His eyes filled with tears from the laughter, mocking Alan's own bloody tears. Armis's chuckling voice continued, further piercing needles of pain into Alan.
"You know why?! Because they are trapped in here!" Armis pulled back the orbs, straightening up. With Alan in one hand and the orbs in the other, his voice filled the temple with horror-filled declarations, which he found satisfyingly amusing. He followed with another burst of lunatic laughter.
"All of your friends! Your commander! Even your wife!"
"He he heh hehe HAHA!—thud!" Suddenly, Armis's laughter ceased with a kick to his face, coming from the withered body of Alan. Alan didn't care if his strike did any damage or not. He quickly freed his surviving hand, lunging toward the orbs in Armis's hand. Armis quickly pulled them away, finding amusement in playing with Alan's helplessness and desperate despair.
"Oh! Oh! Being feisty, aren't you, Alan? But forgive me, as I have better use for these." —ktthdddhhaakkk!—Aeehhhhhhhhh!—A gruesome echo of crushing bones and squashing flesh rang faintly in the air, drowned by a piercing, wordless scream from Alan. He writhed in agony as Armis, in revenge for Alan's kick, held a mercilessly grim expression while crushing Alan's already mutilated hand, further crushing his wrist.
Armis then turned towards King Roiran, who watched Alan's torture silently. Even if he wanted to intervene, he knew he would lose more than he would gain. A new fear had emerged in his heart—fear of Armis, his knowledge, and his unknown power. Before engaging in anything, King Roiran wanted Armis to reveal everything he knew. Armis resumed his nonchalance, pacing on the stairway.
"So now, where were we? Ah, yes…"
Now with each step, Alan's wheezing groans and dripping blood echoed alongside Armis's words.
"After discovering such a flaw that nearly perfected his theory, my father wondered how to get it to me. Would I even be able to understand and do what he wanted? And what if the knowledge got into the wrong hands? Even if he were to write everything in detail, he had no way to get it to me. I was in Pompeii," a flicker of disgust crossed his eyes and lips, directed towards Layla, whom everyone believed Armis loved like a mother, "being smothered and weakened by Layla!" His sternness returned as he continued.
"For days, he mulled over how to get that knowledge to his unaware, weak son. You know, King Roiran," Armis gave him a big mocking smile, followed by a voiceless chuckle and then a verbal insult, "I can't decide if God really hates you or if you're just your own worst enemy, like my friend Alan here. But what happened next suggests the latter because, get this, Alan," Armis pulled Alan in front, speaking with mocking, feigned innocence to Alan's crying, bloody, despairing face, "he himself gave my father the instrument to write his own demise!"
After his mocking emphasis, he lowered Alan back down, Alan's feet striking every ledge of the next step as Armis walked ahead, continuing.
"One day, the great king of pride here asked my father for help. Apparently, he needed some ancient scrolls of Purgatory copied. But when he gave my father those scrolls, they were completely blank, clean as light! That's when he told him about that technique I mentioned earlier, remember?" Armis raised his gaze with his rhetorical question and continued, "He told him it was a demonic art that only he could see or someone with his level of power."
A mocking chuckle flushed Armis's face as he looked at King Roiran, clawing at his past mistake to tear open new wounds of guilt in King Roiran's heart. "And can you believe it? The man even blessed my father with that sight so he could do what our King felt lazy and beneath him to do! My father, that man! He either had great luck or the gods really do hate you because what comes next really suggests that." Armis mocked by not completing his chuckle into laughter, turning it back into sternness, showing he was losing interest even in mocking King Roiran.
"Now he had a solution to one of his problems. What about the next? So the 'gods,' even in hell, sent him their unintended crusader: an idea, a memory."
"See, Alan, Hero Goliath wasn't just a father; he was more of a commander, an actual commander. He taught me many things—physical and mental tricks, even a language. Yes, the very language you're trying so desperately to understand but can't grasp a single word of, can you, King Roiran?" Armis's mocking exclamation didn't surprise King Roiran.
No frustration or dread flickered across his face, even though he had been mulling over the invisible language he read in the book, the book that now lay in the pit of the stairway. But none of it affected King Roiran—at least, that's what he wanted to believe. As Armis neared and continued his mocking jests, King Roiran's visage, word by word, step by step, started becoming more demonic and contorted in rage. Armis noticed and mocked it further.
"That language isn't ordinary; it's a code language that my father learned on one of his adventures in the outside world. My mother knew it too. He taught me that language as well. We used to communicate secretly in front of others. Oh, the look on Layla and Adrian's faces when we did that! But believe me, it was much better than whatever it is you're having, my liege."
Only ten steps remained until Armis would reach the top, alongside the king, the revered god. Yet, he showed no emotions, only persistent sternness, which in mid-speech hurled daggers at the already diminished, rage-filled pride.
"Well, now he had a solution and a conclusion: if he were to write all the knowledge and send it outside somehow, and if it were to get into the wrong hands, there's no way anyone out there right now could read through that invisibility. If they could, he wouldn't be here right now. And if it somehow got to me, it would be no good if I couldn't read it either because that would just mean I wasn't strong enough."
"So, in that time, my father showed true pride, not like yours—it wasn't blind arrogance." A loud, very loud grit of teeth escaped King Roiran's mouth, elicited by Armis's venomous words, which remained along with the echo of his speech. "It was a faith he put in me and himself. He had written a perfect guidebook for this castle and the crucial steps I had to take to get to this point at the perfect time, with the perfect body, perfect things, and in perfect circumstances!"
After an eager exclamation, Armis began to climb the remaining stairs in a bizarre position, his body leaned, his hands tied behind his hunched back, along with Alan, who groaned faintly. But an uncaring Armis only fixed his twisted, wide smile and sinister gaze at the growling King Roiran. The growing volume of Armis's tone was accentuated by his nearing steps.
"So he escaped... or rather attempted to escape. But he knew all too well what was coming for him. He knew he would never be able to get that book out of here alive, that he would never be able to give it to me himself. He knew that before he took a step out of this dreadful place, this literal hellhole, he would be ripped to shreds. But all he had to do was get that book out of the 49th floor, out of your castle."
Before he knew it, Armis's mocking, twisted smile was mere inches below King Roiran. They stood together in a pause, the air thick with burning tension. Armis wanted King Roiran to give in to his impulses, to punch him, to unleash his wrath, his frustration, his fury. It would prove Armis right, solidify his beliefs. But when nothing happened, Armis broke the silence with dramatic flair. He flung Alan to the ground near the burning pot of lava, his body dragging blood for inches until it stopped.
Armis resumed his antics with profound wonderment, strolling around the pot of lava and King Roiran, speaking in a loud tone, "And if I'm here, telling you all this, it can only mean one thing, right? Right, my liege? Right, 'God'?" Armis met King Roiran's boiling gaze with mockery, his words like daggers.
"I bet when you caught him, not once did any thought about this book cross your mind, right?" When neither his voice, gaze, nor words provoked a violent reaction from King Roiran, Armis only amped up his antics. With dramatic gestures, he put soul and mockery behind his words, poking at King Roiran's erupting anger. "Because you were blinded by pride—nobody can escape me! Nobody can defeat me! I am the GOD THAT WAS, THAT IS, THAT WILL BE!" His entire being—eyes, face, hands—imitated the words, the threat, the reverence of pride.
Now, King Roiran's once cherished confidence was Armis's plaything. Armis even placed a hand on King Roiran's back, conveying genuine joy and amusement as he continued, "I bet that's the same thing you told yourself when you were tearing my father apart, shredding him into countless pieces."
Armis quickly swirled around and stood before King Roiran. Though shorter, he grasped the king's shoulder firmly, exuding an unspoken language that showed who was truly taller at that moment. "Not even bothering to read through his memories, just dumping his dirty soul straight into that pot." Armis pointed with his eyes, then let go of King Roiran's shoulder. Turning his back to him, he sighed with amusement, placing a hand on his head to steady himself, before continuing, "Oh, the anger… the foolishness it can make us do!"
When even these antics failed to provoke King Roiran's wrath, Armis pulled the last straw, not with strain or frustration, but with waltzing joy and amusement. He moved toward Alan, sitting down and leaning in to speak loudly in his ear, eliciting groans of agonizing despair and dread.
"Ooh! Ooh! And Alan! Alan! You understood too, right? The answers, the things you asked while screaming, 'WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!' again and again!" Armis combined every antic, every bit of dramatic flair, with ruthless cruelty. He grabbed Alan's hand, gripping tightly until blood dripped from his darkened flesh, pushing him down while maintaining amusement and mockery on his face.
"Yes, yes… and not only that. Every single thing that happened from—what was it?" His mocking, feigned innocence only heightened the horror of his betrayal. King Roiran heard Alan's bones crushing and breaking. So did Armis, but while King Roiran stood still, trying not to fall for Armis's bait, Armis reveled in every moment. His excitement was palpable, his bone-crushing grip on Alan's body unrelenting.
"Yep! From the 51st floor till here. Everything happened just like I wanted. Tell me, Alan…" Armis leaned even closer to Alan's ear, his voice toning down to a stern whisper. "Have you heard that saying? Like father, like son?" Then his voice returned to cruel, mocking amusement, loud and twisted.
"Yes! I could have killed every single one of those monsters just as easily as my father did, if not quicker. Hell, I even knew where and what all the traps were. I didn't even need to play along. But where's the fun in that, huh, Alan? I would have ended with the same fate as my father. So yes! I made them scapegoats… sacrifices out of YOUR FRIENDS!"
A sickening crack resounded as Armis's final words echoed through the chamber. "Aahhh! Aahhh! Ahhhhhhhhhh!"
Even King Roiran closed his eyes. Revered as the King of Hell, even he would never have done what Armis was doing to a bloodied, wounded, almost lifeless person—his own friend. Just to push King Roiran over the edge, to provoke his fury, and to emphasize his revelation in Alan's already writhing pain, Armis pushed Alan down. He made sure his own force and the weight of Alan's body fell on his already mutilated arm, which turned into a pulp of blood, bones, and flesh, eliciting a blood-curdling scream from Alan's near-death body.
Alan first felt pain, then nothing. Everything went numb—no sensation, no sound, nothing but darkness. He wished, over and over, to be dead this time. But Alan knew, long before Armis would have told him, that God or the gods hated him. He was a child of calamity; his birth brought nothing but death. Every year of his life had seen lifeless visages—sometimes animals, sometimes neighbors, friends, or even his own family.
But that wasn't the only proof. Despite such a connection with death, he had never experienced the almost enchanting phenomenon himself. There were times he was sure he would die, that only he would die, that what was happening was designed so he could meet the god that hated him so much. But he never called it luck. A curse, he believed, was what saved him from the brink each time. It used to frustrate him, but he learned to work with it, even finding a job where this curse accentuated his success. Soon, he forgot about it altogether.
But now, lying in literal hell, a place where only the dead are welcome, where the damned are judged, right before the King of Hell, beaten again and again by fate, by himself, by his own friend, everything made Alan remember that his curse had never left him.
He was the one who chose to forget, to bury it deep in his memories. The very thing that saved him from death, that helped him perform impossible feats, made sure he would feel each fraction of a moment filled with pain and agony.
Because whatever numbness he felt, whatever darkness he saw, all faded when he heard Armis's voice again. Slowly opening his blood-hazed eyes, he saw Armis's demonic visage still hovering over him, his beastly jaw still moving. Despite Alan's condition, Armis felt no concern—only amusement and the need to mock Alan's pain and despair with his stabbing words.
"And before you say, or I don't know, manage to say, ever since I woke up, not even for a minute did I consider any one of them my friends." Armis leaned close, looking with his demonic eyes deep into Alan's blood-drowned ones, ensuring no doubt or question remained in Alan's broken mind. "Yes... not even Aurelia."
Armis leaned back up just as quickly, returning from the momentary grimness. As he stood, his voice transformed from amusement to grim sternness. "I let them die, Alan. I could have saved them, I could have kept everyone alive till now. Hell, I'm sure we would have even defeated him! But what was ever in it for me, huh? You can't blame me for that. I was raised in a kingdom of greed. Might is right! If you want something, fight for it and take it! Doesn't matter the ethics, the morals, or the sacrifices—you want it, and that is all that matters."
Armis stood up, placing one foot on Alan's almost motionless chest, spitting disgust at Alan's unshown, unsaid obliviousness. "Why would you ever believe it was going to end up any other way?"
Armis had fully become a demon. Not just his face, his voice, his form—right down to the very core—everything he held inside was as evil and vile as it could be. The contrast between him and King Roiran was blinding. King Roiran knew that somewhere beneath his demonic exterior, his dark heart still held a fraction of humanity, a trace of compassion and empathy that only a human can feel. But for Armis, these qualities were nothing but wasted playthings, instruments he used to get what he wanted and to torment whomever he pleased.
Just when it seemed he was done torturing Alan, he pulled another cruelty from his bag of tricks, maintaining a facade of genuine puzzlement at first.
"But you know, Alan, the thing about you being a foreigner, the pure soul—that was a total surprise for me. I swear I never could have guessed…he hmphh!" Then came the lunacy and mockery with resounding, piercing laughter. "Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaa!!!!! I'm sorry, I can't do this right now. I have come so far, already have blown my facade of innocence. I can't continue that. Please, Alan, forgive me."
His cruel amusement, his chuckles, remained as he strolled around Alan, continuing to answer another unasked question, another blow to the bond, the friendship that Alan had held dear until now.
"Of course, I knew, man! I knew it from the start. In fact, it wasn't even me—it was the weaker Armis who found out. But he never said anything. He didn't want to lose the first true friend he made. Despite the absurd emotions, I really have to thank him for that one. It was like I said, King Roiran, those Gods!!!"
Armis suddenly stopped and turned towards King Roiran, calling him out before he spun, his spread hands pointing towards the carved statues of the chained gods surrounding them, as his voice rang in the tense air.
"They really hate you two!! Such a series of 'coincidences' for what? To bring you two to the fate you were born for?" King Roiran didn't turn. He didn't see Armis's expression, but through his piercing words, he understood where Armis was going. He was going to finish this dance, this act of mockery, with the very words, the imitation of tone and actions of himself. Armis was drawing the full circle with his words, beginning to end his tale.
"The fate that will now make me the strongest being in all three realms!!!" Armis's voice echoed, shivering the air, the stones, the foundation of the temple of a god, trembling beneath his stomps. He slammed his foot on the ground, causing the dirt to fall and the pot of lava to move back and forth, as he bellowed out with rising vigor, more intense and sinister than King Roiran's.
"Once everything is done, I will tear through Hell!! Shatter the mortal plane!!! I WILL CHALLENGE THE HEAVENS!!! And unlike you…" Armis held King Roiran's shoulder, whispering grimly in his ear, "Oh my great king, I will win. So let's not waste any more time, huh, Alan?"
He released his firm grip from King Roiran, looked at Alan, and called out to him before moving near the pot of lava relentlessly consuming the dark, damned souls. He looked inside, and unlike King Roiran, he didn't imagine his visage. Instead, the surface reflected his smirk, his excitement, the dread and horror he spewed along with his words. His dramatic hands spread wide, along with his grin and eyes.
"Come on, just like our king said, embrace your destiny. Sacrifice your body to the one true MAGNIFICENT PLAN!! Now rejoice, King Roiran. You have been chosen to become the final element that will aid in the birth of a new god. A BETTER GOD!!!"
———thddhhckhhhhhh!!!!!!!———
Suddenly, a thundering strike echoed through the temple, so powerful and reverberating that Alan's almost lifeless eyes snapped open. He saw the pot of lava heaving back and forth, and standing beside it was him, with a twisted expression and wide grin on his face, surrounded by a fading explosion of dirt and air. Armis was absent from the scene until another resounding explosion followed,
———-Ddhhhhdaammmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!—
Alan struggled, groaned, and crawled, somehow managing to roll his blood-drenched body to see King Roiran stepping toward the ledge of the platform they stood upon. Alan saw the dust and debris expanding, the fading sound of the destruction overshadowed by the sneering of King Roiran,
"So!!! Let's get this straight, now after all the words exchanged and all. All I need to do is beat the literal 'Hell' out of you, huh?"