The demon revels in tormenting Eden's general. He laughs, giggles, wipes tears from his eyes. Erastos grits his teeth, all strength sapped; his body lies shattered, broken bones screaming silently after being hurled across the hall. The servants crouch beneath the second-floor corridor, frozen. Soldiers stare at the monster, paralyzed, watching their master treated like a feather, flung aside by nothing more than Kerberon's fingertips.
Sighing, the demon mutters, "I can't stop laughing…"
His amusement sharpens into smug disappointment. "I expected weakness, but not *this*… utterly pathetic."
Removing his black gloves, he tucks them into his coat pocket. "Well, now… time to end the fun. I don't like winning too easily."
Erastos' rage boils. "Unfair? Yes. Weakening ourselves to entertain you is unfair. But we would have reduced you to dust by now."
Kerberon squats before him, squinting with an ominous grin. "Aww, so cute, Mr. General~ Acting high and mighty while…" He pokes Erastos' knee. Pain erupts, searing as if carved alive.
"…you're in a state like this. Screaming feels stress-relieving, huh?" He digs deeper, forcing writhing agony. "Save the tough-guy act for later."
Standing, he dusts off his hands. "What filth in the name of purity… sigh." He straightens his coat, adjusts a blood-red tie, and theatrically clears his throat, savoring the silence before the next strike.
Midday sunlight gilds him as he pivots toward the hall's heart. For a heartbeat, he seems noble, poised—then his voice explodes:
"HIS MAJESTY AEONOCH, GOD-EATER, KING OF THE FURNACE REALMS, COMMANDS EDEN'S KNEELING! REFUSE, AND WATCH AS YOUR REALM CRUMBLES! THE SKIES WILL TEAR! THE FOUNDATIONS OF CREATION WILL SCREAM! KNEEL TO THE TRUE LORD, OR BE ERASED TO THE LAST WHISPER OF YOUR NAME!"
The hall quakes. Air burns. The echo lingers, yet the crowd remains frozen, Erastos' fury muted into blank incomprehension.
Kerberon scoffs. "Surprised? Take your time. Process. Comprehend my words… if you can." He produces a gold pocket watch, checks it, and tucks it away.
Leisurely, he approaches the three injured royals. Erastos, powerless, twists his head: "Step closer… and I'll kill you!"
Kerberon rolls his eyes. "Ugh, come on… what exactly will you do?"
Squatting among the fallen, Kerberon inspects each face. Crimson glows bloom from the touch of his fingers to Zenobios, Areios, and Athanasia. Ruby-like crystals hover, humming quietly. He deposits them in pouches, tying all three together, then tosses them playfully toward a portal that ripples with violet chaos. The pouches vanish into its depths.
"These… are your lords' divine powers. I'll be taking them~" He grins, watching Erastos' impotent rage.
Turning away, he casually mentions Arcadia, mocking its destruction and the gods' failures. "Once your masters wake, bring them there. Don't worry, we won't kill you—more dignity than you could ever have."
Erastos mutters, "You…"
Kerberon checks his watch again. "Apologies, running late." A portal opens behind him: red winds, ash, scattered bones, the scent of burned flesh. "Home sweet home." He steps through, pauses, bows mockingly, winks at Erastos, and the portal snaps shut. Hell claims him once more.