(Geri POV)
Satan.
You'd think the literal King of Wrath would be a walking nuclear bomb—screaming, roaring, breathing fire and fury with every breath.
But to my surprise, he was actually calm. Methodical. Almost philosophical.
He had this tiny demon always floating near him, like a stress coach, constantly reminding him to "stay grounded" and "breathe deeply." And weirdly enough, it worked.
At least, in the beginning.
The first few training sessions weren't too bad. He pushed me, sure, but it was manageable—more reps, longer runs, minor bruises. But then, slowly, things got intense.
I wasn't just doing push-ups anymore—I was doing them with boulders tied to my back.
I wasn't just sprinting—I was outrunning flaming chariots while being chased by hellhounds.
Each session was more brutal than the last.
Unlike my grandfather, Satan refused to use magic to heal me. "Pain builds strength," he said. "Rest builds foundation."
So I endured.
And after just two weeks, I saw the results. My muscles had filled out, my reflexes sharpened, and my stamina skyrocketed. I could lift and throw objects twenty times my weight. I could run faster than a car going full throttle.
I was faster, stronger… I was better.
Satan observed my progress with those burning red eyes and nodded in approval. "There is nothing more I can teach you," he said. "Come."
He led me through a burning hall to a massive arena deep within his volcanic fortress.
The heat in the air buzzed against my skin. The stone underfoot felt alive with energy.
He pointed to the center of the arena.
"Stand there. And wait."
I obeyed.
For a few long, silent minutes, nothing happened.
Then—BOOM!
Red portals tore open all around me, swirling with flames. Out stepped demons of all shapes and sizes, each more monstrous than the last.
Without hesitation, they charged.
I summoned my Beowulf gauntlets, white and gleaming, the ones Dad gave me.
The first demon lunged from behind—spear in hand. I ducked low, twisted, and slammed my fist into its chest, launching it across the arena.
More came—six in total—each armed with spears, trying to surround and stab me. I leapt upward, just high enough to avoid their strikes. Their weapons clashed together mid-thrust and locked. I landed right in the center of them and spun, kicking all six in the head with blinding speed.
They collapsed like dominos.
The last wave: ten demons, huddled together with riot shields and infernal guns.
They didn't come close. They kept their distance and fired.
Bullets rained toward me like a metal storm. I dashed through them, dodging and weaving, grabbing a few bullets from mid-air and flicking them aside.
Eventually, they ran dry.
I lunged, faster than any of them could react, breaking their shields like glass and disarming them in seconds. A flurry of punches and kicks later—they were all down.
The arena fell silent.
I stood alone, surrounded by bodies.
Satan watched from his throne of brimstone, a wide grin spreading across his face. He stood and floated down toward me.
"Well done," he said, reaching into his robe.
He pulled out a small, red-hot sigil stamp. "Step forward."
I did.
He pressed it onto my forearm, and it seared against my skin—not painful, but scorching with power. The glowing orange mark pulsed like living fire.
"You've completed my training," he said. "And for that, I give you my Blessing."
"Thank you, Lord Satan."
He snapped his fingers. An imp rolled out a large cauldron, bubbling with molten magma.
"As a final reward," Satan said, "place your weapons inside this cauldron. Let them burn, and from that fire, be reborn."
I hesitated for a moment, eyeing the liquid fire. It hissed and popped.
Still… I trusted him.
I removed my gauntlets and boots, the white ones my father gave me, and gently placed them in the magma.
They sank slowly.
Then—KABOOM!
The cauldron exploded, sending molten rock and smoke everywhere. Lava spilled across the floor in a slow, glowing wave.
And from the center… two new weapons emerged.
I approached and picked them up.
They were beautiful.
Once-white gauntlets and boots had turned a burning red, lined with swirling flame. The metal seemed alive—like it breathed fire with every movement.
Satan spoke proudly, "Ifrit. These gauntlets and boots won't just boost your strength. Now, they carry the Flames of Wrath. Use them to strike fear… or burn down anything in your path."
I gave him a bow. "Thank you, Lord Satan."
He looked pleased and opened a portal glowing bright orange. "One last thing… if you see your dad? Beat the hell out of him. He humiliated me in front of Yogirt."
"…I will."
With a final smirk, Satan turned and walked back toward his gym.
I turned to the portal.
Time to see what's next.
---
[Gluttony Ring]
The moment I stepped through, everything changed.
Gone was the heat and brimstone. In its place… a giant beehive?
Sweet scents overwhelmed my nose—honey, syrup, chocolate, cinnamon, and the unmistakable smell of cotton candy. My stomach growled despite myself.
Before I could process the sugarland dreamscape, something slammed into me at full speed.
We crashed to the ground, tumbling across the floor.
I reacted quickly—rolling over and pinning the attacker beneath me.
The smoke cleared.
My eyes widened.
Beneath me was a woman—curvy, radiant, and her hair flowing like a lava lamp.
She smirked. "Enjoying yourself, big boy?"
I scrambled off her, flustered. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—!"
She stood and brushed herself off, still grinning. "No worries! I tackled you, remember? I was just sooo excited you finally got here—I couldn't help myself!"
I blinked. "Sooo… what now?"
Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Eating competition!"
"…What?"