Warmth bled back into my limbs, dragging me up through thick layers of black sleep.
When I opened my eyes, the wooden grain of the ceiling beams didn't just stand out. I could trace every hairline fracture in the timber, count the dust motes suspended in the air, and feel the exact density of the magicules drifting through the floorboards like cold water currents. The heavy, bloated weight of the evolution had evaporated, leaving behind a core so concentrated it felt like holding a coiled steel spring in my chest.
<
The voice in my head wasn't the flat, robotic ping I'd grown used to. The pitch had smoothed out, carrying an eerie, quiet resonance that sounded almost... present.
<
'Raphael?' I pushed myself up onto the couch, testing my fingers. 'Wait... an Ultimate Skill?'
<
My stomach dropped, a cold prickle running down the back of my neck. An Ultimate Skill. Just hearing the designation made my new magicule core thrum in response. 'Raphael... what about the others? Benimaru, Rigurd, Shion... is everyone okay?'
<
My shoulders dropped, a long breath rattling out of my chest. 'Thank God...'
I shoved the door open to the central plaza, and the sheer volume of sound hit me like a physical wall.
Rigurd was bare-chested in the center of the thoroughfare, roaring at the sky while two goblins tried and failed to haul a massive wooden keg past him. Over by the forge, Kaijin and his brothers were already hammering away on an anvil, passing around bottles of liquor between strikes, while Benimaru stood on a bench trying to keep a group of weeping, drunk Kijin from knocking over the lanterns.
"He's awake!" someone yelled near the fountain.
The roar that followed nearly took the roof off the guardhouse.
Before I could clear the top step, a shadow dropped out of the air right into my path. The tall, black-haired demon who'd swept up Falmuth's scouts slammed his knee against the stone, bowing so fast his long coat whipped against the floor.
"My Lord," he breathed out. His hands were clutched against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his vest so hard the seam popped. His dark eyes flickered with a feverish, wide-rimmed glare. "To stand in the radiant wake of your ascension... I... I have no right to ask..." He swallowed, his throat working hard as he pressed his forehead against the hem of my pants. "A designation, Master. Grant me a name to bind my soul to yours. Please."
I leaned back an inch, taken aback by the raw, erratic edge in his voice. "Right. A name. Uh... how about Diablo?"
The moment the syllables left my mouth, my magicule tank took a sudden, violent dive. Black and violet mana surged out from his shoulders, snapping like whip-cracks against the flagstones before vanishing into his skin.
Diablo shuddered, his fingers clawing at his own chest as the silver crest flared across his knuckles. A low, breathless laugh escaped his throat. Sharp, ragged, and entirely unhinged. "Diablo... Diablo... Ah, absolute perfection..."
"Okay, hey, easy on the floorboards—"
"Still letting trash drop out of the sky into your lap, Rimuru?"
I blinked, turning toward the perimeter wall. Loki was leaning against the stone archway, his coat unbuttoned and his eyes narrowed as he watched Diablo. Shizue stood beside him, her hand resting casually on her hilt, looking half-amused and half-exhausted.
Diablo didn't get up, but his head snapped around, his spine locking straight. The rapturous look on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, narrow-eyed scowl. "Loki."
"Noir," Loki said, stepping down into the plaza. He pointed a finger straight at Diablo's face, his jaw tight. "What in the hells are you doing on your knees? Why is the oldest, most arrogant parasite in the Underworld scrubbing my brother's boots?"
"Mind your mouth, little brother," Diablo hissed. He stood up slowly, smoothing the front of his coat with sharp, aggressive flicks of his wrists. "You are speaking to the servant of the absolute sovereign. Go back to playing king in your human sandbox before I tear that frivolous coat off your back."
"Servant?!" Loki barked out a laugh, though his eyes flared with a sudden, violet spark. "You are pretending to be a loyal butler?! He's my sworn brother, you freak! We share a surname!"
"A mortal technicality," Diablo sneered, taking a single, slow step forward. "You share a title. I share his vision. Do not confuse your petty sibling privilege with true devotion."
"Why, you ancient, self-important bastard—"
"Enough. Both of you," Shizue cut in, her voice flat as she stepped between them. She didn't draw her sword, but the quiet weight in her stance made both of them freeze mid-stride. She looked at me, her expression softening into a quick, relieved smile. "Glad to see you're fully back, Rimuru."
"Shizue," I exhaled, stepping around Diablo. "Please tell me you know what these two are arguing about."
"They're old news," Shizue said dryly, flicking a glance toward Loki, who was still glaring daggers at Diablo. "They've been trying to kill each other since before human kingdoms had names. But we don't have time for their petty territorial squabbles right now."
"Walpurgis," Loki snapped out, his voice dropping all the comedic bite. He shoved his hands into his pockets, stepping in close. "Guy, Milim, and I signed off on it the second Council adjourned."
"Clayman's dead. His territory is upside down," Loki said, talking fast over the noise of the plaza. "And you just wiped out twenty thousand soldiers, evolved, and flipped the entire global power balance in an afternoon. Every ancient monster in the world is getting pulled into that chamber, Rimuru, and your head is at the top of the agenda."
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