The room fell into silence.
Beelzebub grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed a few times, then reached for a nearby half-filled cup of flat lemon soda and tilted her head back to drain it.
The television screen in front of her was frozen at the moment Jiang Ming unhesitatingly removed that dark gold Crown of Thorns from his soul.
Light was collapsing in his palm, transforming into the pure price required to exchange for another life.
Beelzebub, the Monarch of Gluttony, could turn the stars into a post-meal dessert and make continental plates shatter under the mastication of her ravenous hunger. She possessed near-infinite power, could bestow miracles, and could weave the threads of fate.
But she could not stop a story from ending.
At the very least, she could not stop it from ending in this manner.
She had returned his former strength to him, expecting a grand drama, a magnificent application of authority, or perhaps a rewriting of the world’s rules that might make her feel “interested” or even “satisfied.”
Instead, he used it to trade for a single person.
“…”
Beelzebub stared silently at the frozen image. It was not that she could not understand.
A long time ago, so far back that the very concept of Gluttony had not yet condensed into form… perhaps, she too had felt a similar impulse.
‘To discard something for the sake of another.’
The thought flashed by like a dim phosphorus fire.
Immediately after, a strange, burning emotion that made even her startle suddenly gripped her heart.
It was envy.
It was not envy of Jiang Ming, nor was it envy of Elvira.
It was envy toward humanity itself.
She envied their absurd, willful, and completely irrational right to choose without following any logic of efficiency or interest. She envied that they could so easily throw away a weight sufficient to shake the world for the sake of an embrace, a promise, or a poem with no end in sight.
She envied their light — light that was as fleeting as a meteor, yet could burn so unreasonably, so brilliantly, and so blindingly at the moment of its fall.
This envy was illogical, yet it was incredibly real. Like a strong liquor, it rushed to her head in an instant, burning her eyes until they felt hot and tightening her throat until she suddenly burst into a fit of manic laughter.
“Haha … hahahahaha — !!”
The laughter rampaged through the room, slamming into the walls and tearing through the stagnant air. She doubled over, laughing until tears nearly seeped out, laughing as if she wanted to vomit out everything that had accumulated in her chest over countless eras.
She laughed for a long time, until her vocal cords were hoarse and her strength was exhausted.
Like a hollowed-out puppet, she slumped heavily into the depths of the sofa. The soft cushions accepted all of her weight and fatigue. Her bright red hair fell in a messy sprawl, obscuring most of her face.
Silence flowed back into the room.
Her lips moved, her voice as light as a sleep-talker’s mutter, sounding like fragments of some ancient proverb.
“Gluttony … craves a true feast.”
“We are all … nothing more than prisoners of our own destiny.”
Lilith had been sitting beside her the entire time, her blood-red gown remaining perfectly still. She offered no comfort and no mockery. She simply watched Beelzebub quietly — watching her laugh, watching her collapse, and listening to her dream-like murmurs.
After a long time.
Beelzebub tilted her head, peering at Lilith through the gaps in her hair. Her voice carried the hoarseness and exhaustion that followed her laughter. “What do we … count as now? Is this a tie?”
Lilith’s gaze met hers, calm and rippleless. “I thought you would stop him. After all, he is your King. By losing the Crown of Infinite Construction, there is no way he can be crowned again or obtain power of the same level before the coming Great War.”
“I am very respectful of my King’s choices.” Beelzebub pulled at the corner of her mouth and shrugged. “You know, aside from that fellow Sloth … I am the laziest existence there is.”
“Intervening is too much trouble.” She looked toward the frozen screen. “If I were to be loathed by my own King … just the thought of that is absolutely terrible.”
Lilith looked at her, and a hint of envy actually appeared in her eyes.
“How many years has it been?” Lilith spoke softly, her voice carrying a sigh of sentimental realization. “That residual humanity of yours can actually still support you in making such a choice.”
As if stung by a needle, Beelzebub snapped her head back. Her crimson pupils stared sharply at Lilith from behind her messy red hair, her tone laced with a hint of annoyance. “What humanity? Sister, have you slept yourself stupid? We are Angels.”
Lilith did not speak again.
She simply stood up slowly, her deep red skirt falling like a waterfall of blood without a single wrinkle. She no longer looked at Beelzebub, nor did she look at the frozen television screen. Her gaze turned toward the world outside the room — toward that real world surging with countless possibilities and crises.
The Great War was imminent.
Her King Selection Ceremony had completely veered off course, and Elvira’s path was broken. The opportunity within the Grey Mist had slipped away like flowing water.
She had to leave.
She had to go find, or … go cultivate a new King who could play the game for her within the storm.
She did not say goodbye. Her figure faded silently like a melting wax statue, eventually vanishing into the shifting light and shadows of the room.
Beelzebub remained alone on the sofa, the frozen image still flickering before her eyes. Only the cold, sweet scent of popcorn and the sound of her own slow breathing remained in the room.
A moment later, a knock sounded at Beelzebub’s door again. A person wearing a white mask walked in from outside. Beelzebub did not look at him, only speaking to the air.
“Did you have fun just now, my Brother, the Morning Star of Pride?”