There was silence in response to my great achievement; the stone city that greeted me was just as silent as when I first entered. My welcome party was dead and it appeared that nobody else wanted to greet me.

Perhaps, they were involved in their own duels. After all, I had just opened the floodgates to a long-standing period of stalemate; surely, there were some grievances that needed to be settled to separate the wheat from the chaff. From that perspective, I would consider it a blessing that only the strongest would remain to meet me.

But that opened up a new problem.

I defeated Wrath because he consented to the removal of all of the gimmicks of circumstance that separated us. Without him being the divine combination of brave, honorable, and foolish, I would have been outmatched in a sheer comparison of stats.

My path forward was clear: accumulate as many stats as possible before things heated up again.

The simplest way about it would be to collect some more XP from the Bank of Charles. Even a couple million XP would go a long way to bolster my current abilities.

Fairly confident that my message would reach, I drafted up a request through [Urgent News] and sent it down below.

Several seconds passed before I got an immediate reply.

"No."

So, this is where Charles decided to bite back at me? A smirk crossed my face at the immediacy of it; the decisiveness in which Charles determined he had the better hand in negotiations. Did my message read as though I was disadvantaged up here? Obviously, the sheer mention of needing a boon spelled out that I was incapable of making do with what I currently had.

In a stroke of fortune, or, more accurately, by twisting the arm of otherworldly beings, I gained a boon that Charles was not yet aware of. Of all of the gifts I received, the one I would use first came from Want.

[Blood Wager].

When I activated the ability, a red window opened up with a simple question laid out.

"How much are you sacrificing?"

Over the levels, my health had ballooned beyond the thousands and into the tens of thousands. For me, the number had been meaningless. Higher health was only met with higher damage. I did not fundamentally ever feel healthier than I did in the beginning. All it served was to tell me how close I was to death.

Now, it had a far more tangible value.

The health to XP exchange rate was 1:1. Trade ten thousand HP, gain ten thousand XP. I kept these exchanges small, never risking going below fifty percent of my maximum HP value. While it was true that it was all quiet in the sky, there were no guarantees that I was not being watched by someone who lacked the shame to shoot me in the back.

It was a slow, tedious cycle of health trade, XP investment, and recovery. Loop after loop my health drained and renewed, drained and renewed, as stats slowly trickled into my [Horde]. The Level 100 stat ceiling had increased a great deal, allowing the points to flow near endlessly into my stores.

A dinging noise broke up the monotony. The only trouble was that it was not a development that would bring me any joy. The exchange rate changed from 1:1 to 100:1. I furrowed my brow as I read the print that appeared at the bottom of the box.

"The Market has recalibrated according to the current stakes?" I read aloud. "It's almost like you don't want me to win."

I could feel the world around me scrunch with Want's indignation, but the being would not smite me. It would be akin to betting your house on the Kentucky Derby and shooting the horse you bet on in the head after it stepped on your boot.

I shrugged, understanding that it was a built in feature of the ability to keep the world just a little balanced. Regardless, I was able to milk quite a few extra stats from the endeavor for free. The only remaining question would be if it was enough to overcome those who remained.

"You're strong enough," a whispering voice whistled through the building. "You're strong enough to do anything now."

"No," a different voice argued. "You are weak and frail like a piece of paper. The wolves will tear you apart and leave your blood to soak the ground. Flee! Flee now and you may harbor some hope of survival."

"Hiding is unnecessary," a soothing voice broke in. "You should simply lay down and rest. If your eyes never open again, is that so bad a fate? Allow yourself to slip into the warm waters and drift to a faraway place, devoid of the pain and sorrow that tethers you to this world. It's easy. Breathe in…hold…breathe out. Come on, do it with me. Breathe in…hold…breathe out."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The voices swarmed around me. The words danced around my ears. Invisible tendrils slithered off of the sounds and tried to worm their way into my skull. I could feel a warmth inside of my head burn the intruders away, leaving just the echoes bouncing off the walls.

"So you are immune," a soft, hissing voice lisped. "How cruel to bestow you with such a potent gift. Have I been giving up upon entirely?"

I could feel flickers of despair lick at my heart like a weak candle flame. I knew the sensation well, someone had tried to infect my mind with magic. Only a few short moments ago, that may had worked. With Passion's gift, it was no longer possible.

"You must be the Eight-mouthed Liar," I said with narrowed eyes. "The best greetings are done face to face."

"Those sorts of confrontations are best left those that wish to be seen," the voice answered.

"What has brought you here?" I asked warily, disinterested in a game of wits. "It wasn't to make small talk, I hope."

"You were different than when you entered your duel with Wrath," the Eight-mouthed Liar explained. "I wanted to know what was different about you; if you were able to be manipulated by my words. Sadly, it seems that I possess no hope of beating you directly. My spells will all be rendered ineffective in the face of your reinforced mind."

"You wish to see me victorious?"

"More than the rest," a voice answered plainly. "The grand visions that remain are two indistinguishable versions of an afterlife concocted by lunatics, a continuation of the status quo, or a plunge into nothingness. My choice lies in nothingness."

I kept my expression neutral; just because the demon couldn't wriggle its way into my skull by magical means doesn't mean I couldn't still be lied to.

"With the status quo, you can simply continue the game for as long as you like," I remarked.

"Do you honestly believe that?" The Eight-mouthed Liar questioned in kind. "Remember where you stand, you are not the only one to have an audience with the creators of this game. I know something is getting them itchy under the collar. Who's to say that there will even be a next time?"

"Where are the others?"

"In their own confrontation," one of the demon's several voices said in return. A lilting laugh filled the air.

"It's funny," the demon continued. "Those that reside at the peak are all so resolute against my influence until I whisper in their ears the exact words that they want to hear. Then, it becomes an even harder task to convince them otherwise. All of the other contestants believe that you and Wrath killed each other. I whispered into their ears what they wanted to hear most, and that is what materialized. They believe that their game is in the final battle. Mikha'el stands alone against three opponents, which is how you know he's going to win. Only the weak continue to band together at the end to usurp the strong."

"Why are you not there?"

"I am, technically," the Eight-mouth Liar explained. "One of my voices resides within the final battle, attempting to support with whatever spells I have. The only difference is that I know that the confrontation is doomed. If you want, I can transmit their battle to you; somewhat like the radios that appeared long after my death."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"You were so direct and honest in our last meeting. I wanted to know if coming within spitting distance of the top had changed your feelings at all. I wanted to know if you would start to feel despair when you came to realize just how tall the final hurdle is. It was not something that the others could truly appreciate. They wished to keep the stalemate to allow themselves to grow power and build countermeasures. They were too blind to see that their combined efforts would be outclassed by Mikha'el."

"I have yet to meet Mikha'el, why is he so powerful?"

"The people want Heaven, Ishmael. They are tired of toiling and the words of salvation have grasped them by their very soul. If God came down in the morning and told the world they could burn their possessions and instantly go to Heaven, the world would burn to the ground before lunch. He has the combined might of millions upon his back."

"If I die, there will be nothing stopping him from taking you as well."

"Rule was never my interest," the demon admitted. "My sole purpose here was to cause as much chaos as possible in every realm. I have watched endless treachery and despair and hatred spew out from the deepest pits of the human heart. Even in a contorted paradise, I will continue to thrive. That is my inevitability. As long as there is free will, there is corruption-"

The air turned hot as a rip formed the air. A glowing hand the size of a car reached out and formed a fist. I heard a screeching noise as a black silhouette formed inside of the clenched hand.

"You cannot escape your atonement," a booming voice commanded.

And it was all gone again. I found that my breathing had quickened dramatically and my heartrate had spiked. I was faced with a level of power beyond my true appreciation. The Eight-mouthed Liar was correct; it would be like facing millions of demons at once.

How was I to snuff out that light?

"You were the one who said something so outrageous in the first place," Control's voice rang in my head as the Folly read my very thoughts. "It's too late to save the others, you're on your own."

As soon as the words left Control's mouth, a flash of light covered the city before in converged into a beam. A bell tower began to chime deeply over and over again; heralding the approach of the victor.

Massive feathered wings blotted out the sky; a figure of gold light hung between them. A man chiseled from starlight emerged from the blinding light. He was so perfect that it looked unnatural; a false man who paraded around as a false god. His eyes, burning suns inside of his sockets, brought daylight to wherever his gaze travelled.

"Hear me, last child of Satan," Mikha'el's voice boomed throughout the realm. "You have two options. Either kill yourself in the shadows and meekly give way to the salvation of mankind, or rise to face me and be struck down with the full might of the divine. I will not allow my flock to be hidden from grace for even another moment."

It didn't matter if it was hopeless on paper or even in my own heart. I was not going to go out with my tail between my legs. There was only one choice on my mind as I tensed my leg muscles and sprang myself forward. Only one thought as I pulled my fist back.

I had to get the first punch.

"Here I am, pretender."

[Bomber].

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