The pain stopped.
Belphegor remained on the floor.
For several seconds, he did not move. His fingers were still curled into the wooden floorboards, his breathing ragged as his body struggled to understand that the agony was finally over.
Two minutes.
His mind had experienced two hours.
Sweat ran down his face and dripped from his chin. His muscles trembled despite every command he gave them to stop.
He hated that more than the pain itself.
Belphegor slowly pushed himself upright.
The dead man was still there.
John.
The name meant nothing to him. The body did.
He looked at it for a long moment before turning toward the blue window floating in the air.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
[Punishment Concluded.]
[Behavioral Adjustment: Initiated.]
"Adjustment?"
"You prefer that term to punishment."
Belphegor's eyes narrowed.
"I prefer that you stop speaking."
"That isn't one of the available options."
Belphegor ignored the remark.
He was still thinking about what had happened.
Two hours of agony, compressed into two minutes.
The System had not merely punished him. It had demonstrated that his defiance had consequences.
His powers were suppressed. His body could apparently be controlled. His freedom had become conditional.
He hated every part of it.
"How much control do you have over me?"
"That depends."
Belphegor raised a hand.
Nothing happened.
He lowered it.
Then he walked toward the door.
One step.
Two.
His body obeyed.
He reached for the handle.
The moment his fingers touched it, his muscles locked.
Belphegor froze.
He tried to move his hand.
Nothing.
His arm refused to respond.
He tried to turn his head.
Nothing.
His breathing continued, but even that felt strangely distant, as though the System had allowed him only what was necessary to remain conscious.
Belphegor's eyes widened.
"You…"
His voice came out strained.
"You can control me."
"Within certain parameters."
"How much?"
"That depends on what you attempt to do."
Belphegor strained against the invisible restriction.
Nothing.
For the first time since waking, genuine unease touched his expression.
This was worse than losing his powers.
His power had always been something he could reclaim.
But his body?
His body was supposed to be his.
The System released him.
Belphegor stumbled forward and caught himself against the wall.
He remained there for a moment, staring at his hands.
Then his expression changed.
The unease disappeared.
Calculation replaced it.
If the System had rules, then the rules had limits.
And if they had limits, they could be understood.
A scream suddenly tore through the corridor.
Belphegor turned toward the open doorway.
A woman stood outside.
She had been passing the room when she saw the corpse.
Her eyes locked onto John.
Then Belphegor.
For one frozen moment, neither moved.
Then she screamed.
"Murderer!"
Footsteps thundered toward the room.
"What happened?"
"What's going on?"
"John?"
Within moments, the doorway was crowded.
Belphegor counted them.
Ten.
Perhaps eleven.
They were not warriors. Most carried whatever they had managed to grab in the confusion. Wooden sticks. A chair leg. One man held a kitchen knife with both hands.
They looked at the corpse.
Then at Belphegor.
Fear slowly became anger.
"You killed him."
Belphegor said nothing.
"You killed John!"
"Don't let him leave!"
One man stepped forward.
"You're not going anywhere."
Belphegor looked him over.
Their courage was almost amusing.
"You misunderstand your position."
He raised both hands.
The men flinched.
Belphegor intended to move.
He intended to demonstrate exactly how badly they had misjudged him.
His muscles did not respond.
His smile disappeared.
The System spoke inside his mind.
"You weren't planning to kill them, were you?"
Belphegor's eyes widened.
"You dare…"
The first stick struck his shoulder.
Thud.
Another hit his back.
Then another.
The crowd surged forward.
Fists struck his chest. A wooden club smashed against his ribs. Someone swung a chair leg at his head.
Belphegor could do nothing.
His body remained completely still.
Not restrained by chains.
Not weakened by magic.
Controlled.
His pride burned hotter than the blows.
He stared at the faces around him.
"You…"
Another blow struck his cheek.
"I…"
A fist slammed into his stomach.
"Will…"
A stick cracked against his shoulder.
"Remember…"
His eyes moved from one face to another.
Every face.
Every voice.
Every trembling hand.
"I will remember all of you."
But the System had chosen its lesson well.
There was something humiliating about standing motionless while ordinary mortals beat you.
Belphegor could have killed every person in the room if he had possessed even a fraction of his former strength.
Instead, he stood there and endured.
The first stick broke.
Then another.
The men stared at the splintered wood.
One of them swallowed.
"I hit him with everything I had."
Belphegor's clothes were torn.
His skin was marked.
But the damage was almost laughable.
The crowd began to retreat.
"He's not normal."
"Get away from him."
"Leave him alone."
The rage had disappeared from their faces.
Fear replaced it.
Then came a sound Belphegor knew all too well.
Ping.
A blue window appeared.
[RESTORATION PROGRESS]
[Spell 0001/1000 Unlocked]
[Chrono Shield]
Belphegor stared.
For the first time since waking, he forgot about the people around him.
His power.
A piece of it had returned.
He looked at his hands.
Then inward.
Something had changed.
Faintly, he could feel a thread of something that had been missing.
His lips slowly curled upward.
"So you can give them back."
The System said nothing.
Belphegor's eyes sharpened.
He began considering possibilities.
If the System had rules, perhaps those rules could be exploited.
The crowd had nearly reached the corridor when one man stopped.
He looked back at the corpse.
Then toward the room.
"Mr. Jenkins owns this inn."
Nobody answered.
The man swallowed.
"If we let a murderer simply walk out, what are we supposed to tell him?"
"Just leave."
"No."
His voice shook.
He tightened his grip on the broken stick anyway.
"I won't."
He stepped forward.
Belphegor watched him approach.
The man was terrified.
That much was obvious.
Yet he kept walking.
Belphegor almost respected the stupidity of it.
The man raised his stick.
"You killed John."
Belphegor stared at him.
The man swung.
The System did not stop Belphegor this time.
His body was his own again.
His hand moved.
Fast.
He did not summon magic.
He did not need to.
His palm struck the man's cheek.
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the room.
The man's body spun once before hitting the floor.
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Belphegor lowered his hand.
He looked at the corpse.
Then at the terrified crowd.
A faint smile appeared.
"That was disappointing."
The room exploded.
People screamed and fled through the corridor.
Belphegor stepped over the dead man and walked outside.
Cold evening air touched his face.
He stopped.
The sky stretched above him.
Somewhere beyond it were the heavens.
Michael.
The Most High.
The System.
Belphegor's smile faded.
"I will regain everything."
The System's voice came quietly.
"Then you know what you must do."
Belphegor said nothing.
He looked toward the road ahead.
He would play along.
For now.
The System had rules.
Rules could be understood.
And anything that could be understood could eventually be broken.
From an upper window of the inn, someone watched him disappear into the evening.
They remained there long after he was gone.