“Demon Lord, face me!”

An eternity has passed but Greed could never forget that nameless elven child who howled such angry words at her. She has never learned the name of that elven girl, but Greed remembered that child most vividly out of the countless mortals that she had observed.

Greed remembered that day, always. She did not allow herself to forget it. Whenever that memory seemed to fade into the obscured part of her mind, she revisited it. Greed had recorded that unique memory and stored it inside a wooden ring that Greed has carved out from a young stem the World Tree. The ring was not an inanimate object, but it was not alive either. Neither a plant nor an animal, but something stranger, something that the Mother of Nature abhorred and rejected, a child born from the Authority. The wooden ring had a will of its own, sentient, sly and avaricious just like the eight-headed dragon inscribing carved on it. Normally, it hibernated in dormant. But whenever Greed rubbing her finger on the plain wooden ring, “Reveal yourself, the Master of Avarice compels you,” it brought Greed to the exact memory that she wished to see.

There she stood the killing field, a mask on her face to ward off the invisible foulness in the air. The fetid stench of rot, decay, and burn had won the battle. Defiling the killing field in their befouled glory, claiming every stone and boulder, every blade of grass and green leaf remained of the once blushed timberland in their grimy air of despair.

The sixth and seventh Valkyria had withdrawn from their grievous wounds. Their soul intact but their material form was broken and exposed. They were unable to stand against the combined might of Greed and her avaricious pets. For two days they had fought, two days they had wasted their effort and valiance, achieved nothing. Their silver spears broke. Their golden shields burned and splintered. Their sharp swords chipped. Their armor exposed. They fought hard but ultimately achieved nothing, only foolhardiness.

And yet, that elven child stood, hollering at Greed. Her eyes blue, bright, completely festered with fury. Her short golden hair burned, stained by the smoke and mud. Her petty face smudged black, hidden by a thick mask of mud. Armed with nothing but a broken scimitar and a short elven pole-saber that was obviously too heavy for her thin arms to wield, that bony elven child hobbled toward Greed and her avarice pets, unafraid, howling in defiance, “Demon Lord, face me! Don’t you dare running away. COWARD.”

It was as if the elven girl was drunk on Sanguine’s muddy body fluid. She should have lied down, pretending to be one of the corpses, be glad that she was alive and not standing up hollering such words.

Needless a quick dart of her eyes, that elven child should have realized her mortal weapons could never harm Greed. Even two of the Valkyria were no match for Greed.

What could an elven child do?

The girl trudged over elven rotting corpses. A thousand of her kin laid, fouled by decay and destruction. Elven bodies strewed to the ground in grim fashions. Some feathered by their own barbed arrows, the very arrows that they dared to launch at Greed. Some became ill blotches of rusty red on the ground or chewing toys in the toothy mouth of Greed’s avarice dragons. Some, irregular elven shaped bodies clutching together on the red molten ground, darker than char. The elven child should have understood that she was lucky to be alive. Yet, the child pointed her pole-arm at Greed, a Demon Lord. “FACE ME,” hollered the girl with her girlish voice.

Greed could feel the stirring hunger of her scaly pets from listening to the girl’s high-pitched holler. Hunger, but not for food. The scaly lizards had already had their fill, a bulging stomach full of elven flesh. They hungered for entertainment, their draconic entertainment, to juggle that child’s body into the air with their blood-red jaws, toying with that little girl to a bespectacled screeching end. Dragons they were, but no longer just dragons from the moment they knelt to the dark luster of Greed’s diamond greaves. They were the Avarice dragons, hydras.

Spawns of the first dragon Interritus, the fire thief. Inheriting his massive frame, his hardened scales, his flame breath, his longevity, his greed, and sadistic nature, but not his unbending ego. The Avarice dragons, they flocked to Greed, swearing their souls to her in exchange for treasure and power. Greed changed them through the miracles granted by her . Three wished she granted to them. A wish of unlimited wealth. A wish of overwhelming Might. A wish of magic and miracle. That was usual combination. Their once colorful scales darkened, crystalized and became tougher than diamond, rendering the Avarice dragons impervious to all but the wrath of divine weapons, miracles and themselves. Their spiny serpentine head multiplied according to the wealth of their power. Most Avarice dragons possessed three heads, some four and five. Only one managed to grow ten heads. Changed by Greed’s power, the Avarice dragons became neither Djinns nor dragons but something in between. They lived inside Greed’s many divine relics, bounded to the relics and Greed’s command.

Greed recalled her scaly pets, commanding all of them to return to their astral home, all except one. Turning her attention at another battle being fought at the smoke billowing horizon where thunderstorm and firestorm clashed, battling for dominance. Emotionlessly, Greed turned her back to that screaming child, waving her arm, signaling her avaricious pet to put a painful end to that insolent elven girl. At the corner of her eyes, Greed saw that massive three-headed lizard tottered toward that elven child with serpentine grace, unhurried, wearing a stretching sadistic grin. Three serpentine long tongues stuck out, blood red and foamy, licking three greasy and bloodstained maws. Its spiny tail flickered in dark delight.

“Don’t you dare run away, Demon Lord. FACE ME,” That elven girl hollered. It was funny how that girl believed that Greed would run away from her.

Greed stopped and decided to watch on a whim, wanting to see how that delusional girl would die. Her three-headed pet leisurely played with its food, sent that elven child heavily reeling on the ground with a lenient nudge of its massive maw.

When that girl stood up from the initial blow, the avaricious serpent darkly cackled and took her beaten frame into the air with a controlled nudge, then juggling her tiny body airborne with its three heads. It tossed the girl into the air with one of its head and then caught her just before she was about hit the ground. Then it tossed her again to repeat the bone-crushing cycle of painful bellows, again, again, again, and again, and again.

Self-indulgence, Greed could not fault her pet. Self-indulgence was a bad habit her pets shared with her.

As Greed watched, her scaly serpent screeched, dropping the elven girl to the ground in a cold inanimate thud. Blood sprayed as the avarice dragon violently thrashed its massive body around. An elven scimitar stuck hilt deep in one of its fiery eyes, a blood gushing wound.

Even when her body tattered, her bones broken, her arms and legs bent strangely, that girl kept her haunting bluish glare true to Greed. “Face me, Demon Lord,” was the tiny girl’s defiant quiet last breath before she became dragon’s food in a bloody spectacle. Greed could not hear her quiet gasping voice but she could read the message from the girl’s broken and bloodied lips.

That scene became a curse in Greed’s mind. Like a small ember that refused to go out, it burned, lighting a strange area of Greed’s mind, an area that Greed had no understanding of. She saw a radiance that no polished gem, no golden coin, no precious metal contained. She saw the ephemeral light that only existed in mortals.

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By the time Greed learned to observe with her eyes rather than just look and listened with her ears rather than just hear, the First Divine War has already concluded.

Death acted as a mediator as a truce was being spoken between the two sides. Hollowed was her life when Greed learned that her immortality was a curse. That elven child died, she died leaving behind a powerful curse. She died cursing Greed with a question, a fascination, powerful yearning, and a self-hatred.

Since Greed had done many demented things in her life to cope with that curse. She has seen mortals did the same things, played with their lives to feel alive. Greed issued a challenge on Wrath, a duel between two Demon Lords.

Most Demon Lords have learned that Wrath was the mightiest Demon Lords among Demon Lords through the normal way, through Munezee’s mouth or watching the fight between Wrath and Wonten on Coeles. Greed learned that lesson the hard way. No, she relearned it. She was eager to fight Munezee’s hound, questioning if Munezee’s hound was as strong as he had claimed. And Munezee exasperated, “Have it your way,” agreed to the duel.

The moment Munezee let go of the chain, Kharigan shook. The universe tumbled in a dark and violent rotation. Wrath was unleashed.

That vicious fist crippled Greed, effortlessly shattered her ornate Titanite made shield and armor. Her magical scimitars flew, probably to end of the universe. That taurine headed beast mounted on her. A thousand raking claws savagely tore Greed’s form apart in a maddened red blur. Her form mended, reshaped as billowing heatless fire, but not fast enough to defend Greed from the endless punishment to come. The pain came relentlessly. Pain was ground shattering fists. Pain was the vicious hell of hacking and slashing. Pain was those bloodied claws. That brutal punishment rained down until her form was destroyed, completely. With only her soul intact, Greed returned to that blood-stained pair of gauntlets, wounded and defeated but not broken.

Refitted herself with a new set of armor, thicker and stronger in magic and power. Greed returned, challenging that beast again. Same old result. Greed watched helplessly as her magical swords bent like they were made of soft clay. Her arrows struck but the beast felt no pain, only hunger to give her pain. Her barrier erecting shield gave in to Wrath’s maddened fury, offering no resistance. Her force reflective armor torn like a sheet of paper. Wrath fell upon her with the combined weight of rage and fury of nine realms. She could not see him, not when that dense plume of red dust was covering Kharigan whole.

In the end, Munezee had to pull the chain to keep Wrath away from Greed. She was strewed to the ground, sneered by other Demon Lords for her rashness and stupidity. They laughed at her and left.

Greed lied there in red dirt, sneered at the world and at her ugly self. At that moment, she, a Demon Lord of Kharigan, was wallowing in self-hatred. That elven girl died left such a powerful curse on Greed, a wish that could never be realized.

“Why did you hold back?” A voice reached out to Greed, crisp and beautiful. Greed turned her head. It was Pride. Her eyes, the twin orbs of dawn and dusk were directing at Greed, curious and inquisitive. “Why did you hold back when you are the one issuing the challenge?” Pride asked, giving Greed her hand.

“I did not hold back,” spat Greed, slapping Pride’s hand away. She wiped off the dirt on her face and stood up on her own.

“Yes, you did. You fought Wrath without your miracles and authorities.”

“I had my weapons and armor, didn’t I?”

“Obviously that was not enough. No armor, no shield, no weapon of this world could stand against that beast. You should have realized that after the first duel. So why didn’t you use your miracles and authorities? Why hold yourself back?”

“WHY DOES IT MATTER TO YOU?” Greed finally snapped. She had enough of the chatter.

“You understood,” said Pride. There stood Pride, a sympathetic smile float on her lips instead of the usual arrogant smile. “Heroes make it look easy, aren’t they?” asked Pride, “Overcoming the odds or winning against things that are so much bigger and greater than they are. They make it looks simple and easy. They make people want to cheer for them. They inspire you to think that maybe you, you could do that as well. Laughable, isn’t it? An Immortal admired a mortal.”

“What do you know about me?” Greed hissed coldly, realizing that she was not the only one who has learned to observe.

“No, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about myself. I thought you would understand me,” Pride flashed a strange smile, a wry smile that was an ill-fit object on her face.

“I found myself very fond of a person. That person made me believe that I, too, could be like that, be greater than life and the world around me, and be more than I already am. But when I try to be like that person, I failed miserably. I was reminded once again that the world favors the strong and the powerful. I was reminded once again that, in this world, we were either born having it or not. You either have the ability to do it or you don’t. You are limited and shackled by your own miracles. Laughable, isn’t it?”

Greed listened in silence. She understood that Pride was ranting.

“I want to deny that person with all of my living experience, all miracles and authorities that I possessed, and everything that I have ever stood for. I want to mock that person for how weak, based, short-lived, ugly, how mortal he was.”

“Did you?”

Pride smiled. She had never attempted to answer that question.

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A silver flame burst out of the Great Throne and lit the world of the Immortal in its majestic radiance. Every head, every eye, and ear, every sensory feeler existed in the spirit realms trained to that dancing silver flame, not knowing if it was an omen of an inevitable calamity or a sign of blessing. When the silver flame subsided, a prophecy was made, a declaration. The Creators promised a Prince, a prince who would bring a certain victory. Rarely that the Creators imposed their will and might on the world, rarely. But they had always been discreet about their intention and will. Not once had they boldly made their intention known in this manner.

On that day, Pride summoned her faction, discussing the Prince in the prophecy.

“It’s him or no one else,” Pride was adamant about her decision, unbent and unyielding and uncompromising about that decision.

Back then, Greed thought that Pride has been swept over by the atmosphere and the prophecy, which was very unlikely of Pride’s personality. Rarely would Pride be so rash about a decision. Pride was the type of Demon Lord who would wait, preparing herself for the perfect moment to strike. She thought that Pride was acting out of her character.

At the time, nobody knew who or what that Prince was, the Prince mentioned in the prophecy. Nobody knew what he was capable of, what his personality was like, what race he belonged to, how ugly or beautiful he appeared to be, or why the Creators were sure that whoever possesses him would win the Throne.

What can a mortal do? Greed was especially skeptical, even though she especially had a soft spot for heroism and glory. The Throne belonged to the world of the Immortals, it could only be attained by an Immortal. What can a mortal do?

“It’s him or no one else,” Pride repeated. “This is the moment,” said the lioness, speaking in an avaricious feverish voice. Hers was that of morbid obsession and longing.

Back then, Greed had no idea what all of that was about.

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was Greed’s iconic miracle, as iconic as the red dream to Lust. Those who approached Greed seeking three avaricious miracles would have their wishes realized, one way or another, at the cost of their freedom and rest.

Carelessly, the Prince returned her power to Greed in full and made three wishes, knowing that the three wishes would be realized in the exchange of his soul.

Greed did not believe that the Prince was being greedy. She thought he was being reckless, just being his usual self. She watched his memories recorded through a Divine Dream. Greed knew that he was a daredevil. Thus, she went along with him, whatever his scheme was. He could outsmart Death, cheated her, but never Greed, never her and . Those who sought Greed for wishes and miracles became her slaves for an eternity and beyond.

The first wish that the Prince made was a wish of wisdom, “Show me your inventory, your wealth, all of it.”

There was no need for Greed to honor her end of the promise. Her did not work like the way the Prince understood. His lore-knowledge was rubbish. His game was rubbish. Greed did not need to honor her side of the promise to exact her curses and binding on his soul.

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From the moment he made the first wish, he has already become a slave of hers. With every wish, the strength of her curse and corruption multiplied. Greed could already make him submit from that moment. But she wanted to see the despair, the shock, and betrayal on his face when he withheld the last and final wish to protect his soul out of self-preservation and discovered that he was still an avarice slave of hers. She wanted to see the moment when his arrogance broke.

Greed revealed the entirety of her massive wealth to him, toying with his expectation, encouraging him to make the second wish.

“Fuck, are you for real?” The Prince pinched his temples, overwhelmed by the sheer totality of Greed’s treasury. Many of what she considered trashes would be considered a Divine Relic on Escana by mortals. The so-called “junks” and “waiting-to-be-recycled items” that lying around the basement of her treasury, the results of many failed experiments, they made other Demon Lords envious. Demon Lords like Wrath fought with their overwhelming might. Demon Lords like Flokí fought with his cunning and deception. Greed fought and won with her wealth. And her wealth was unlimited.

“FUCK. You are a motherfucking unlimited resources cheat code. Come on! This is HAX,” cursed the Prince and complained while playing with a golden coin in his palm. Then he made the second wish.

The second wish was, again, a wish of wisdom, “Show me the Floating Continent. All of it, its current location, size, shape, blueprint, ability, strength, weaknesses.” He made that wish so readily, perhaps thinking of using Greed’s ultimate weapon for himself. Greed revealed her anti-Immortal fortress to him in detail.

Just as Greed was thinking that he would stop, fighting an internal battle between his greed and self-preservation, making that last wish or not.

He kissed her, a soft and tempting kiss, whispering his final wish in a husky voice, “Be mine. My Demon Lord, my lover, and companion,” the most avaricious wish to ever be made by a mortal.

“I’m yours,” Greed returned his kiss, inwardly laughing at how foolish the Prince of The Alliance was. Greed gave him a long and deep kiss, disappointing at how easy it has been. He made three wishes and offered Greed his soul so readily.

“But first, you have to be mine first,” Greed whispered darkly. She yanked the binding, tightening the nook of her curses on his neck, making him kneel before her. Greed laughed, savoring the swell of emotion in his dark eyes, rubbing his head in a teasing manner, “O, great prince, how have you fallen! You have come far, very far, only to be struck down by your arrogance and foolishness. You push your luck too far.” Overwhelmed by the sheer force of her bursting emotion, cackles and snickers burst out of her body. Greed laughed.

Greed commanded the Prince to kiss her feet. And he did, obliged by the avaricious curses, and kissed her feet, groveling while maintaining his dismayed filled eyes at her. His clear, dark eyes staring at Greed from the ground, shocked and shook with anger. Greed allowed the Prince to retain his personality, his despoiled arrogance, his consciousness but nothing else. His soul was already hers to command. If she commanded him to love her, he would, like a doll. If Greed wanted to take away his personality, he would be a mindless doll of hers, no more than that.

But what’s the fun in that? The Prince was the Prince because he was himself. Taking away his arrogance, his character, his consciousness, he was no different than any other mortals. He was the Prince, the ultimate treasure.

Greed delighted in the thought of parading the Prince of The Alliance as one of her slaves in front of other Immortals. She took pleasure in winning the ultimate prize whereas others had failed. The Prince had won against Death herself, trapped fifty reigning Demon Lords and even the three gods inside his mind. He did the impossible. He won the impossible battle. He made Wrath, the mightiest Demon Lord looked like a hapless pup. He was a monster of chaos that overturned everything upside down. He was URLOX’s prophesized Champion. Yet, he lost to Greed. She won. It was not how she won. His stupidity and arrogance undid his victory. She won. Greed won. That was all it mattered to Greed at that moment.

She won against him. That was all Greed could think of at that moment. She was overwhelmed with joy and excitement. The matter of the Throne and the prophecy did not exist inside her mind at that moment. She took pleasure in the thought of making him her eternal consort, a Djinn just like her, bound his soul to one of her Divine Relic, making him her most prized trophy for the forthcoming eternity to come.

While making the Prince lick her toes clean like a dog, “Now, who are you again?” Greed asked, inwardly commanding him to say, “Fearless, your slave, from now and beyond, till the end of time.” She wanted to see the rage and shock in his arrogant eyes when he said that.

“I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,” quietly declared he with a full curve on his lips, a curve that swelled, full-on egotism and arrogance. His words were quiet and subdued and yet filled with an oppressive palpating power. “I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,” he repeated. The shock and anger that filled his dark eyes until this moment vanished in wispy glimmer as though a mirage, replaced with something else, something akin to mischief and disappointment.

Witnessing a mortal broke free of her with her eyes, all Greed could do was gaping.

“I kept telling those S queen wannabe girls that a woman could never become an S queen over the night by wearing the most expensive bondage costumes and had the most expensive whip on her hands either. You, my sweetest fool, you possess the most expensive and complete customized bondage set in the world are no better than them. You have great tools but you don’t know how to wield them. S&M is not a pay to win game. It is a play to progress game,” said he, rising in an unhurried manner while dusting off his knees.

Froze, Greed blinked and blinked again. Greed was not sure what she just saw. But her eroded and crumbled into pieces before her eyes, purged by a miracle born between and . Greed gaped, “You swallowed Sanguine’s fluid…” Her voice trailed off.

Only a miracle could erode a miracle, that, Greed could understand easily. She has seen Sanguine stole her chess pieces in the same manner before, purging all avaricious desires that existed in Greed’s chess pieces with a pure undiluted mud of madness. But she just witnessed a mortal did the same thing, using Sanguine’s primary miracle to rob a piece from Greed’s possession. THAT, WHAT ON ESCANA JUST HAPPENED, that, Greed could not understand.

The Prince was not mad. He was perfectly sane and in complete control of his thought and action. He was not Sanguine in disguise either. He, a mortal has just used a Miracle possessed by Sanguine to erode a Miracle wielded by Greed. Thus, she failed to comprehend the situation.

As he was smiling, the Prince brushed his lips with his thumb. “Don’t twist your face like that. You are spoiling your good look,” said he in a soft consoling voice, “You are not the first woman tried to dominate me. You are not the first woman wanted to break the arrogance in me and made me swooned and submitted to you,” said he in a disarming and nonchalant manner. All while the curve on his lips slowly gained an edge, getting sharper and sharper in every second. That curve, it was not a steamy promise of passion. That curve, it was cold as steel, cold as ice, something that was built to kill, a weapon. Greed built her weapons. She knew a weapon from its design and appearance.

“Many tried, all failed, all but one. For your information, she was a tyrannical monster, an absolute monster. If she wanted, she can bend the world to her will. So, don’t feel bad about failing. Greed, you are beauty. Thus, I gave you another chance. Too bad, you have squandered it, your ONNNLY CHANCE.”

A disarming toothy smile flashed on his fairest face, full of childlike goodness and innocence. A pure smile, pure and untainted, so pure that it must be extremely disagreeing and toxic, so pure that it must be evil.

Greed was not sure what happened, but her astral knees coldly betrayed her and gave in to gravity in a dull and deliberate manner. “What are you?” She asked. Her body was cold and rigid. Not who are you? What are you? There she was, Greed, a Demon Lord who knelt before a human for reasons and emotion that she could not understand.

Odds defying heroes existed, Greed has seen lots of them. Mortals who struggled mightily until they won against their fate, such mortals existed, Greed knew and admired them. Thusly, she understood that the human who stood before her was not one of them. Not a hero nor a struggler.

“I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance. Nice to meet you,” said he in his usual arrogance manner. His eyes dark with power. He said it as if it was the explanation for everything. He said it as if it was the ultimate and uncompromising truth.

It suddenly dawned to Greed that the memory record, the Prince’s memory record that Death shared to every participant of the Reign of Chaos back then was heavily altered. Greed watched him growing up in that record. She witnessed his successes and failures, his disgrace and redemption, his rise and fall. He, just like those heroes that Greed admired and envied, he made it looked easy. He made the odds looked small.

But there was a part of the Prince that she failed to see. She could not see that part because it was completely removed from the record. Someone has wiped it, the terrifying side of the Prince, altered it in the most secretive and subtle manner so nobody would notice it. Someone has altered the memory record, erasing the uglier side of the Prince, the side that made nobody want to mess with him. Nobody realized that the record was heavily altered when watching that record.

Who could do that? Greed thought. Slowly, an image appeared. A long burdened bundle of uncut and unkempt hair. A pair of swollen baggy eyes decorated on a world-weary face.

Eogaill…Of course, there was no one else in the world who could do a better job at altering the truth than Eogaill, the Truth herself.

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It haunted Greed’s mind for a very long time. That “How did he do that?” question. Greed kept torturing herself with that question when he was the Prince, her Prince. Even when he became her “Little rabbit,” this question still haunted her.

Eogaill could purge the corruption born from the with her swords of truth. Death could kill the source of corruption with her scythe. The two of them presented the worst matchup for Demon Lords whose primary strength and power came from the Authority. Demon Lords like Greed, Envy, Lust, and Managan learned that their powers and miracles meant little against those two. There was no shame in acknowledging that since one of them was the Arbiter herself and the other one was the Truth herself.

Admitting that her iconic miracles, the and the could be completely negated by Pride through the simplest application of was shocking to Greed. But that was nothing in comparison to how the Prince could do that.

Watching the Prince of The Alliance just smiled his usual smile, reciting a single phrase, “I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,” and purged her corruption with that arrogant smile of his, it was an eye-opening experience.

“You cannot corrupt an already full corrupted man. As a moron, I fight corruption with corruption,” he joked, still wearing that bright smile of his. “There is no uncorrupted part of me left for you to corrupt,” he explained. However, that could not be further away from the truth. He preferred people found the answer for themselves rather than spoon-feeding the answer to them.

Back then with her eyes wide-opened, Greed had seen a man whose soul bound to her by the freed himself by uttering, “I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.” She saw a man using a Demon Lord’s miracle. And it was not just any Demon Lord’s miracle, it was Sanguine’s miracle.

“I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,” said he with a swell of egotism and arrogance, repeating his words to the point that Greed knew the when and where and how he would say it. He repeated that phrase so many times that Greed eventually understood it, the meaning, the what-and-why he repeated it.

“I am Fearless.” A reminder to himself of who he was, always, to never lose sight of himself. “The Prince of The Alliance,” he told himself of who and what he represented. “I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance.” It was all he had left, the one important thing, the treasure that he would never compromise to anything or anyone. He would not relinquish it under any situation.

That fluid was madness, an abomination born from the corruption of the truth, a symbol of Sanguine’s authority, the Embodiment of Madness, in and of itself. It was chaos for what chaos represented, insanity, instability, an amalgam of truth a mirage, past and presence and future, harsh reality and wishful delusion, cruelty, and kindness. But, in the hands of the Prince of The Alliance, madness was merely a tool to be used, no more, no less.

“I am Fearless, the Prince of The Alliance,” said he, the Prince. He said that line in a solemn voice like a mortal praying to the Almighty Gods beseeching a miracle, but with the arrogance of a God using his Authority to bend the world to his will. He always said that with a smile, an arrogant smile. It was his south-pointing needle to wade through the murky chaos.

It was his truth, his Miracle, his Authority. The Prince’s ultimate weapon was just that simple. A self- explanatory smile.

If Death could not destroy this smile, if time could not tarnish it, if Madness bowed down to it…

For the first time in her life, Greed was glad that Pride has made the decision to veto that decision of Flokí and Munezee.

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Greed was given a truly impossible mission.

“You have all the time in the world to figure it out. So, use your time wisely,” said he, the little rabbit who gave Greed that impossible mission. “I don’t care how you are going to do it, what method you used, or the price you must pay to achieve it. GET IT DONE for me,” said he in the most tyrannical and unreasonable manner.

Greed complained to him once, tried, painfully aware of the impossibility that she was told to tackle.

“Funny,” he cackled, “You have not even tried. How do you know that it is impossible? I just told you that you have all the time in the world to figure it out. FUNNY. I have never told you, have I? Back then I had my hands full, dealing with Bloodbeard, I gave myself a task to figure all of my problems, all that related to your kin’s meddling and whatever your kin’s game was. I had nothing, not even a single idea of how I should do it, not a cheap magical tool to do away with my problems, not even time. And here we are, I capture all of you in a single fell swoop. I BROKE THROUGH THE BLACK DREAM WITH A PAIR OF EMPTY HANDS. I possess no miracle, no authority, not even time, and, still, I could break through it.

Are you perhaps telling me that you, Greed, a person who possesses all the magical tools, terrific weapons, unlimited wealth and even unlimited time in the world cannot come up with a solution to this problem?” Said he, in a mocking voice.

“Just because you could do it. It does not mean everyone else can do it.”

“True. But, you know what? SHUT THE FUCK UP AND JUST DO IT. JUST FUCKING DO IT UNTIL YOU CAN GET IT DONE,” he bellowed. Then, as Greed was staring at him, a thousand obsidian spine shot out of his body.

Greed recognized them. The color, the shape, and the arrangement were different but they, the claws belonged to Wrath. It was that exact moment that Greed was sure that her little rabbit had already taken in Wrath’s primary Authority < Slave of Ira>.

Greed stared at her little rabbit, “You are insane,” gaped and out of the word to say.

The little rabbit should look like a mindless beast of complete destruction right now, like Wrath, the old Wrath. The Wrath, right now, whatever he looked like, whatever he sounded like, he was Wrath-in-name-only. He has lost what constituted him as Wrath.

“That’s old news,” he clicked his tongue, annoyed. It was as though he hated revealing this ugly look of his to Greed. He made a painful bellow to retract the claws.

“Are you trying to become a Demon Lord?” Greed asked, staring at the madness in human shape standing before her.

“Please, I don’t need to be a Demon Lord to beat a Demon Lord. Not worth my time. I beat Demon Lords with Demon Lords, make no mistake. This? This is what I call, Trading,” scoffed he, sarcastically.

He granted Greed access to his library and even training facility. He allowed her to move around dreamland, moving from one time-flow to another and not just confined to her spacious room. He allowed Greed to observe how he operated and ran his General Staff. He allowed Greed to observe how he defeated Pride again, again, again and again.

Greed would bet that no Demon Lord could suffer that kind of discouraging beating, 14,998 straight losses, the way Pride did, and still wished for more, especially for someone of Pride’s ego. It was a miracle that Pride could keep going at the moment.

The little rabbit was merciless. He gave Pride the ugliest pounding that Greed has ever seen, the kind of pounding that Envy would drool dreaming of, the kind of pounding that made an Immortal said, enough, and quitted. It was as if the little rabbit set his mind to break Pride’s spirit, making her give up, mentally. Every time Pride seemed to figure him out, he pummeled her with a new weapon, a new tactic, a new attacking scheme, a new defensive strategy. It was as though the rabbit speeded up the time for himself to train in secret every time Pride was about to catch up to him.

In this world, this Divine Dream, the little rabbit existed on a different time flow. Always ahead of everyone and everything. Pride adapted and improved but he was prepared.

Pride was fighting a futile battle against the flow of time itself.

In this world, time was the little rabbit. Time bent to his will. It bowed to his whims and need. It served him. In this world, time was his greatest weapon and armor, after his filthy crafty mind and indomitable smile.

Time fell into the worst hands, his hands, the pair that could make the best out of it.

Pride has to take time away from the rabbit first in order to beat him. It took a while for Greed to understand that as she watched the beat-down. But Pride has probably understood something so simple a long time ago… So why?

And then, there were Sanguine’s Champions, or what used to be ancient Champions of Sanguine. What were they now, Greed was not sure. They gave Greed a bad vibe. Pride, a Demon Lord was reduced to their training doll inside this dream under the rabbit’s authority.

This rabbit just turns everything that his hands could touch into weapons.

Greed had a habit of rooting for the underdog, as long as the dogfight was completely unrelated to her wellbeing. But for the first time in her life, she felt like rooting for a Demon Lord in a dispute between a Demon Lord and a human.

The 15,000th match was near. Greed has expected everything but the catfight between Acrẽa and Pride to happen at the dawn of the 14,999th match. Apparently, the little rabbit has returned Acrẽa’s power to her. And the first thing Acrẽa did when her power returned was to issue a fight with Pride.

The little rabbit, the owner of an ever warped personality he was, the instigator of the fight has booked a luxurious lounge, inviting Greed and Managan to watch the fight him. He was thrilled.

“What have you done to Acrẽa to make her so mad?” Greed asked.

“Nothing. I have done nothing to Acrẽa. I was so busy that I had no time to visit her in the last few weeks.”

Greed started to understand how the situation blew up. Acrẽa had a morbid fixation on her item. What was hers belonged to hers. Acrẽa never share anything with anyone. Sharing her man with many other women was already the biggest blow to her ego. Now, her man was taken away from her by Pride. At least, that was what Acrẽa thought.

“You stood her up on purpose,” Greed pointed out. The little rabbit made it appeared that Pride was the reason, thusly directing Acrẽa’s anger and jealousy at Pride.

“I was busy,” lied he, barefacedly.

“What do you mean? You control the flow of time in this world. You always had the time for everything.”

“I was busy...” He shrugged his shoulders, more interested in watching the fight between two Demon Lords than arguing with Greed. With popcorn and coke readied, he sat down and watched.

The fight that the little rabbit instigated broke out.

“Oh...” uttered he, dully and quietly.

He expected a fight. But it was a beatdown. The moment the fight broke out, Acrẽa was hapless prey locked inside a cage with a lion.

“I would rather watch the fight between Mcgregory and Mayweathery than this. This is.... ugly,” he commented, wearing a stony look as if he had not come to terms with how the fight went.

“What did you expect?”

“A fight,” he said. Disgust twisted his face. Anger waffled his body. He stared at Greed, “I was a fool... SHIT. Must I, a human, teach a Demon Lord how to use her power properly? This is like a human trying to teach a bird how to fly. This is pure nonsense. This makes no sense. This is bullshit. She had lived hundreds of thousands millennia. For god’s sake, WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK? How can a person suck so hard at using her own power? SHIT, I assumed every Demon Lord was a master of her power. SHIT, had I sent her out to fight with Yasubotay not knowing this, I would lose that fight. What kind of nonsense is this? She had lived hundreds of thousands millennia. How is it possible for her to not master the use of her power already? FUCK THIS SHIT. There is no point in having a tactical weapon if you don’t know how to use it tactically. FUCK, how hard could it be? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK, that was close. FUCK. I could have doomed Sansengun and Isonos in their very first battle. FUCK.” He cursed and left in a trailblazing fury.