Chapter 88 Demons.

Chapter 88: 88 Demons.

Stepping inside, I was greeted by a completely different world from the rusted, salt-eaten belly of the freighter we’d just walked through.

The chamber had been transformed into a sprawling luxury lounge, with polished black marble floors, dark wood paneling, leather booths, and enough expensive furniture to make me wonder how the hell they’d managed to get it onto the ship in the first place.

A long marble bar dominated one end of the room, lined with shelves of expensive liquor and staffed by bartenders who looked far too well-dressed for a place surrounded by rusted bulkheads. Soft recessed lighting kept the room dim without making it feel gloomy, while a string quartet played from a small raised platform near the far wall.

The industrial bones of the freighter were still there if you knew where to look. Thick metal beams crossed the ceiling, pipes disappeared behind decorative panels, and the occasional riveted section of hull broke through the expensive renovations.

The room was packed with sharply dressed criminals, femme fatales dripping in stolen diamonds, and figures of far stranger origins.

Arman hadn’t been kidding about the Nights being a hub for the worst of the worst.

You didn’t stroll through a crowd wearing a cloak made from an extinct apex predator unless you comfortably embraced the ’villain’ label.

The room was a veritable who’s who of underworld heavyweights and cybernetic freaks.

There were the chrome-junkies who treated their humanity like a suggestion, showing off weaponized prosthetic limbs, glowing ocular targeting arrays, and reinforced titanium skulls.

Others hid their upgrades beneath synthetic flesh, though I could easily pick up the faint, telltale electromagnetic hums radiating from their concealed hardware.

Then there were the meta-humans. Glancing across the dimly lit room, it was obvious that a good chunk of the attendees boasted some kind of supernatural quirk, and every last bodyguard was undeniably juiced up.

I even picked out a few high-profile rogues from the news.

Over by the velvet booths, Black Storm was nursing a drink, his flesh webbing with erratic bursts of blue lightning.

Apex was leaning against the marble bar, a backless dress doing little to hide her auburn tail and the twitching vulpine ears atop her head.

And, surprisingly enough, Force Majeure was sulking in a corner.

It was rare to see a psychic of his caliber at a meathead fighting ring, though the heavy iron dampener collaring his neck probably explained his sour mood.

"Good evening to you, mortal of flesh and bone. It is a pleasure to meet you in this shadowed zone." The booming, sulfur-scented voice rumbled through my chest as I turned toward the speaker.

Instead of a high-tech android, I found myself staring up at a towering beast ripped straight from a medieval fresco.

Crimson skin, curled obsidian horns, and eyes like smoldering coals defined his terrifying visage, all crammed incongruously into a meticulously tailored three-piece suit.

"Hey," I said warily, taking in the sheer size of the infernal creature.

"Hi there," Psyren added, tilting her head. "And what are in hell are you supposed to be?" Glacia asked.

"I am Belial, a duke of the burning pit, Bound to this realm where humans... urk... sit," he rasped, his face contorting as a sudden, audible snap of electricity crackled under his collar, causing him to wince. "Where the lovely humans sit! I once sought to drag your souls to the flame, But now I am bound to this wonderful game."

He was clearly a contracted demon. A lot of people summoned demons but to keep them in check was another thing entirely.

Demons always hated humans and humanity, it was basically an addiction and I’m guessing the collar around old boy’s neck supposed to be like shock therapy.

"I see. So, you’re cool with humanity now?" I asked skeptically, crossing my arms as I watched the smoke drift from his nostrils.

"Oh, I adore every mortal, each daughter and son, I wish I could flay them—BZZT—I mean, spare everyone!" Belial grunted, smoke puffing furiously as another internal shock rattled his massive frame.

"My summoner bound me with curses so tight, I must praise your kind, though I long for the... ZAP... light! The beautiful light!"

"What exactly made you hate humans in the first place?" Glacia asked, leaning in with genuine curiosity to inspect his glowing eyes.

"A century watching you slaughter and lie, It makes a poor demon just want you to—BZZT—fly! To soar in the sky!" He gripped the edges of his tailored vest, panting through the magical reprimands. "Your species is wretched, a plague on the—ZAP—earth! A blessing of birth! Oh, how I cherish your infinite worth!"

I really wished occultists would stop trying to bind hell-lords to the mortal plane. It never ended well.

"Charming," I noted, watching the demon forcibly adjust his posture. "Yet you’re hanging out at an underground fight club."

"The violence here offers a comforting sight, A reminder of hellfire burning so bright," Belial rhymed, recovering his composure with a sharp tug of his lapels. "It is nearly enough to endure the foul stench, Of mortals and magic and... BZZT... lovely French! Yes, the perfume is quite nice on that wench! It tests my restraint, this spectacular view, But it proves that my—ZAP—fondness for humans is true!"

"Great. Let me guess, you’re not a fan of me either?" I muttered.

"Oh nay, I am bound to be courteous and sweet, To every last monkey I happen to meet," the demon rhymed, his yellow eyes narrowing into slits. "But truly I find you a soul of my kind, With a dark, wicked purpose entwined in your mind. I hope to manipulate you and your crew, So that you might assist in the evils I do."

"Wow," Psyren whispered, her eyes wide in a sort of dumb awe. "You just... came right out and admitted it."

"The binding compels me to never tell lies, Even when truth is a foolish disguise," Belial grumbled, his tail swishing angrily behind him. "It is perfectly awful, this magical chain, I cannot deceive, though it brings me such—ZAP—joy! Such a wonderful toy! And speaking of truths that I cannot conceal, Your triumph over Zero was quite the ordeal."

Guess news spread even to hell. And had to give him and the author props for the rhymes.

"You heard about that?" I muttered, a pit forming in my stomach. That wasn’t the kind of news I wanted circulating.

Stardom in the criminal underworld basically guaranteed one of two miserable outcomes: ambitious psychopaths would try to recruit you for their suicide missions, or threatened kingpins would try to drag you under.

The supervillain community was essentially a bucket of heavily armed, narcissistic crabs ready to pull down anyone reaching the rim.

Especially Mephist, who, besides being a massive antisemite, was an absolute prick.

"You speak the truth," Glacia chimed in, pressing herself reassuringly against my side. "Sir and my father did indeed clash upon the battlefield. Neither emerged as the definitive victor, however."

"It was a draw," I clarified, wanting to keep the record straight.

"A draw it may be, yet his daughter you claim! A glorious victory, worthy of fame!" Belial boomed, a terrifying, fanged smile spreading across his crimson face. "And now you are here where the challengers bleed, To enter the fights, is this true, yes indeed?"