords to linger on earth for months to a year.
The other method involved targeting the soul.
This approach was unconventional, little-known, and so mysterious that even the amnesiac Archfiend himself had momentarily forgotten it. Only when the Wrath Fiend mentioned it did Victor suddenly recall that he had cast his body into the Abyss.
An Archfiend's soul could exist independently. Victor's soul had arrived in the Material Plane and, for reasons unknown, remained trapped there. His body remained in the Abyss, having been fought over by countless claimants over the centuries—though given Victor's current state, barely alive, that body might more accurately be called a "shell."
Victor's shell was in the hands of Rashidja, the Unknowable—unfortunately, a Lich Lord.
"Enough. Let's go back," Victor said.
"Is that all you've got?" Simon snapped, fuming.
"What else did you expect?" Victor countered, sounding magnanimous. "You're too suspicious to believe anything you see or hear now, aren't you? Alas, such is the lack of trust among demons. Truly saddening."
"Don't get too cocky!" Simon gnashed his fangs. "Your advantage lasts only a year. When the portal opens, I'll gladly see your head displayed at the gate."
His words were menacing, but they amounted to little more than empty threats—a rage demon searching for a way out.
"Then let us wait and see," Victor replied obligingly.
The rage demon Simon shot a vicious glare at the book before turning away.
Only then did Victor breathe a deep sigh of relief.
Better than planned—we sent the demon lord's avatar packing peacefully. We should be setting off fireworks to celebrate. That minor crisis midway? We pulled off a perfect bluff. An empty fortress scared off a million warriors. The moment the Wrath Demon retreated, the first crack in the portal snapped shut. It won't be reopening anytime soon. The moment it departed, the entire dungeon would scramble to suppress the passage. Even if severing the connection between the Abyss and the Material Plane couldn't be achieved permanently, at least it could be suppressed for three to five years.
It felt like sneaking through a mock exam before the real test. Optimistically, those three to five years might yield a permanent solution to sever the passage. Even in the worst-case scenario, it would buy them another three to five years of life.
The Wrath Demon dragged its feet a few paces away, its form beginning to flicker slowly—the method for peacefully dissolving a duplicate. It flickered several times before gradually ceasing.
"What's wrong?" Victor asked, a sense of foreboding creeping into his voice. "Forgot something?"
The Wrath Demon, Simon, spun around abruptly.
The patterns on his deep crimson skin ignited in an instant, faster than his first transformation. Within a single breath, those patterns and bone spines burst through his skin, transforming him into a raging porcupine.
"You lied!" Simon roared. "You—lied—!"
His voice thundered deafeningly. The echo of his roar hadn't faded when his entire body launched forward, hurtling toward Victor suspended midair. Lightning split the shadows of the dungeon as another Light Barrier spell activated. Saros' divine power illuminated the demon, like flames licking butter.
Its exoskeleton warped, skin and muscle softening slightly, yet regenerating at astonishing speed. Played in slow motion, observers would see layers of skin peeling away and re-forming, the latter outpacing the former until the holy light's assault merely rippled across the Wrath Demon's form, smoothed out before dispersing. The light and shadow spectacle lasted but a few seconds. As the Light Screen spell receded, the hurled Wrath Demon leapt back to its feet.
This time, its claws closed firmly around the Book of Dungeons.
"You deceiver!" the Wrath Demon roared once more.
It repeated the same words, yet its tone shifted from fury to ecstatic joy. The Archfiend's avatar seized the Book of Dungeons, yanking it violently from midair and slamming it into the ground, its claws sinking deep into the pages. The Wrath Demon, Simon, opened its mouth. The lower half of its face appeared cleaved in two by a blade, a massive gash stretching across its hideous visage. This time, the expression was unmistakable.
It was a demonic grin.
"You're not nearly this powerful!" Simon sneered, his laughter twisted. "You're merely exiled from the Abyss! That's why you lack its essence, why you're not repelled by Saro!"
Victor tried to speak, but words wouldn't come. Claws sank deeper, like staples piercing through layer after layer of thick pages.
"You weren't hiding perfectly—you are this damn book!" The Wrath Demon roared, saliva dripping like a beast. "You don't remember because the rumors were true, hahahahahahaha! You really were killed!"
"Don't speak so definitively," Victor hissed. "Ever since I became a Great Demon, rumors of my death have surfaced every year, but..."
The Wrath Demon had no intention of listening.
It had already confirmed what it sought to know. The truth was laid bare. With its deeply feared adversary revealing its hand, nothing could restrain the fury boiling within Simon. Deceived! Duped! Once again, he'd been toyed with by the same demon, nearly becoming a living laughingstock! The Wrath Lord roared with fury, his claws snapping out of the book, leaving a deep gash.
Then, the raised claws came crashing down again.
Several pages were torn out haphazardly, followed by more. The resilient, sturdy pages ripped apart under the Wrath Demon's savage force, paper shreds flying everywhere. The yellow eyes on the book twisted in pain.
"Victor, Serpent of Lies! Once a mighty demon lord, now reduced to a pitiful clown!" Simon's roar shook the dungeon, his laughter drowning out the crisp tearing of fabric. "Repent! Wail! This miserable existence is worse than death by human blade!"
"On that point... I beg to differ," Victor murmured. "Truthfully, my regret lies further back... Why didn't I simply snap your neck back then?"
The voice trembled, yet its insolence remained undiminished. He had once again struck at Simon's sore spot, sending the latter into a furious rage. He's nothing but a loser! A pretentious piece of trash! The Wrath Demon's claws plunged deep into the book, the tip nearly piercing the cover. With a sharp diagonal slash, the book finally let out a wail of agony.
"Now, take me to the core of this dungeon!" Simon growled, his claws gripping the book like a stranglehold on an old enemy's throat. "Stop wasting my time. I'll give you a quick death. Tell me where the core is!"
The book in his hands emitted a muffled murmur, as if truly choked into silence. Simon loosened his grip slightly, only to hear Victor struggle out, "Why don't you guess?"
Rage surged again, nearly consuming Simon's entire head. His claws plunged into the book once more, this time dangerously close to the spine, grazing the yellow eyeball. Only the last shred of reason warning him of the trouble such an act might cause held him back.
"I'd be happy to enjoy tearing you apart bit by bit before finding it myself!" Simon threatened. "Now, tell me where the Heart of the Dungeon is!"
"Up there."
The voice came from behind him.
The Wrath Demon Simon turned his head, gazing at the winged creature behind him.
No killing intent, no threat, and no "presence" whatsoever—so much so that Simon only noticed the creature when it spoke. How could she blend so seamlessly into the dungeon? Simon stared at the creature resembling a female human, her eyes hollow and flat.
Victor cursed in Simon's hand.
In the corner of his mind, squeezed by rage, Simon found the answer swiftly.
"Ha, the masterless Broodmother," it sneered. "Very well. Lead me to the dungeon's core!"