Azharie Loree’Nahil, the queen, looks at me.
Behind the veil chain, her eyes shift colors. First, they are as white as snow, then a vibrant neon purple.

Emotions flicker across her face, though she tries to mask them under a facade of composure. With a slight hesitation, she raises her hand, never taking her eyes off me.

She summons a screen-orb that floats between us, revealing a devastating scene.

The city is consumed by flames and chaos.

On the screen, the advancing human crusaders appear, fierce and relentless. Amidst them stands a figure that glows, impossible to ignore, as if wrapped in a divine aura: the Hero, the Gold Heart of Flames.

His golden armor shines like the sun in the cavern's dimness, dazzling and menacing, while an unstoppable force radiates from him.

Each strike of his is like an anvil against stone, and beside him stands a dark-skinned cleric, hands lifted in a gesture of prayer, uttering words that seem to hum with divine power. Beams of sacred light fall like lightning, shattering defenses and tearing through stone walls as if they were paper.

The queen's weakness reveals itself to me in its simplicity, and her wavering state of mind makes it clear.
Her city, her realm, everything she has built.

Azharie holds her breath, her mask of superiority cracking more and more. Her confidence is fracturing, on the verge of breaking.

Her gaze darkens, and I can see the tension in her eyes, the simmering anger. This is the perfect moment.

I turn toward her with a smirk.

“Do you really think I could help you? After all, I’m not that strong,” I say, a touch of irony in my voice.

Azharie glares at me, and her voice is sharper than usual. “Strauss Wagner... Now you play humble? We both know it’s a lie,” she hisses, and in her tone, I catch a hint of frustration. The dark gem around her neck swings, gleaming with agitation.

I chuckle, amused by her reaction.

It’s clear she doesn’t know whether to overestimate or underestimate me. Make up your mind, Azharie.

This is the point where she’s at her most vulnerable. She thought she had me under control, and the Demonic Game of Death was proceeding according to her plan. The arrival of the Hero is a wildcard that shakes her certainties.

I’m a lucky bastard.

I look with satisfaction at the cursed ring now on my finger.

I move my hand, extending it toward her, without losing my smile.

 

“I suppose helping you is in my interest,” I continue, watching her absorb every word. “After all, this kingdom will be mine…” She has put everything she owns on the line.

Azharie stares at me intensely, her eyes now a deep, unsettling color. I see the shift in her gaze; anger and fear mingle, and for a moment, her eyes drift into the distance, as if calculating all the consequences.

“We have a common goal. The gods are enemies to both of us. Let’s seal this alliance.” The words come out firm as I extend my hand.

The smile I offer her is wicked, a perfect display of confidence.

Azharie's hand hovers in midair, with a slight tremor, as she looks at my outstretched hand.

She can only guess what it means to come into contact with me, but she is equally aware of the danger she faces if she refuses my alliance.

The fire and screams echoing from the depths of Arach’Che’el remind us that time is ticking relentlessly.

Her gaze falls on the ring I wear, a piece that might appear quite unremarkable to most.

Her eyes, shifting colors in a restless dance, betray her hesitation and the suppressed rage. I anticipate a surge of pride, perhaps even repulsion, but she merely studies me, a queen trying to gauge the risk of making a pact with an enemy she thought she understood.

"Come now, Queen Azharie," I say, my tone calm and persuasive.

I can sense her desire to maintain control, but the situation has already slipped beyond her grasp.
She's on the verge of yielding, and I know it.

I give a small shake of my hand, signaling that I’m waiting for her to take it.

Azharie glances down at my hand and exhales softly.

Her hand moves with deliberate slowness, as though she’s battling an inner urge to pull back.

"Destiny is circular, but the future is always uncertain, isn't it?" I say, an ambiguous smile spreading across my face. "Human wisdom, our brief existence, teaches us that it's best to focus on the present." My expression is meant to be reassuring, though I'm certain it doesn’t reassure her at all. Quite the opposite.

Azharie nods slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

She is very aware of my ability, but does she know exactly how it works? I doubt it.
How much does she actually know? Is she aware of the infinite potential and ways in which I myself haven’t fully discovered it yet?
This ability is my OP power that has allowed me to get this far.

She knows something about my power, but not everything. No one knows everything.

Cleverly, she has always kept her distance, and even during the drafting and signing of the contract for the Demonic Game of Death, she was meticulously attentive to every detail, reassured by the presence of Barthomefolus, always careful to prevent any chance of direct contact between us.

"You could always handle the invaders yourself," I suggest with a slight tilt of my head. "I’m sure you would prevail." The irony is evident, though it would certainly be convenient for me if Azharie were occupied in battle, sparing me from getting my hands dirty.

She looks at me with disdain. "This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it, Strauss Wagner?"

"Exactly." There is no reason to hide it, nor to deny it. What she perceives as a risky move, I see as my greatest opportunity.

"Must I remind you," she continues with a solemn tone, "that should either of us die, the game would be nullified?"

"You needn't worry, Queen," I reply, with a calm smile that hints at my underlying thoughts. "Your safety is more assured than mine. After all, I am your prize, just as you are mine."

She stares at me, trying to decipher the hidden intentions behind my words.

She knows I am plotting something, and every taut muscle in her face shows it, but she is cornered and fully aware that she has no other options.

"Don't think this will allow you to win," she finally states, her voice dripping with challenge and authority.

An empty declaration, as the gears leading to her defeat are already in motion.

 

Then she grips my hand.

 

Our hands intertwine for a moment laden with tension.

 

And in that moment, a familiar signal rings in my mind.

*DLING*

 

[[ Curse Successfully Implanted! ]]

 

A perverse satisfaction washes over me.

I feel the urge to laugh, to let out a sharp and mad chuckle, but I remain still, keeping my expression calm.

Her eyes, shifting color once more, seem to hint at a subtle suspicion, as if she sensed an imperceptible change in the air.

But there is nothing visible, nothing tangible for her to grasp.

Can you feel it, Azharie? The moment when I took control of the game?

You should know, like the spider you are. The spider is a patient predator.
It weaves its web slowly, waiting for the prey to make a mistake.

How does it feel, Azharie, to be caught in someone else's web?

The grip of her hand is fierce and intense, as if she wants to pierce my skin, reach my bone, and leave her mark of power on me.

But that time is over, and Azharie no longer has anything that can shake me.

I feel no pain. Only an immense pleasure as I reclaim my role. It is the pleasure of control.

 

Her fingers release their hold from mine, and a shadow of uncertainty flits across her face.

I see the surprise in her eyes, as if she were expecting a strike, a visible sign, something that would leave a tangible mark of my power.

But the subtlest curses are like whispers, and like a poison that spreads slowly through the veins, they do not need noise to corrupt.

In her mind, nothing has changed.

A dark, muffled laugh echoes in my thoughts; I feel it wanting to escape, but I hold it back.

There is no need for her to know she has signed her own doom. That moment will come, but not now.

 

Now, I must focus on my objective, one that goes beyond the confrontation with her.

I need something more: a power that can bridge the gap between me and the divine forces pouring into this war.

While my ultimate aim is to distract the queen, I cannot underestimate the fact that I will eventually have to face Heroes directly.

The contracts have made me strong, but not that strong.

I need to take a page from your book, queen.
That willingness to risk everything, to lose everything, to use everything in pursuit of something far greater.

At this moment, I don't need to read minds, the power I had been saving for so long.
I need another power. I need the power to make the impossible possible, a power that allows me to fight against enemies beyond my reach.

I close my eyes, hearing the thin, teasing laugh of Raqahela in my mind.

“You’ve finally decided, her dear bishop,” her voice whispers, vibrating in my mind like a dark invitation.

I let myself be enveloped by that whisper, igniting within me an indomitable desire for dominance.

I feel a call coursing through my veins, and without hesitation, I open the [DEMONIC SHOP].

An ethereal, tempting place, a dark fair of forbidden and hidden desires.
The dark lights of the shop illuminate in my mind, and the items for sale glisten like jewels offered to my greed.

Here, the only limit is what I'm willing to spend.

Rows of skills and equipment stretch everywhere; essences that only ask to be exchanged for a price.

Here, where everything can be bought, the cost is steep, very steep. To win this, it’s a currency I’m willing to pay.

[[ YOU HAVE 12 CORRUPTION POINTS AVAILABLE ]]

With a smile playing on my lips, ready for the gamble, I dive into that vision of power.
I scroll through the possibilities and prepare for the purchase.