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Chapter 98 - Chapter 98: Aron – Are You Joking?

Strange stared blankly at the enormous ship in the sky as it descended lower and lower.

On its deck he could clearly see the mass of warriors of Valhalla, and at the very prow stood a gigantic wolf.

Atop that wolf stood Aron and Hela.

"That's Lord Aron!"

The demons also noticed the sight.

Shouts began to echo one after another.

Especially Nastir, who stood beside Strange.

The moment he spotted Aron on the ship, he jumped excitedly.

"No!"

"Satan!"

"Our Lord is the Great Satan!"

"We should call him… Satan!"

"Long live Satan!"

"Long live Satan!"

Nastir displayed all the qualities of a disgusting sycophant.

His cries quickly pulled along the other demons as well.

Soon the chant "Long live Satan!" spread in fragments throughout the entire spiritual prison, and the echoes even pierced through dimensional rifts to the earthly world.

On some streets, people suddenly heard the same cry.

"Satan?"

"Lord of Hell?"

Strange still stared at Aron's figure on the massive ship, his eyes unable to hide the shock.

The whole scene shattered his faith in the rational, materialistic worldview he had built for decades.

And in that moment, a seed was planted in his heart.

He looked at the figure who ruled the dimension, whose mere arrival made thousands of demons rejoice.

In his mind everything was becoming clearer.

"This is destiny!"

"It doesn't matter if he's a demon or something else!"

"This may be my last chance in life. I must not give up!"

"Never!"

Strange tried to clench his fists.

Immediately he felt searing pain.

Blood seeped from the bandages, but he only gritted his teeth, enduring the breaking of bones, nerves, and unbearable agony in his hands.

Without hesitation, he headed toward the place where the enormous ship had landed.

...…

On the other side.

The massive Naglfar descended to the ground.

Its mass was like a mountain, cliffs on every side.

Nastir, who had come to the ship, could only lift his head and see the edge of the deck above him.

Boom!

A massive pedal fell from the ship, driving diagonally into the earth and casting a vast shadow.

Then the warriors of Valhalla began descending the ramp.

By the thousands.

Each carried a murderous aura.

Their strength was so intense that the demons around immediately backed away, leaving a huge empty space.

"So powerful…"

Nastir was stunned.

These warriors looked like undead from the underworld, but their aura was countless times stronger.

Each of them possessed the strength of a demon general.

The ground trembled as the last warrior stepped forward.

At that moment, the hull of the ship began shrinking, visible to the naked eye.

In just a few moments, Naglfar turned into a model barely thirty centimeters long and fell into Aron's hand.

"Here you go."

Aron handed Naglfar to Hela.

As soon as she took it, Fenrir, the massive wolf beneath her, suddenly felt the pressure.

He quickly spread his limbs and braced himself, as if something were suffocating him.

"Hm?"

"What's happening?"

Just then Aron sensed something was wrong.

After Naglfar vanished, at the spot where it had been remained a pile of ruins.

Chunks of reinforced concrete.

Such material should not exist in Limbo.

But what shocked him even more was the sight in the distance, a figure running straight toward him.

"Can someone tell me…"

"Why is Strange in Hell!?"

...…

A moment later.

Inside the Devil's Palace, erected earlier by Belath's order.

Strange was held by two demons over three meters tall, as if they carried a fragile bird, and brought before Aron.

"Stephen Strange, the famous neurosurgeon. I know who you are."

"You lost both hands in an accident."

Aron sat beside the throne, reclined as if it were just an ordinary sofa. His eyes, beneath half-closed lids, slid over Strange. On his face was an icy indifference.

But deep inside, Aron could not help but let out a quiet hiss.

A hiss.

This was truly pitiful.

At that moment, Strange still wore his hospital gown, but it was already torn and stained. His shoes were shredded, his soles bleeding, and his body wounded step by step.

Worst of all were his hands…

At first the bandages and braces had been tightly wrapped, but now everything was torn apart. The white bandages had turned into a dark red mass.

"Lord Satan…"

Strange knelt before Aron's throne. His eyes were resolute, though exhausted and bloodied. He wished to follow the demon before him regardless of the price.

"Lord Satan, my hands… That wasn't an accident. The man responsible is named Kaecilius…"

Strange gritted his teeth, endured the pain, and spoke every word with solemnity.

"Hm, that's not important."

Aron lightly coughed and immediately skipped over the subject.

"What matters is what you want to do, Strange."

"Do you want to heal your hands and return to your old life as a neurosurgeon… or step into a much wider world?"

"The world of magic."

At that moment Aron didn't know Strange had already made his decision. In fact, he had only planned to test him a little, then toss him straight to the doors of Kamar-Taj, let them take him in there.

"I…"

For a moment Strange felt tempted by Aron's words. If given the chance to have healthy hands again and regain his glory as the best surgeon, it would be his dream.

Had it been just a few moments earlier, he surely would have agreed.

But now…

Strange had glimpsed something greater. A world larger than his hands, larger than his career.

"My Lord, I choose the second!"

His words resounded without hesitation.

But Aron shook his head.

"Don't rush your answer."

"Nothing in this world is free. Everything has a price."

"…"

"I am ready to give my soul!"

The moment he heard the word "price," Strange instinctively thought the demon before him wanted his soul. Without a second thought, he offered it.

"Hm…"

Aron paused for a moment, then choked back a laugh he nearly let out.

Really?

Why did that sound so familiar, like some bad routine?

He looked at Strange's pitiful, broken figure and shook his head.

"Keep it."

"No one needs your soul."

Aron stretched out his hand and pointed a finger at Strange.

A thin golden energy shot forth like a serpent or dragon, wrapping once around Strange's body, then returning back into Aron's hand.

The loop was closed.

In an instant, Strange's wounded body began to heal. Every cut and gash sealed itself. Bones knit back together, skin restored to its original state.

But Aron deliberately left the nerves in his hands untouched.

The power of the Morning Star.

For the first time, Aron had used it, a gift bestowed upon him by Lucifer himself from the DC world.

"This is the will of God."

And as he healed Strange, the power of the Morning Star wasn't consumed in the slightest.

Perfect.

No matter how severe the injuries; to this power it was all the same. It was enough for Aron to exhale and a wound would vanish.

But in Strange's eyes, the sight was nothing less than a miracle.

His heart, until then wrapped in despair, now completely belonged to Aron.

"My Lord!"

"Please, allow me to serve you!"

"No matter the price, I am ready!"

Strange struck his forehead against the ground.

To the man before him, whether he was a demon, whether Satan, he didn't care.

This man had healed him when he was at rock bottom.

To Strange, he was no demon, but someone who had given him a new life.

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