Mephistopheles remained at Baal's side, the only two left standing amid the wreckage of cosmic slaughter.
Everyone else had been taken care of, permanently.
Neither dared speak.
A death sentence hung over them like a guillotine blade, and they both understood silence was their only shield.
Mephistopheles clung desperately to life, every shallow breath a quiet plea to keep existing.
Baal, however, hid something far darker beneath his composed mask.
He was growing stronger.
With every sovereign and god who fell, Baal quietly siphoned fragments of their essence.
Power trickled into him like stolen wine, subtle and steady.
He thought himself clever, profiting in the shadows while Aaron remained distracted.
He had no idea Aaron already knew.
Aaron had noticed the faint parasitic threads Baal wove with each death.
But he chose to ignore them, for now.
The petty theft paled in comparison to what he was building.
