Chapter 131 - Because This Guy’s Fun!

  The echoing laughter of Malzaphir roared like a thunderclap inside the vast, radiant hall. It didn’t come from above or below—it simply existed, everywhere at once, vibrating through the marble floor, shivering against the tall columns, and humming through the very bones of the air itself. Adam felt it before he heard it fully, that low and delighted cackle growing into something that practically shook the world. The archdevil’s presence—already towering above him like a colossal specter of twisted elegance and chaotic beauty—blazed brighter, the spirals of devilish energy twisting around him like ribbons of crimson void.

  Adam could feel it. Not just the energy, but the knowledge. Something deep was being poured into his mind like molten steel into an already prepared mold. There was no confusion, not even questions. The moment Malzaphir had responded to his challenge, the moment he had accepted the invitation to battle beside him, everything simply made sense. Part of the archdevil's knowledge has gone straight to his brain. His body felt light, but not weak—enhanced in every way that mattered. His reflexes sharpened, his instincts elevated, and his understanding of the palace’s bizarre rules clarified.

  He now understood why Meera had moved with such impunity through Arianka’s sacred domain. Why hadn’t she hesitated to destroy pillars, launch attacks, or stain the divine marble floor with the residue of battle. Arianka’s authority… was absent. Completely. Not suppressed, not weakened. It simply wasn’t there. Not in the garden nor the palace. Somehow, the goddess’ influence had vanished entirely from her own realm. So long as they weren’t seen directly—so long as no guardian bore witness—Meera had been able to act freely. And now, so could he.

  The sudden spike of awareness and control that surged into him was nearly intoxicating.

  Meera’s expression twitched when she sensed the shift. For the first time since the beginning of their fight, her grin faltered—but only for a heartbeat. Then it widened again. She wasn’t afraid; on the contrary, she looked excited.

  But before she could say a word, before the tension could be broken by taunt or gesture, a voice boomed—sharp and laced with divine fury.

  “Malzaphir?! What are you doing here?!”

  It was Zha’vrin’s voice—not Meera’s. The god himself had spoken through the echoing divine form looming above her, his glowing third eye blazing with discontent. Meera blinked in open confusion, twisting slightly to glance up at her patron’s colossal visage.

  “W-What’s wrong?”

  Her voice cracked slightly due to her inability to understand the situation. She’d never heard Zha’vrin sound like that before. Malzaphir, still looming above Adam like a serpentine halo of devilish elegance, simply threw his head back and laughed louder.

  “What do you think?”

  the archdevil replied, voice like silk dragged across broken glass.

  “I’m here because I felt like it. And now I’m staying just to spite your pathetic ass.”

  Without another word, Adam vanished from where he stood. A sonic boom cracked through the room like a cannon blast.

  Meera barely had time to flinch before Adam’s fist was already crashing toward her. Chakrams clanged as they spun to defend her, but the first barrage of attacks was relentless. A blur of movement so fast and precise it blurred reality itself. The boy wasn’t just faster—he was everywhere. His body left afterimages wreathed in black and crimson flame, devilish energy tearing the very air apart with each impact. Meera backstepped, deflected, twisted, but even her agile, dance-like style faltered under the sheer weight of the onslaught.

  Every blow was sharp, calculated, and terrifyingly efficient. When they finally separated, Meera was panting, her left shoulder guard cracked and smoking, while Adam stood calmly, fists at his sides. Devilish tendrils pulsed around his arms, still faintly glowing from residual energy. The woman blinked, staggered slightly, then exhaled a short, breathless laugh.

  “You’re the first to ever push me like that while I’m in sync with Zha’vrin.”

  She muttered, voice trembling with adrenaline.

  “It’s exhilarating!”

  She began to raise her hands, preparing to form a stance, to summon a new skill, to strike back with force worthy of a demigoddess… But Adam was gone again.

  She barely had time to gasp before she realized the air in front of her had shifted. Her instincts screamed, but her body couldn’t follow in time. A fist, cloaked in writhing shadows and flame, halted just a breath away from her face.

  Hovering there—grinning with monstrous glee—was the image of a laughing devilish visage, its eyes blazing with infernal hunger. A system window appeared in front of Adam, glowing with jagged red edges.

  Then the fist connected and the explosion was cataclysmic.

  A wave of corrupted flame detonated from Meera’s position with such force that the very fabric of the divine chamber screamed. The floor split apart as if it had been struck by a divine blow, tiles snapping and flinging upward like shrapnel. A dome of violent, sickly-colored energy expanded outward, shredding everything in its path. Pillars that had stood for untold centuries cracked and collapsed under the pressure. Walls sculpted with divine artistry disintegrated as the blast wave tore through them. The golden designs etched into the marble dissolved into splinters of molten metal, consumed by the relentless force.

  The shockwave lifted everything that wasn’t anchored to the floor, and at its center, the source of it all—Meera’s body—was cast through the chaos like a meteor.

  Her body spun violently through the air, carving a path of destruction through the structure. She crashed through the far wall with an impact that rattled the surroundings. Not content with that, her momentum carried her through another, then another. Debris followed her like a trail of fury, crumbling in her wake. The palace, this sacred space of perfect harmony, trembled under the weight of the assault, and then everything fell silent.

  But the silence was not peace. It was the kind of stillness that pressed down on the skin and made even the air feel heavy. And then it was broken—not by the roar of power, but by something far quieter and yet infinitely more ominous.

  A groan echoed from the heap of broken stone and dust. Meera rose slowly, dragging herself up from the debris. Her figure was a mess of damage and blood. Her clothes, once pristine and radiating divine elegance, now bore deep rips that split across her chest and arms like lightning scars. Blood ran down her cheek in uneven rivulets, collecting at her jaw and dripping steadily.

  One of her chakrams had snapped from its frame, its inner core flickering weakly beside her. The other she held tight in trembling fingers, the grip more stubborn than strong. She was breathing heavily, every intake a struggle, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly as if her body fought to obey her will. Yet her eyes still burned—not with serenity or poise, but with the smoldering fire of someone who refused to collapse.

  From the fading smoke, Adam stepped forward. His silhouette was framed by the dull glow of residual devilish flames, and every footstep was deliberate, as though each one marked the end of something. He was not smiling. His expression was sharpened with complete focus. There was no doubt in his gaze, no hesitation, only determination.

  Malzaphir's influence still poured over him like a dark ocean, and the whispers of the archdevil coiled around his thoughts. Knowledge that wasn't his now surged within him—knowledge of divine rhythms, combat predictions, and the flow of Meera’s entire fighting style. He understood her movements before she made them. He saw through the feints and into the openings hidden between each spin of her deadly blades. She had started this duel by toying with him, forcing him to move according to her choreography, trying to prove something. She had thought herself untouchable, unbeatable, above him in every regard.

  That stupidity would cost her dearly. Now, Adam would not allow her the space to recover. The boy would not hold back at all; he now knew what the woman was capable of if she got serious, and he wouldn't step back and give her the chance to regain even a moment of composure.

  Meera lifted her head slowly, her neck stiff with pain, and her hair stained in blood and marble dust. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her left arm trembling just slightly as she wiped a trail of crimson from the corner of her lip. Despite the clear damage and the smoke still curling around her body, the crooked, infuriating grin never left her face. She looked up at Adam, who now towered over her with shadows dancing around his figure, and let out a half-laugh.

  “Didn’t you say something about not destroying the palace just now?”

  Adam didn’t even blink. His voice came low, sharp, and cold as steel.

  “It’s fine… I’ll just say it was your doing.”

  That response struck harder than any physical blow. Meera’s brow twitched, and for the first time since the battle began, a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek, not from pain or exhaustion, but from something else. Her grin faltered just a touch—just enough for Malzaphir to burst into fresh, thunderous laughter above Adam’s shoulders.

  While the woman adjusted her stance, preparing to rise from the crater she’d been driven into, Zha’vrin’s voice cut through the divine chamber again, heavier now, weighted with irritation and disbelief.

  “Malzaphir! Why are you even siding with a human?!”

  The archdevil’s response was immediate and deafening.

  “Bahahahaha! Do you want a reason?”

  He howled with glee. At that same moment, Adam blurred forward again—his devilish energy coiling around his limbs like writhing shadows of command. He raised his arm for a second strike, energy warping the air itself, and launched downward. Malzaphir’s voice echoed as the punch connected.

  “It’s simple! This guy’s fun!”

  The impact was colossal. This time, Meera barely managed to lift one chakram in defense, the edge catching the bulk of the force, but the angle had changed. Instead of being blasted away, her body was driven into the floor like a meteor, her legs folding awkwardly beneath her as the stone cracked violently around her form. She couldn’t even scream. The entire structure groaned under the sheer weight of the strike. Dust and debris shot outward like a volcanic eruption, and when the air finally began to settle, Adam stood above her once again.

  He didn’t hesitate. He knew Meera was still conscious—he could feel it, sense it in the way her divine connection pulsed, refusing to sever. His eyes narrowed. That was the thing about someone like her—two attacks, no matter how brutal, would never be enough. As long as Zha’vrin kept feeding her, she would stand back up. So he raised his fist again, ready to bring it down for a third time—ready to keep hitting until she stayed down for good.

  But just before the blow landed, a voice thundered across the shattered chamber.

  “Enough! You cannot let that bastard Malzaphir defeat you!”

  Adam’s instincts flared with immediate danger, and he didn’t question it. His body moved before his mind caught up, twisting and leaping backwards just in time to avoid what came next. Meera’s body exploded in a violent flare of divine energy, a radiant surge of power that cracked the stones beneath her and illuminated every corner of the massive chamber. The sheer magnitude of it made Adam’s skin crawl.

  She rose, not stumbling anymore. Like her wounds had been erased, like the agony of the last two blows had never happened. Her scream was primal, filled with ecstasy and fury as tendrils of divinity crawled over her arms, wrapping her like burning threads of fate. Her eyes glowed gold, her limbs brimming with new strength, and above her, the spectral visage of Zha’vrin roared in unison with her.

  “That bastard.”

  Zha’vrin growled, his silhouette flickering violently.

  “I hate how much of a rotten snake he is!”

  Then came the system prompts, three windows flickering in succession before Adam’s vision:

  Adam gritted his teeth. Whatever that skill was, it had broken whatever limiter Zha’vrin had. The air had grown heavier in an instant, and the divine pressure now swelled to the point it made his bones feel like they were vibrating.

  Meera looked at her hands as if seeing them for the first time, golden light flaring from her palms and arms. She was laughing—manic, thrilled, unstoppable.

  “Thank you, Zha’vrin!”

  She shouted, grinning with feral delight.

  “This is awesome!”

  The golden light pouring from Meera’s body was enough to wash over the far ends of the shattered chamber. Adam stood still, his posture firm, the heavy air folding around him like layers of pressure ready to collapse in. The temple trembled beneath the divine surge that now poured freely through Meera. But even as her laughter echoed with newfound fervor and Zha’vrin loomed above in radiant form, Adam didn’t move. And that alone was enough to make Malzaphir stop laughing.

  The archdevil, perched above Adam like a twisted crown of shadows and mockery, exhaled in exaggerated disappointment and finally folded his arms, his amused grin melting into a scowl of theatrical boredom.

  “I was having so much fun, and they ruined it.”

  He muttered, the echo of his voice curling in the air like smoke. Adam remained silent, watching Meera from beneath his fringe as embers of corrupted energy coiled at his heels. Malzaphir clicked his tongue and looked toward Zha’vrin’s glowing silhouette with open disdain.

  “Vile human, Zha’vrin’s sharing his own skill directly with her now. [Unison of Body and Mind] won’t be enough to keep up. That smug enlightenment-obsessed ornament is cheating.”

  A long sigh followed, echoing off the cracked marble.

  “It’s frustrating. I’m a supreme Archdevil who could easily shred Zha’vrin’s pretty little halo into glitter, but I don’t have the ability to directly share my skills with you yet.”

  He glanced down at Adam again.

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  “So unless you plan to die in a flashy way, I suggest—”

  “Is that so?”

  Adam interrupted calmly, still not looking back. His voice was quiet, almost too quiet given the pressure flooding the room.

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to show you something funnier.”

  The sudden silence that followed made the wind seem louder. Without another word, Adam raised both hands, and in his palms manifested two familiar, worn, spectral-bound tomes—[Necronomicon Single Chapter (Replica)], one in each hand. Their spines crackled with ghostly runes, and their inkless pages flipped in unnatural silence. The sight made even Malzaphir’s eyes widen slightly.

  “What are you—”

  The Archdevil began, confusion curling into his voice. But Adam didn’t respond out loud. His thoughts, carried through the connection they now shared, passed directly into Malzaphir’s mind.

  Thanks to the surge of energy from the prior synchronization, Adam had been gifted not only a direct link to a fraction of the Archdevil’s power but a torrent of knowledge too vast to be offered under normal circumstances. Zha’vrin and other deities meticulously filtered their connection to their contractors so as to not overload their minds. But Malzaphir—true to his chaotic, impulsive nature—had carelessly passed the full brunt of part of his mental archives into Adam without a shred of filtering.

  And the boy, whose mind had long been trained to absorb a lot of information in a short amount of time due to his intense study sessions, hadn’t been crushed by the flow. His [Mental Resistance Lv8] had also taken the part of the weight and converted it into something usable. Not all at once, but as memory.

  That’s why he could feel it now. Somewhere inside Malzaphir’s arsenal—hidden, perhaps even forgotten by the devil himself—was a resonance with a certain cursed item. One Adam now held.

  “This was luck, I never would’ve thought you had anything linked to the Necronomicon.”

  Adam said under his breath, lowering his gaze to the books.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Malzaphir demanded, his voice rising sharply, more curious than angry now. But the moment had already arrived. Adam’s hands tightened around both replicas. A deafening pulse of devilish energy erupted from his arms, black and crimson like melted void, rushing through the air like molten threads of chaos. Both books began to glow unnaturally, flickering with something beyond divine or infernal, something ancient and forbidden. And then, without a single chant or ritual, he slammed the two tomes together in a violent impact that shook the foundations of the room.

  The entire space convulsed, and some system windows burst into view in rapid succession, flooding his vision.

  The room dimmed. The presence of something unspeakable began to stir within the pages.

  The tome in Adam’s hands was unlike anything he had ever held before. The fusion of both Necronomicon replicas, now reshaped by the influence of a Supreme Archdevil, had birthed something that exuded dread and power with every breath of air around it.

  The cover was forged of something that looked like stitched leather, though it shimmered as if alive, pulsing with veins of black ink that glowed faintly crimson beneath the surface. A seal lay embedded in its center—Malzaphir’s crest etched in ever-shifting runes, impossible to look at directly for too long without nausea clawing at the back of one’s skull. Its spine cracked with the weight of ancient curses, and each page flickered between solid parchment and a liquid-like veil of forbidden script, as though the very concepts it held refused to remain still. The book hummed, a low reverberation that made the divine marble beneath Adam’s boots tremble.

  Malzaphir, still floating above him in a curtain of madness and shadow, stared at the tome with an expression of pure disbelief before erupting in laughter so loud and manic that it echoed through the fractured chamber like a chorus.

  “Bahahahaha! What the hell? How are you using one of my tomes when I didn’t even give you permission?!”

  The Archdevil twirled in the air, clutching his head as if the absurdity physically hurt.

  “I didn’t even know I had that one left!”

  Adam ignored the laughter. His lips curled into a subtle, almost smug grin as he opened the unholy tome before him. Pages turned on their own, flipping violently through scriptures written in ink made of pain and memory. Lines hissed with power, and between their warped alphabets, dark glyphs began to glow. His fingers rested on one page in particular, and his voice rang clear with unnatural clarity.

  “I told you I was going to show you something fun.”

  Adam whispered… On the far end of the room, Meera’s synchronization was complete. The energy around her had condensed into a glowing aura of impossible purity, divine and cruel all at once. Zha’vrin’s manifestation hovered just behind her, four arms outstretched, six eyes now locked on Adam with a loathing that radiated through the air like a blade across the skin. Meera’s chakrams burned with white-hot light as her heels scraped back along the broken tiles. In the blink of an eye, she vanished—her body launching forward in a blinding sprint, closing the distance with devastating speed.

  But Adam did not flinch. His voice sliced through the air, clean and absolute.

  “Come! Az’Karul’s Versebreaker Spear!”

  The page of the tome pulsed red, and from the open grimoire, tendrils of devilish script unraveled like torn threads from the seams of reality. They wrapped around Adam’s hand, encasing his forearm in a gauntlet of writhing sigils, and from it burst forth a weapon forged not of steel, but of blasphemous knowledge. The lance that formed was long and jagged, spiraling upward like a twisted helix of bone and obsidian glass.

  Its head was triangular, yet asymmetrical, each edge inscribed with a thousand runes that bled darkness. At its core pulsed a beating heart of ink, its rhythm matching Adam’s own. Trails of black fire followed its every motion, and the moment it fully formed, it launched from the boy’s side with a shriek that resembled a scream trapped between dimensions.

  Meera’s eyes widened—just slightly—but it was enough to show she hadn’t expected it.

  “Absolute Mandala!”

  She shouted. In an instant, a shield bloomed from her outstretched hand—an immense, spinning disc of radiant energy shaped like a divine mandala. It hovered before her like an intricate blossom of sacred geometry, lines and circles interlocked in perfect balance. Every color within it shimmered with divine resonance: gold, sapphire, silver, and pearlescent white wove together in rhythmic pulses, like a divine song turned visual. As the lance struck, the collision sparked a violent clash between devilish entropy and celestial order.

  The impact point between the Az’Karul’s Versebreaker and the Absolute Mandala had turned into a maelstrom of raw energy—a violent crossroad of divine precision and infernal chaos. The mandala spun furiously in the space before Meera, its symmetrical pattern fracturing at its edges under the continuous assault. It pulsed with sacred light, each layer of the holy design rotating in alternating directions, trying to dissipate the dark force lancing into it.

  Meanwhile, the lance—still guided telepatically by Adam’s steady hand—shifted minutely with each twitch of his fingers, like a conductor guiding a symphony. Zha’vrin’s voice boomed across the chamber, sharp and demanding.

  “What is this?! Malzaphir! How can a human wield forbidden artifacts and mirror the abilities of the divine?!”

  His wrath crackled in the air like thunder, divine fury coiling behind every word. Malzaphir didn’t even attempt to hide his glee. He floated lazily above Adam’s form, legs crossed midair, grinning like a lunatic with stars caught in his teeth.

  “Bahahahaha! Oh, you’re so pitiful when you’re mad. Look at you—sputtering like a little brat.”

  Below, the collision only grew more intense. Meera had dug her heels into the polished divine flooring, holding both arms forward as the force of her Absolute Mandala shield pushed back against the lance’s unrelenting assault. Her smile had returned, wide and full of thrill, her chakrams now hovering behind her like wings of steel.

  “This is it!”

  She shouted between clenched teeth, eyes wild with excitement.

  “This is what I wanted! A proper clash! The strongest spear versus the mightiest shield! Whoever breaks first—loses!”

  Adam didn’t respond at first. He merely exhaled, low and slow. His left hand rose with purpose, fingers opening like he was about to cradle something invisible in his palm.

  “You’re wrong… You lost the moment your god got desperate and shared with you his own skill.”

  He said at last. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chamber all the same. Zha’vrin’s glow flared.

  “How dare you speak so boldly, wretch?! You—who consorts with devils—you will burn for that arrogance!”

  But Adam had already begun his next move. His left hand lit up with a spiraling darkness, so deep and cold it made the divine light around them flicker, invoking two of the skills he needed for this situation: [God's Plague] and [Corrupted Existence]. System messages appeared in rapid succession, flashing like alarms in front of Meera.

  Each message hammered into Meera’s mind as the holy mandala began to darken at its core. It began to decay as if it were rusting. The divine threads that had once made it invulnerable began to twist and split apart, as if rejecting their own existence. Light turned to oxide. The sacred symmetry dissolved into black, oil-like sludge dripping into the air. Meera’s expression faltered. Her eyes snapped wide, horror creeping through even her unbreakable facade.

  “What—?!”

  The corruption was total. [God’s Plague] seeped into every line of the skill, turning it against itself. The more Meera poured her divine energy into maintaining it, the more the infection bloomed—because that was its nature. It fed on divinity and turned faith into decay. Zha’vrin let out a roar of disbelief and rage.

  “Malzaphir!! What the hell did you do?! Where did you get this abomination disguised as a human being?!”

  The Archdevil laughed harder, spinning midair in glee, arms spread wide.

  “Bahahahaha! Zha’vrin, this is just a fraction of the Fourth Ring’s power!”

  The Absolute Mandala finally shattered. It didn’t explode, but it crumbled. The shield fell apart like crumbling porcelain, eaten away from the inside out until nothing remained but flecks of light dissolving into nothingness. The lance, still intact and trembling with stored force, surged forward into the void left behind.

  Zha’vrin screamed one last time.

  “DAMMIT!!”

  His divine projection thrashed in the air like a beast in agony, clutching at its skull with all six arms. The celestial eyes dimmed, wings folding as if recoiling from poison. And then, as if ripped away by unseen hands, the god’s manifestation fractured and vanished, torn from the mortal plane.

  The lance surged forward with unstoppable momentum, its form an elegant spiral of demonic scripture and shrieking energy, burning through the air with purpose. But just before it could reach its mark, Adam moved two fingers sharply to the side. The weapon obeyed in an instant. In a blur of impossible motion, Az’Karul’s Versebreaker twisted in midair, bending at a perfect angle and veering upward like a beast redirected. It carved through the ceiling with a thunderous screech, vanishing in a trail of crackling energy and stone dust, leaving only its echo behind.

  Only then did Meera’s body begin to collapse. Her legs gave out first, trembling beneath the weight of defeat. Blood spilled from her mouth in thick droplets, splashing onto the cracked marble beneath her. Her limbs no longer holding strength, her consciousness severed the moment Zha’vrin’s presence was torn away. Her chakram slipping from her hands and clattering uselessly to the floor. Her eyes rolled back, wide and white, stripped of awareness.

  She hit the ground with a heavy thud, a final groan escaping her throat before silence reclaimed her.

  Behind Adam, Malzaphir was still half-floating, arms crossed and lips curled into a bemused grin, though now with a flicker of confusion in his many eyes.

  “Huh.”

  The Archdevil muttered, tilting his head.

  “Why didn’t you finish her? That was your cleanest chance. Bahahaha—what a waste! You’ve been corrupted already if you’re leaving enemies alive out of pity.”

  Adam’s expression didn’t change. His gaze remained on Meera’s unconscious form.

  “In any other situation, you’d be right. Eliminating her now would be safer. No one from her team would know what happened to her in here. They’d assume she was eliminated inside some divine construct and move on without her… But I want something more valuable than her death.”

  Malzaphir floated a little closer, the grin returning.

  “Information?”

  “Exactly.”

  The devil laughed again, louder this time, though laced with derision.

  “You ignorant fool. I know you can feel it too. That contractor has an absurd level of willpower. Even if you tortured her for centuries, she’d just bite her tongue off before letting anything useful slip.”

  Adam took a step forward, slow and unthreatening.

  “Who said anything about torture? She will tell me everything willingly.”

  Malzaphir’s chuckle tapered off.

  “How? Don’t tell me you’re going to try mental manipulation. Her mind is guarded. Zha’vrin’s influence leaves a divine aftertaste in her psyche. You’d need something of equal power to cut through that.”

  Adam knelt beside the unconscious woman, his voice calm.

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  He raised his right hand and brought his index finger to his lips, biting hard until blood welled up. Without hesitation, he leaned closer, gently parting Meera’s lips with one hand and letting the dark crimson drip slowly into her mouth. Each drop was thick with corrupted energy, tainted by two disgusting skills.

  Malzaphir hovered above him, uncharacteristically quiet now. Adam spoke softly, almost like a confession.

  “This isn’t something I like doing. But I’d be a fool not to. There’s too much to gain.”

  The moment her tongue touched the blood, a deep pulse emanated from her chest—a reaction not from her, but from the divine energy still clinging to her soul. Adam’s fingers brushed against her forehead, and in his mind, two skills activated in tandem: [Soulcrusher Virus] and [God’s Plague].

  The first seeped into her memories like smoke, insidious and slow, replacing her identity’s neural anchors with false echoes—rewriting images, sounds, reactions. And the second skill? It made her divine protections assist in the process. Zha’vrin’s blessing, meant to shield her from mental interference, amplified Adam’s infection by twisting resistance into acceptance. The stronger her mental barriers, the deeper the corruption sank.

  Malzaphir’s silence was finally broken by a low, impressed hum.

  “...I’ll admit, that’s rather clever and disgusting, I knew you had it in you, vile human.”

  Adam didn’t answer. He simply sat back against the broken column, eyes half-lidded, body aching. Malzaphir’s divine projection shimmered, flickered, and then dissolved, the Archdevil returning to the depths of the boy’s soul with a soft chuckle trailing behind.

  The grand chamber was still again.

  Minutes passed, and Adam retrieved one of the pills from the inner pocket of his jacket, one of Drake’s high-grade restorative pills, and placed it gently between Meera’s lips. He tapped her chin to stimulate a reflex, ensuring she swallowed.

  Then he waited, and waited... Time blurred until, eventually, a faint groan rose from Meera’s throat. Her fingers twitched. Her eyelids fluttered like curtains in the breeze. Then, slowly and cautiously, her eyes opened. Not wild nor panicked. Just... dazed.

  Adam leaned slightly forward, and Meera’s vision cleared. Her pupils adjusted to the light. She stared at him for a full second.

  Then she threw herself into his arms.

  The motion was abrupt and clumsy—her body still weak, her coordination lacking—but she clung to him with both arms, burying her face in his chest. And she began to sob. Not loud or hysterical, but deep, wounded cries muffled against his clothes.

  Adam let out a long sigh, staring at the fractured ceiling.

  “Figures…”

  He muttered, arms slowly rising to return the embrace. Meanwhile, Malzaphir, deep inside his host’s soul, burst into fresh laughter.