Max descended into the Ring of Sloth through a slow-forming shadow gate, the air immediately growing heavier and duller around him.
Sloth was nothing like the other Rings. Instead of chaos or decadence, it was packed with long-term institutions — hospitals that never seemed to finish construction, endless office complexes, rehabilitation centers, motels, asylums, and government-style buildings that processed paperwork for centuries. It was the Ring of things that took forever.
Max glanced around as he walked through wide, quiet streets. "Huh. Makes sense, actually. Bureaucracy really is Hell's truest torture."
Eventually, he reached Belphegor's palace.
Calling it a palace was generous. It looked like a massive mansion made entirely out of beds, couches, pillows, blankets, and mattresses layered together like a grotesque monument to comfort. Towers of stacked beds leaned lazily, supported by enchanted frames and floating cushions.
He stepped inside.
Immediately, his boots sank several inches into the floor.
"Of course it's memory foam," Max muttered, struggling forward as each step tried to swallow him whole.
It took several minutes of slow, stubborn progress before he reached the throne room.
At the center sat Belphegor herself, sprawled across a mountain of pillows, blankets draped over her like royal regalia. She was completely unconscious, breathing slow and deep.
Max cleared his throat.
Nothing.
He sighed and quietly amplified his voice.
"BELPHEGOR."
The sound boomed through the room.
She jolted violently upright, hair wild, eyes unfocused. "Wha—what year is it?!"
"Still the bad one," Max said dryly. "You summoned me for a job."
She blinked several times, finally focusing on him. "Oh. Right. You."
She yawned, already drooping again. "Yes, yes. Big problem. Very annoying. Someone is trying to break into the Asylum of Blasphemy."
Max folded his arms. "That sounds… important."
"It is," she murmured. "A few inmates already escaped. I want you to capture them and stop whoever is orchestrating it."
Max tilted his head. "I'm unfamiliar with the Asylum."
Belphegor rubbed her eyes and forced herself to sit up straighter.
"The Asylum of Blasphemy was created to contain mortals who declared themselves gods. Zeus. Odin. Thor. Hades. Gaia. All frauds. They used demonic pacts and witchcraft to imitate divinity."
She continued slowly, like explaining homework she didn't want to grade.
"The Asylum traps them in their bodies while accelerating time around them. One day inside equals a century of thought. Their minds remain active while their bodies barely move. Eternal stagnation."
Max grimaced. "That's… creative."
"Cruelty is an art form here," she replied sleepily.
"So who escaped?"
"Zeus. Loki. Aphrodite."
Max straightened. "And where are they?"
"Zeus in Pride. Loki in Envy. Aphrodite in Lust."
"How did they bypass containment?"
Belphegor was already asleep again.
Max sighed. "Right. Of course."
He turned and left.
The nearest target was Lust.
And that already felt like a mistake.
Tracking Aphrodite was difficult. Lust was enormous, chaotic, and saturated with enchantments. Illusions, pheromones, compulsions — half the Ring functioned on subtle mind magic.
After an hour of searching, Max felt it.
A pull.
Not physical — emotional. A magnetic pressure tugging at his instincts.
He followed it to a strip club already surrounded by crowds.
Demons were lining up eagerly. Some were stripping before even reaching the door.
The scent hit him from a full block away — sweat, roses, perfume, heat, and bodily fluids.
Max slowed. "Yeah. That's definitely her."
He stepped inside.
The interior was pure chaos.
Bodies everywhere. Music pounding. Demons entangled across furniture, walls, balconies. It was less a club and more a living storm of indulgence, a huge orgy.
At the center stood a woman of impossible perfection.
Human in appearance. Flawless in symmetry. Draped in silk and skin alike.
Aphrodite.
Even Max felt the pull.
His pulse quickened.
He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood.
"Focus," he muttered.
Aphrodite noticed him instantly.
She smiled.
She walked toward him, stepping across bodies as if they were cushions.
"Well now," she purred. "A stubborn one. That's rare."
She leaned close, voice velvet-smooth. "You smell untouched. Want me to fix that?"
Max forced himself back a step. "Not interested."
She laughed softly. "They all say that at first."
He shoved her away.
She hit the wall — and rose effortlessly.
"Playing hard to get?" she teased.
Max summoned fire into his palms and hurled a barrage of crimson flames. They scorched the air, burning away the thick enchantment fog.
It tore skin from his fingers.
He ignored it.
"Trying to strip me?" she laughed. "I like your style."
"I already have people I care about," Max said coldly. "You're going back to the Asylum."
Crimson chains erupted from his shadow, binding her completely.
It cost him three fingers.
She only smiled wider.
"Bondage too? I'm impressed."
Her magic failed to activate.
She frowned.
Max winced as the lingering compulsion still tugged at his mind.
She smirked. "I don't need to touch you. They'll do it for me."
Several enthralled demons began approaching him.
Max sighed and raised his hand.
Universal threads snapped outward, restraining them harmlessly.
Aphrodite stared.
"You're not normal."
"No," Max replied. "And you're done."
With another sacrifice of blood, he opened a portal and hurled her back into the Asylum.
The enchantment broke instantly.
Demons blinked in confusion but continued their orgy.
Max didn't wait. He was still under full effect
He vanished before temptation could take hold again.
One god reclaimed.
Two left.
And this was already getting dangerous.