Episode-939
Chapter : 1877
"Rubel was a marked asset!" Lloyd realized, his voice tight with urgency. "He wasn't just working for Beelzebub; he was an investment. When we killed him, we triggered a failsafe. We just rang the dinner bell!"
Before they could move toward the exit, the atmosphere in the room changed violently.
The temperature, which had been cooling down, suddenly spiked again. But this wasn't the clean, heavy gravity of Ben’s power. It was a wet, suffocating heat mixed with the clink of infinite coins. It felt like stepping into the mouth of a giant beast that was also a bank vault. The air became thick and humid, smelling of rotting meat, old sugar, and sulfur.
Drip. Drip.
Lloyd looked up. The stone ceiling of the Inner Sanctum was reacting to the pressure. The solid rock wasn't cracking; it was melting. The grey stone turned a sickly red color and began to drip down like hot wax.
"The reality of the room is destabilizing," Lloyd said, stepping back as a glob of molten stone splashed where he had been standing. "Ben, get up! We need to move!"
But it was too late.
The ceiling above the center of the room tore open. It didn't break; it ripped like wet paper. A jagged wound of pure, swirling darkness appeared in the air.
Through the tear, something massive descended.
It landed with a wet, heavy thud that shook the entire city. The floor of the sanctum cracked and bowed under the weight.
Beelzebub, the Prince of Gluttony, had arrived.
He was a monstrosity. He stood over fifteen feet tall, a bloated mountain of pale, scarred muscle and fat. He wore only a ragged loincloth made of dark leather. His stomach was a gaping maw, stitched shut with crude iron staples. His face was hidden behind a veil of buzzing flies, but his eyes... his eyes were yellow, vertical slits that burned with an endless, bottomless hunger.
Beelzebub straightened up, his head brushing the melting ceiling. He sniffed the air, a sound like a vacuum cleaner.
"I smell... mana," Beelzebub rumbled. His voice was deep and wet, vibrating in Lloyd’s chest. "I smell my investment. And I smell... thieves."
But he wasn't alone.
From the shadows behind Beelzebub, a second figure emerged. This one didn't land with a thud. He floated down, silent and eerie.
He was thinner, draped in elegant robes made of black silk embroidered with gold thread. Chains of pure gold hung from his wrists and neck, rattling softly as he moved. His face was covered by a mask of polished gold, molded into a permanent, mocking smile.
Mammon, the Prince of Greed.
"Oh, look," Mammon whispered. His voice was soft, sounding like coins sliding over velvet. It was terrifyingly pleasant. "The little thieves broke the toy. Rubel is broken. What a waste. I spent so much time grooming him."
Mammon floated closer, his golden mask reflecting Lloyd’s armored figure. "And they are still here. How bold. Or perhaps... how stupid?"
Lloyd and Ben stood frozen. The pressure in the room was crushing. It was a physical weight. It felt as if gravity had increased ten times over. Ben’s armor groaned under the strain. Lloyd’s Aegis suit was screaming warnings, its power levels dropping just by being in the presence of two Demon Kings.
"Two of them?" Ben whispered, his voice trembling but his grip on his lance tightening. He forced himself to stand, his prosthetic legs whining. "Lloyd, the odds just dropped to zero. We barely survived Rubel. We can't fight two Princes."
"The math is terrible," Lloyd agreed, forcing himself to stand tall despite his knees wanting to buckle. "We are looking at a catastrophic failure probability. But look on the bright side."
"There's a bright side?" Ben asked, looking at the drooling maw of Beelzebub with disgust.
"At least we got the VIP treatment," Lloyd deadpanned. "Most people die to a grunt. We got the CEOs to come down personally to fire us."
Beelzebub took a step forward. The stone floor turned to sludge under his foot.
"I am hungry," the Gluttony Prince groaned. "I haven't eaten a Sovereign in... minutes. That one..." He pointed a thick, pale finger at Ben. "He tastes like heavy metal. He tastes like my stolen power. I want him. I want to crack him open and eat the soft parts."
Chapter : 1878
Mammon drifted to the side, circling them like a shark. "No, brother. You always think with your stomach. Look at the other one." Mammon pointed at Lloyd. "The one in the black shell. His soul is... shiny. It has strange data. It has secrets from another world. That has value. I want to put him in a jar and study him."
Lloyd’s mind raced. He ran a thousand scenarios in a second. Could they run? No, the exits were melted. Could they fight? They were out of ammo, out of mana, and exhausted. Could they negotiate? You don't negotiate with hunger or greed.
"Ben," Lloyd said quietly, not taking his eyes off the monsters. "Defensive formation. Pattern Delta."
Ben blinked, recognizing the code. Pattern Delta was the code for a fighting retreat—a scorched earth withdrawal. "Delta? You want to blow the site? We're still inside it!"
"Exactly," Lloyd said. "If we're going down, we take the ceiling with us. Be ready to move on my signal."
"There is nowhere to run," Beelzebub laughed. It was a horrible sound, like rocks tumbling down a hill. "The walls are mine. The floor is mine. You are in my belly already."
Beelzebub opened his mouth. A buzzing sound began to fill the room. It started low, like a hive of bees, but quickly grew until it sounded like a chainsaw cutting through bone. Thousands of tiny black flies began to crawl out of his throat, gathering in a swarm around his head.
"They are going to attack," Lloyd realized. The fear was there, cold and sharp in his gut, but he pushed it down. He was an engineer. He solved problems. And even if the problem was a god, he would try to solve it until the very last second.
He looked at his Nova Cannon. It was recharging, but the bar was barely at 10%. It wasn't enough for a shot. It was barely enough for a flashbulb.
"Well," Lloyd thought, tightening his grip on the weapon. "This was a good run. I killed a traitor. I ate a magic fruit. I fixed a Queen. Not a bad Tuesday, all things considered."
But he refused to die on his knees.
He activated his [All-Seeing Eye], pushing it to the maximum output. His blue eyes glowed fiercely behind his visor. He scanned the room, looking for a structural weakness, a mana vent, anything he could exploit.
"End of the line, little meat," Beelzebub roared, raising his hand to unleash the swarm.
Lloyd braced himself. Ben ignited the last spark of gold in his fists, his stance shifting to one of desperate defiance. They stood shoulder to shoulder, two mortal men facing the endless dark of the Abyss, ready to make the devil choke on his meal.
The atmosphere inside the ruined Inner Sanctum had shifted from a battlefield to an execution chamber. The air was no longer just hot; it was heavy with a terrifying, crushing pressure that made it difficult to draw a breath. The stone ceiling, which had already begun to melt from the sheer presence of the Demon Princes, dripped glowing red sludge onto the floor like wax from a dying candle.
Lloyd Ferrum stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Ben, the Golden Demon of Steel. They were two mortal men standing before entities that were older than some civilizations. But neither man cowered. They had both died before; death was not a stranger, just an inconvenience.
On one side stood Beelzebub, the Prince of Gluttony. He was a mountain of pale, scarred flesh that reached the ceiling. His stomach was a gaping maw stitched shut with rusted iron, and his face was hidden behind a veil of buzzing flies. On the other side floated Mammon, the Prince of Greed, draped in black silk and golden chains, his face hidden behind a mask of polished gold that wore an eternal, mocking smile.
Beelzebub took a step forward. The ground beneath his massive foot turned to liquid mud.
"I am tired of waiting," the Gluttony Prince rumbled. His voice was deep and wet, vibrating inside Lloyd’s ribcage. "The appetizer was disappointing. Rubel was flavorless. But you... you smell like a main course."
Beelzebub opened his massive arms. His tattered leather cloak spread wide, blotting out the green torchlight of the sanctum.
"Rotting Fly Swarm," Beelzebub whispered.
It didn't begin with an attack. It began with a sound.
Bzzzzzzzzzt.