The queen continues in an impassive tone, almost as if she were reciting the rules of a children's game.
"There are eight smaller temples surrounding the main temple, connected by staircases. They can be used as guard posts. The game lasts a maximum of eight hours. The winner is the team that has inserted the most eyes into their statue at the end of the time. In the event of a tie, the team with the most remaining members wins."

“What if there’s a further tie in the number of members?” I ask.

“It will continue indefinitely until all members of one team are eliminated,” she responds.

As I listen, my mind works frantically.
This game, 'Spider's Eyes', is an intricate challenge. It lends itself to various strategies, all valid.
I observe the queen, trying to decipher her thoughts, but her face is an impenetrable mask.

I wonder if Sylthrenn, the Elfrider messenger, has hidden qualities that could be crucial in this game.
However, the rules and the type of game favor me, having a more numerous team. Additionally, to win, it's not necessary to defeat all enemies but rather to seize their gems.

The queen has chosen this game specifically, and this leads me to believe she feels strong in it.
I must remain vigilant, but I think traditional deathmatch games might not suit me, not knowing the strength and abilities of her Servants.

"I accept your conditions," I finally say, hiding my caution behind a mask of confidence.

"And I accept yours," responds the beautiful elven queen, satisfied.

"Now, let's put down in writing what we've discussed," the queen says as she bends down to pick up the inkwell and quill she had dropped earlier.

Beside me, I sense Raqahela's invisible presence.
I feel her discomfort, and the air turns electric, signaling that something of great importance is about to happen.

Without any theatrical effects, he appears, as though he had always been there.
Tension in the room escalates as Barthomefolus materializes.

The queen turns with a gesture of respect, bowing her head to her archdemon.
There is a clear relationship of subordination here.
"Barthomefolus, my lord, grant me your power and bear witness to the drafting of the Demonic Game of Death contract," she asks reverently.

My blood turns to ice. Terror, despair, horror.
I experience these and more. These dreadful sensations panic me.
Blackout.

Adrenaline starts to pump in my blood to counter the pure horror that the demon's figure provokes in me.
An aura of absolute power, a mountain that cannot be scaled.
Something ancient and terrifying, something a normal person could never survive an encounter with.
I thought I had seen it all, but I wasn't ready for him. Terror.

I step back, overwhelmed.

I am stopped by a gentle, warm touch.
Instantly, my mind feels lighter, the terror is gone. I am calm.
I turn around.

Behind me stands Raqahela. Her expression is serious, but I feel her support.
She infuses me with courage. I am not alone in this war.
Archdemon against archdemon. A war that has been repeating incessantly since the dawn of time.

The gaze of the enemy demon is intense, probing.
I feel his power and his threat, but I remain steady and focused. His appearance is horrendous.
There are no better words to describe it. Or perhaps there is one, now that I think about it more carefully.
Abomination.

The pig-headed figure looks at me, evoking disgust.
Its form is an abomination to reason: a humanoid pig, a beastly fusion of flesh and depravity, an affront to natural laws.
Its horns, akin to those of a goat, rise from its head like twisted towers, symbols of a distorted royalty.

The figure is immense. It towers well over three meters and is very heavy.
A majestically distorted figure in its horrific presence.
Four ostrich-like wings, immense and incongruous, sprout from its back, and from these, bird heads resembling tentacles protrude, pecking at the air agitatedly.

The aura surrounding it is laden with ancient and sinister malevolence, a darkness so thick it almost seems material.
In its hand, a gigantic pitchfork, a symbol of its perverse dominion, is pressed forcefully against the ground.

The demon grunts with each breath, and its eyes are bloodshot.
Its famished expression is eloquent, exuding insatiable hunger, insatiable greed, endless gluttony.

It does not speak, but I have the impression that it and Raqahela need not exchange words.
Their hatred is evident and permeates the entire room, almost suffocating me.

Raqahela is not intimidated. She is focused.
Eyes full of contempt meet those of her mortal enemy.
I have found myself in the middle of this war, and although I would have avoided it, I have no choice but to fight it to pursue my goals.

Azherie writes on the parchment the terms of the contract that we have discussed and negotiated, along with the rules of the Demonic Game of Death. The pen glides gracefully over the sheet of paper, the queen writing confidently without mistakes.
She uses my language, and I appreciate this concession from the queen.
I carefully read every line she writes.

Finally, with a fluid gesture, the queen signs the document.
The dark elf hands it to me, inviting me to sign.

“AzHaRiE yOu mUsT wIn! DeFeAt NoT tOlErAtEd. If YoU lOsE, i WiLl HuNt YoU dOwN.”
The dreadful sounds, like grunts echoing from the mouth of the archdemon, make the room tremble.
"I know, my lord," she replies with a bow of the head.

Then, looking at me, “StRaUsS wAgNeR. i AcKnOwLeDgE yOu As My EnEmY.”

“SHUT UP!” Raqahela yells with an intensity that shakes the room in the same way Barthomefolus did.
The two demons exchange a look of pure hatred.

“Sign the contract, her dear Strauss,” reassures the succubus.

I take the pen, feeling the ink sealing my fate and that of my companions.

I sign, aware that there is no turning back now.