Paimon's mansion seemed even more silent when the group returned. The long corridors, with black curtains and extinguished chandeliers, now looked like nothing more than a backdrop for something much deeper. Daytona, Martin, Ghost, and Saravia were exhausted, but alert. Crossing the main hall, Paimon led them back to the fire chamber.
The flames did not burn wood, but instead dark fragments of some unknown dried flesh. The light danced in a somber orange, and yet there was comfort in the heat it gave off.
Paimon sat in one of the curved dark leather armchairs, crossed his long feathered "legs," and adjusted his crown slightly. He looked more serious now, without losing his natural tone of elegant sarcasm.
— Now that you've had a taste of what's coming — he began — it's time we talked about something many either forget or fear: the Mark of the Beast.
Daytona frowned. Belzebub remained silent in her mind, but she felt his sharp attention.
— Mark of the Beast? — Martin asked. — Is that like a symbol? A curse?
— Nothing so simple — said Paimon. — It's more like… a bond between you and the entity you carry inside. The Mark appears when certain conditions are met. It doesn't come with words. It comes with impulse.
Saravia leaned against the wall. She was more attentive than usual.
— What are those conditions?
Paimon spread his wings slightly, as if out of impatience.
— Anger. Fury. Will to kill. And above all, use. The more you use the abilities your entity allows, the stronger the bond becomes. It's a symbiosis. But the more you rely on that power… the more it responds to your desire.
He looked directly at Daytona.
— And eventually, when the power fuses with identity, the Mark appears. At first, it's symbolic. But later, it changes everything: your energy, your body, your mind.
Ghost spoke for the first time since they had arrived:
— And are there risks?
Paimon gave a dry laugh.
— Of course. If the bond is weak, the entity may consume the host. If it's strong… the host consumes the entity. The ideal is balance, but not always is imbalance the fault of just one. There must be coexistence in sync. Like Daytona is doing with Belzebub.
Belzebub then spoke, directly in her mind, like a whisper wrapped in echoes.
— He is right. But few endure the weight of the Mark without breaking inside… Still… you are not like the others.
Daytona lowered her gaze. She remembered the first time she saw her body change. The battles. The living flesh shaping itself like infernal clay.
Paimon continued:
— The Mark grants more than strength. It affects the bond with the demon. Makes it clearer, more intense. You'll hear more, feel more, even act together. And at its peak… you won't know where one ends and the other begins.
Saravia then looked at her own arm, where a faint bluish mark began to glow softly.
— Leviathan… did you know this?
— Of course, whispered the cold sharp voice in her mind. But I'm not the type to tell you everything at once. Knowledge… must be felt on the skin, not given as a gift.
Ghost rested his chin on his hands:
— And why are you telling us this now?
— Because your journey is nearing the point of no return — Paimon replied. — When you leave this mansion, the path will only go upward. And the closer to Paradise you get, the more the celestial forces will oppose you. Do you think Hell is dangerous? Wait until you see the wrath of an Archangel catching the scent of a Demon King's flesh fused to a human body.
The group fell silent.
Martin broke the mood with his half-dry voice, trying to keep it light:
— So… what do we do now?
Paimon smiled.
— You have two choices: rest here… or go down to the final test.
— Final test? — Daytona asked.
— Before ascending to Heaven… one must survive the mouth of Hell. The Ring of Pride. There, even the ground itself wants to devour you.
The fire crackled with a dry sound. Daytona watched the flames dance. The Mark… already felt close. She could feel her blood pulsing stronger, as if something was being born inside.
Belzebub spoke again:
— You are ready. But don't rush. Use what you feel. And when the Mark comes… accept it. It will be your skin, your soul, and your blade.
Daytona tightened her grip on the Kōken Akakagami resting at her waist.
She took a deep breath, faced Paimon, and said:
— We are ready.
He smiled with his eyes.
— We'll see.
The air of the Ring of Wrath was still that morning. The sky, black as pitch, was cut by fine lines of white light that seemed to crack the atmosphere like shattered glass. Even so, there was peace on that hill.
Daytona sat silently on a large stone, legs crossed, eyes lost in the abstract horizon. The lights around her moved slowly, as if they had consciousness of their own. Nothing there seemed real, yet everything weighed like concrete.
The cold breeze of the Ring brushed her face delicately, swaying her hair and her dark coat, already worn from the travels through Setealem. In her hands, she slowly spun the Kōken Akakagami, watching its metallic red shine reflect the light of the celestial fissures above.
Belzebub was quiet. But his presence inside her was more intense than ever. It was as if he too was reflecting. Or preparing.
"You've been far more introspective than usual, Daytona…" — he whispered, his voice soft yet firm in her mind.
— I know. — she answered in a low voice. — I'm starting to understand what this place wants from me. And I'm not sure I like it.
Belzebub didn't reply immediately. He simply lingered within her like an ancient echo. Daytona closed her eyes. She felt the energy in her body pulse — slow, dense, powerful.
— What do you feel for her? — he asked suddenly. — For Saravia, something more than… friendship?
Daytona frowned, opening her eyes slowly.
— I don't know. — she murmured. — Maybe… jealousy? Anger? Or maybe I just don't understand what she wants.
— Understand? — Belzebub laughed. — Do you think she understands it herself?
Daytona remained silent, staring at the shadows below that slid across the ground of the Ring like stains of living smoke. The hill was far enough to not see any buildings, but still the whispers of sinners and demons could be heard, like a city that never slept, only avoided speaking.
The footsteps behind her broke her concentration. Daytona turned her head slightly.
Saravia was approaching, hands in her pockets, icy blue eyes fixed on her. Her light leather coat swayed with the wind, and a faint subtle smile rested on her lips.
— Escaping the house now, Daytona? — she asked, in a tone between teasing and gentle. — Or did you just not want to talk to the little bird?
Daytona smirked slightly, without taking her eyes off the Akakagami in her hand.
— Just needed some air. And you?
Saravia sat on the stone beside her, cracking her knuckles. — Needed some air too… — she said, looking at the horizon. — Or maybe… to train.
Daytona glanced at her. Saravia's eyes were deeper than before. There was something in them. A decision made, but not revealed.
— Belzebub said something strange. — Daytona said.
— He always does. — Saravia replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
— He asked what I feel for you.
Saravia smiled, a crooked smile.
— And what did you say?
Daytona turned her body toward her, resting the red katana on her shoulder.
— That maybe I'm angry. But I don't even know why.
The silence lingered for a few seconds, broken only by the wind. Then, Saravia stood up, stepping away slightly.
— Then let's find out. — she said, turning her face aside, her smile still present. — I want to see what the Goddess of Setealem is made of.
Daytona rose slowly, her eyes narrowing. Belzebub grew excited inside her.
"Finally something interesting," he murmured.
Without another word, Daytona spun the Kōken Akakagami in her hands, and the blade seemed to recognize the moment, glowing with intensity as if alive. Saravia also drew her Anchor from her back effortlessly, spinning it with its chain.
And then, the two faced each other in silence.
The battle was about to begin.