AESMA (THE DEMON OF WRATH): PATHETIC. YOU HAD A BLADE AND YOU THREW IT AWAY. YOU TRADE STEEL FOR A STOLEN DAYDREAM. THE FURY IN THE GHOST-GIRL BURNS BRIGHTER THAN YOUR SPINE.
AGALIAREPT (THE GENERAL OF HELL): A SOUND TACTICAL RETREAT. YOU RECOGNIZED AN INDESTRUCTIBLE FORCE AND NEGOTIATED PASSAGE. THE TOKEN IS MORE VALUABLE THAN EXPERIENCE POINTS. THE CURATOR PLAYS A LONG GAME, AND SO MUST YOU.
ACHYLS (THE MIST OF MISERY): THE QUIET AFTER THE NON-FIGHT IS SO MUCH MORE DELICIOUS THAN SCREAMS. THE EMPTINESS OF THE ROOM... THE WEIGHT OF THE WRONG CHOICE... IT CLOUDS THE SOUL BEAUTIFULLY.
"Would you shut up?" Yael screams, while fighting off the Minotaur. He jumped from Minotaur's left arm to the ground, while Celia was just sitting there and watching in amusement and slight worry. "I am already stressing!" He tries to get the dagger back which was next to the Minotaur's leg.
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." Yael screams at the demons.
ACHYLS (THE MIST OF MISERY): THE DUST FROM THE BROKEN FLOOR... THE STRAIN IN HIS VOICE... IT IS PERFECTION. THIS IS THE STRESS OF TRUE FAILURE, NOT THE BORING STRESS OF WAITING.
"Celia," he rasps, the words bubbling with damaged code. "My eyeballs are about... 89252,91 papp." He coughs, a spray of crimson pixels. "And my heart is 6964,65 papp! Do use em to get money... And upgrade yourself."
He winks.
AESMA (THE DEMON OF WRATH): EYEBALLS: 89K PAPP! HEART: 6.9K PAPP! A LIQUIDATION SALE! I'LL START THE BIDDING AT 100,000 FOR THE SET!
BAEL (THE FIRST KING OF HELL): A KING OFFERS HIS REGALIA! THE EYES THAT SAW THE CURATOR'S TRUTH! THE HEART THAT BORE THE GHOST'S WEIGHT! I CLAIM THEM BY RIGHT OF SOVEREIGNTY!
BELPHEGOR (THE DEMON OF SLOTH): TOO MUCH EFFORT. LET THEM SPOIL. MUCH PRETTIER AS A STAIN.
BHŪTA (THE GHOST-EATER): DO NOT SELL THE FLESH. LET THE GHOST-GIRL CONSUME THE DYING ANIMA. IT WILL MAKE HER STRONG... AND DELICIOUSLY BITTER.
Celia doesn't move. A tear trickles down her cheek. "you'll be back right?"
He nods weakly. Before his breathing stops, and his body goes limp.
The Minotaur, stops.
Celia doesn't move and says annoyed. "Listen here you, creature. You crusty musty ginger bread, whose breaths smell worse than an old man's ass. How dare you take my brother away from me?" Celia chants a spell, and an invisible hand holds him, crushing him slowly, painfully. "I'll harvest your toes and sell them."
CRACK.