Episode-907
Chapter : 1813
Lloyd stood up straight. He walked around the table, looking at the red dots that represented the enemy presence. He looked at the blue dots that represented the few remaining pockets of resistance.
"They view us as cattle," Lloyd said.
"Yes," James said. "Cattle to be milked for mana and then slaughtered when we run dry."
"Well," Lloyd said, his voice hardening into something that sounded very much like steel. "I have some bad news for the butchers."
He turned to face James. His expression wasn't the hot, emotional rage of a hero. It was the cold, calculating look of a General.
"The cows have guns."
James smiled. It was a sharp, dangerous smile that reminded Lloyd why this man was called The Joker. "That they do."
"If they want a resource war," Lloyd said, pointing at the map, "I'll give them one. I won't just fight them on the battlefield. I'll burn their assets. I'll bankrupt their operation. I will make this planet the most expensive, hostile, unprofitable piece of real estate in the galaxy."
"That's the spirit," James said. "But to do that, we need to be smart. We can't just shoot them. We have to out-think them. We have to use their own greed against them."
"I know how to deal with corporations," Lloyd said. "I used to work for the government back on Earth. You don't beat them with honor. You beat them with logistics. You cut their supply lines. You sabotage their infrastructure. You make the cost of doing business higher than the profit."
Lloyd looked at the map. He saw the trade routes. He saw the mining operations. He saw the targets.
"I'm going to need the Wraiths," Lloyd said, his mind already formulating the orders. "All of them. And the Titan Squad. And access to every scrap of intel you have on their local partners."
"You have it," James said. "You have the full support of the Crown. And the resources of the Joker."
Lloyd nodded. He felt a clarity he hadn't felt in months. The grief for Jasmin, the confusion about his place in this world—it all snapped into focus. Jasmin hadn't just died because of a demon; she had died fighting the first wave of a hostile takeover.
He would make sure she was the last victim they got for free.
"One more thing," Lloyd said, tapping the image of the Traitor Devils shaking hands with the Firefly agents. "These collaborators. Do we have names?"
"A few," James said. "Why?"
"Because," Lloyd said, his eyes glowing brighter with the blue light of his Void power. "I think it's time we sent a message to management. I'm going to fire them."
"With a pink slip?" James asked, amused.
"With a railgun," Lloyd corrected.
He looked back at the hologram of the planet. His planet. His home. The game had changed. The fantasy was over. The real war—the war for the survival of the species—had just begun.
"But first," Lloyd said, looking at the large blank area in the Devil Region that James hadn't highlighted yet. "We need allies. If half the Devils are traitors, what about the other half?"
James’s smile faded, replaced by a serious look. "That," the King said, "is the dangerous part. The part where you have to walk into Hell and ask for a meeting."
King Liam provides a crucial briefing on the current state of the Devil Realm.
The holographic map hovering above the table in the data center flickered, shifting from the continental view of Riverio to a jagged, ominous landscape that looked like a geologist’s nightmare. It was a topographic map of the Southern Wastes, the domain of the Devil Race. Usually, maps of this region were just blank spaces labeled "Here Be Dragons" or "Do Not Enter Unless You Want to Be Lunch." But James Khan’s map was different. It was detailed, precise, and covered in glowing icons that Lloyd suspected were gathered by satellites he hadn't even told anyone about yet.
"Okay, listen up," James said, pointing a laser pointer at a cluster of jagged peaks. "We need to update your threat assessment. You’re operating under the assumption that the Devil Race is a single, unified block of evil that wants to eat babies and burn villages. While that’s historically accurate, current market trends have shifted."
Lloyd raised an eyebrow, leaning against a server rack that was humming with the sound of trapped ice spirits. "Market trends? Are we analyzing their GDP or their kill count?"
"Both," James said grimly. "Firefly has disrupted the local economy of violence. Look here."
Chapter : 1814
He zoomed in on a fortress near the volcanic ridge. The image resolved into a grainy, high-altitude surveillance shot. It showed a massive ogre-like demon, easily fifteen feet tall. But half of its face was replaced by a sleek, black metal plate with a glowing red sensor eye. Its arm wasn't flesh; it was a hydraulic pile-driver.
"Cyber-Devils," Lloyd muttered, feeling a wave of disgust. "They’re augmenting them."
"Firefly Agents," James corrected. "The Corporation doesn't trust magic. It’s too chaotic. Too unpredictable. So, they take the strongest devils—the ones ambitious or stupid enough to sign a contract—and they 'upgrade' them. They install behavior modification chips, adrenal boosters, and heavy weapon mounts. These aren't monsters anymore, Lloyd. They’re tanks. They’re heavy infantry."
"They put USB ports in demons," Lloyd said, shaking his head. "That is efficient and horrifying. I hate it."
"It gets worse," James continued, swiping the map to the west. "These augmented devils are the Firefly loyalists. They’ve been promised power, technology, and a place in the new order. They are the ones attacking the borders. They are the ones spreading the Red Blight. They are the corporate sellouts."
"And the others?" Lloyd asked, looking at a different cluster of icons marked in blue.
"The Traditionalists," James said. "The 'Pure' Devil Race. These are the ancient lords. The ones who remember the old ways. They value strength, honor, and raw magical power. They look at these cyborg abominations and they see weakness. They see slavery."
James tapped the blue icons. "These guys are led by the old aristocracy. Families that have ruled the Wastes for thousands of years. They aren't stupid. They’ve watched Firefly consume their people. They’ve seen the 'upgrades' turn their warriors into mindless drones. They know that once Firefly is done with the humans, the Devils are next on the chopping block."
Lloyd stared at the map. It was a classic colonial playbook. Divide and conquer. Use the locals to fight the locals.
"So, we have a civil war in Hell," Lloyd summarized. "The Cyborgs versus the Purists."
"Exactly," James said. "And the Purists are losing. They have magic, but Firefly has mass production. The Traditionalists are being pushed back. They are desperate. They are exhausted by centuries of fighting us, and now they are fighting a war on two fronts against a enemy that doesn't sleep and can print new soldiers in a factory."
"Let me guess," Lloyd said, crossing his arms. "You want to sell them guns."
"Better," James grinned. "I want to sell them hope. And by hope, I mean you."
Lloyd blinked. "Me? I’m the guy who just vaporized a Devil King’s avatar. I’m pretty sure my approval rating in the Abyss is somewhere between 'Kill on Sight' and 'Torture Forever'."
"That was Lucifer," James dismissed. "Lucifer is a stubborn old goat who refuses to see the big picture. But there are others. Lords who are pragmatic. Lords who realize that if humanity falls, the Devils become nothing more than livestock for the Firefly Mana Farms."
James leaned forward, his expression serious. "They are secretly seeking a way out, Lloyd. They want a ceasefire. A truce. They want to preserve their culture and their survival. They are willing to deal with the lesser evil to stop the greater one."
"And we are the lesser evil?"
"Compared to a corporation that wants to turn their planet into a battery? Yes," James said. "We just want to live. Firefly wants to consume."
Lloyd rubbed his temples. This changed everything. He had been preparing for a war of extermination. He had been building the Aegis suits to wipe them out. Now, James was telling him he might have to sit down and drink tea with them.
"So, what's the play?" Lloyd asked. "Do I send a fruit basket? 'Sorry about the centuries of war, let's be friends'?"
"No," James said. "You don't send a fruit basket. You send a message. A message that only a specific kind of person can deliver."
James tapped a specific location on the map. A dark, swirling vortex of energy marked the capital of the Pure Devils.
"You remember Monalisa Belphagor?" James asked. "The lady in the red dress at the ball? The one who asked you to dance?"
"Hard to forget," Lloyd said. "She threatened to eat my soul and stepped on my foot. It was a very confusing waltz."
"She wasn't there by accident," James revealed. "And she wasn't there just to scout. I sent her."
Lloyd froze. "You sent a Devil High Priestess to your son's wedding reception?"