After crying for a moment, Ishnofel hardened, adjusting his helmet with precise movements. The dim light of the room reflected off his cold features, casting shadows that seemed to crawl along the peeling walls.
—I've had enough of this whining —he thought, his inner voice as cold as ice.
He rose from his worn-out bed and left his room. The air of the hotel was heavy, saturated with dust and a faint aroma of ash and spilled alcohol. Everything seemed to hold its breath in his presence; even the furniture, warped and battered, appeared to bow beneath his invisible gaze.
Vaggie, ever distrustful, approached with her spear, its tip glowing faintly under the flickering neon light. She didn't realize it would be her greatest mistake.
—I hope you don't have… strange plans —she threatened, but her voice faltered as it met Ishnofel's indifference.
He watched her impassively, while Vaggie was suddenly flooded with memories of her time in Heaven:
The daily insults from Adam and Lute.
The execution of her sisters for being deemed weak.
Adam's constant harassment.
How Lute tore off her wings and one of her eyes.
She stepped back, trembling, while Ishnofel continued to look at her as if she were invisible. The distant hum of the fluorescent light crackled above them, intensifying the sense of imminent danger.
—Lower the spear. And do not challenge me again. Understood? —Ishnofel said, his voice firm, icy.
Vaggie obeyed, backing away as the wooden floor creaked beneath her steps. Ishnofel advanced, each movement echoing like metallic reverberations through the empty corridors. Husk set his drink down on the bar, visibly nervous, the glass clinking with a sharp sound that seemed to amplify the tension.
—He's… terrifying —he whispered, wiping the table with trembling hands.
Ishnofel did not look at him and continued straight toward the hotel's door, where the cold breeze from outside slipped in, carrying the smell of soot and damp streets. He stopped like a dark sentinel, his silhouette outlined against the orange glow of the city filtering through a broken window.
Niffty approached cautiously, holding a tray of cookies. Their sweet fragrance clashed with the oppressive atmosphere, making her nervousness even more palpable.
—Do you want one? —she asked, her voice shaking.
Ishnofel took a cookie, tasted it, then looked at her, his shadow stretching like a tentacle across the cracked floor.
—It's fine. The cookies are acceptable. Go back inside the hotel. You'll be safer there —he said with his usual coldness.
Relieved, Niffty retreated, leaving Ishnofel alone by the door. The night wrapped the hotel in a dense, humid shroud, and every corner seemed to hide unseen eyes. His attention snapped instantly at the appearance of the Radio Demon, whose unsettling smile lit the place with irregular flickers, like warning lights.
—Well, well… I didn't know you had feelings, my friend —Alastor laughed, modulating his voice as if it came from an old radio, reverberating through the empty halls.
—Alastor, the Radio Demon. A power few sinners have reached in this Hell… impressive —Ishnofel replied, keeping his gaze steady as the night wind stirred fallen leaves and rattled the old doors.
—Ah, it seems you know me —Alastor smiled, playful, his laughter slicing through the stillness like a knife.
—You were on the right path at first. You killed almost all the supreme Overlords, except Zestial, the oldest one. You had the power, but nothing makes you invincible —Ishnofel said, firm and calculating, as the shadows of the fallen buildings danced around them.
—How… do you know that? —Alastor asked, intrigued, feeling the weight of the darkness closing in.
—You lost to Adam and your popularity fell. Then you used Vox to recover. Clever. But don't try to compare yourself to me —Ishnofel replied coldly, as the night breeze whistled through the cracks in the ground.
Alastor's smile tightened, uneasy in the face of Ishnofel's confidence and power.
—Oh, dear, don't get arrogant —Alastor mocked.
Ishnofel raised his hand and, without another word, a demonic tree in front of them burst into flames, disintegrating in seconds and leaving behind a trail of black smoke swirling beneath the moonlight.
Alastor stepped back, stunned, while Ishnofel remained upright and imposing, impossible to ignore, as if the night itself had chosen to protect him—and to tremble before his presence.