Chapter 128: Ch 128 : Beginning of the End

Hovering as an unseen ghost in the oppressive meeting room, Sunny found the six Demon Lords seated around a massive table of polished bone, deep in a heated debate. The very air was thick with the scent of ancient malice, and the bone table seemed to whisper with the memories of the colossal beings it was crafted from.

“I am still against this treaty. I don’t know why you all agreed to it,” Ichor, the Lord of Corrosion, snarled, his voice a wet, scraping sound. He tapped a slimy claw on the table, leaving a sizzling, acidic mark that ate into the ancient bone. He yearned to spread his decay to the worlds of the living, but he knew that to do so now would be a death sentence, and he was not ready to die again just yet.

“Ichor, do you have another option? Because I certainly don’t,” Maledictus said, her voice a weary sigh that felt ancient and tired. “It’s either this treaty or another hundred thousand or even million years of slumber to reborn. I, for one, am tired of the cycle. It has become… boring.”

“But it goes against our very nature to simply bow our heads,” Phobos, the Lord of Fear, added, his whisper making the shadows in the corners of the room deepen. The faces swirling within his form contorted with unease. “What are you all thinking?”

“You should understand that this is just a tactical retreat,” Deimos interjected, his voice calm and calculating. He had been silent until now, running every possible outcome through his brilliant, scheming mind. “Their strength is in their unity and their faith. A direct assault is pointless. But a peace treaty… that gives us time. Time to let them grow complacent. Time to let our influence seep into their worlds like a slow poison. We will wait. We will grow. And when the time is right, we will kill those Gods in a single, glorious swoop.”

“Still, I can’t just behave like a dog in front of them,” Ichor seethed, pushing his chair back as if to leave.

“Sit down, Ichor,” a deep, gut-rumbling voice commanded. It was the Demon of Gluttony, Beelzebub, the strongest and most feared among them during that era. He hadn’t moved, but his gaze was a physical weight, a promise of absolute annihilation that made even the Lord of Corrosion shrink back.

“Tch,” Ichor clicked his tongue and sank back into his seat. Beelzebub’s authority was absolute.

“The decision has been made,” Beelzebub said, his voice a low growl of finality. “If you wish to die, be my guest. But I assure you, when you are reborn in a miliion years, you will find us ruling both this realm and theirs.”

Ichor gulped, a visible ripple of fear passing through him. He knew death at the hands of the Gods was quick compared to the fate Beelzebub would inflict upon him. The Glutton would chew him alive. “If you say so,” Ichor conceded, “I will believe you. For once.”

“Then listen carefully,” Deimos said, retaking control of the meeting. “Belial is already on his way to retrieve Adam. He will be back in a few days. At that time, I will tell you the next phase of our plan.” A fleeting, sinister smile crossed his face. This treaty was his idea, a grand deception that would take a hundred thousand years to come to fruition.

A hundred thousand to million years to reborn, Sunny thought from his vantage point of one of the towers of the fortress. So that’s how long it takes. He also noted that Beelzebub seemed to be the true power here, not Deimos.

With a flicker of his will, he accelerated the flow of time, the days blurring into a single moment until he felt the familiar, powerful aura of Adam approaching from the distance.

He floated towards the aura and saw them: Belial, the charming Lord of Lies, escorting Adam, the majestic God of Growth, toward the fortress.

Sunny watched, his soul held in a state of pure awe. He saw Adam walk alone into the den of the seven most powerful demons in existence, his posture straight, his aura an unwavering pillar of golden light in a realm of pure chaos.

Sunny felt a flicker of shame for his own cautious, scheming nature. This was a true God-King. The boastings by Adam were not exaggerated. Adam’s strength was so immense that he truly did not fear them.

Maybe Freya is right, Adam thought to himself, observing the demons’ surprisingly civil behavior. Maybe we should give them a chance. He looked at the seven lords and spoke, his voice ringing with the authority. “Now that you all have decided to turn over a new leaf, I, as the spokesperson for all the Gods, express my heartfelt invitation for you to sign this treaty.”

The seven Demon Lords nodded. One by one, they each released a single drop of their blood. Ichor’s was acidic and smoking, Maledictus’s was viscous and black, and Beelzebub’s was thick like tar. The crimson drops floated in the air, dancing and weaving together in a violent, unnatural process before merging and flattening into a pulsating, living document of blood. Adam followed suit, adding his own drop of pure, liquid gold essence to the pact.

In a chorus of booming, resonant voices, the demons made their pledge. “We, the Demon Lords, pledge to the Void that we will not enter the world of the living in our current life.”

Adam heard the carefully chosen words, the crucial loophole. In our current life. It meant this peace was only temporary. But it was a start.

“Fair enough,” Adam said, his own voice stern and unyielding. “I, God Adam, as the spokesperson of the Gods, pledge to the Mother Void that we Gods will not hurt or kill you, until you break this oath of yours.” His meaning was just as clear: if you don’t fight, we won’t fight. The pact was sealed.

Sunny watched it all, a silent witness to history. He had seen the treaty signed, but he had also seen the cold, calculating look in Deimos’s eyes. He knew, with the chilling clarity of a time traveler, that he had just witnessed the beginning of the end for the old Gods, not the start of a lasting peace.

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