The air in the room froze, and shock rippled across every face as Alexander’s calm declaration fell like a guillotine. Jeremiah and Celeste’s deaths were not merely losses—they signaled a seismic shift in the Council’s balance of power.

  Breaking the heavy silence, Eliza slowly rose, each movement stiff with the pain of her recent battles. “Until I can remove the curse that keeps my arm from healing, I will step down from the Council,” she announced steadily, though her tired eyes betrayed the depth of her exhaustion. Her words layered the room with even more tension.

  Alexander’s expression remained unreadable as he continued, “That brings us to our first priority: filling these vacant seats. I want each of you to propose a candidate for the Council.”

  Jonathan was the first to speak. “I propose Mia Stone—codename, The Swan. She held her own in yesterday’s battle against two powerful Awakened and even slew one. Mia’s remarkable resistance to madness is exactly what we need.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair, a broad smile tugging at his lips. “I’d like to nominate Ivan Osborne, codename The Lich. His destructive potential in both ability and artifact use surpasses even Eliza’s. Unleash his artifact, and he’s on par with an unsealed Markus.”

  Markus, silent until now, let out a small, amused huff. “Unsealed Markus,” he muttered, clearly entertained by the comparison.

  Wallace cleared his throat. “I suggest we keep the seats open for now. We’ve seen plenty of promising Awakened pass through our facilities—potential future Council members. Personally, I endorse Iris Blackwell,” he said with firm conviction.

  The Bookkeeper, observing with his usual detached calm, added, “I second Wallace’s endorsement of Iris Blackwell.” His soothing tone sent a ripple through the room, and a murmur of surprise passed among the Council members. It was rare for the Bookkeeper to align himself so openly, and his support carried unexpected weight.

  Markus leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “If we’re filling seats with potential future members, then I’d like to throw in a student as well—Charles Wells.”

  Jonathan raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Makes sense. He’s as unlikable and aggressive as you are.” The remark drew a sharp glare from Markus.

  “I can still make good on that threat,” Markus snapped, his eyes narrowing.

  “Then I’d like to change my answer,” Frank interjected with a widening grin. “I now endorse Maxwell Lumiar.”

  Lazarus couldn’t resist chiming in. “Care to elaborate your reason, huh, freaky face?”

  Frank simply replied, “No,” with a calm finality.

  “Whatever, jackass. I nominate our newest agent, John Miller. He’s still a newbie, but investing in his authority-type ability is a safe bet,” Lazarus declared.

  As the Council’s heated discussions simmered, the atmosphere shifted abruptly when Harvester’s low, monotone voice cut through the clamor, “A danger is coming.” Before anyone could react, the chamber door exploded inward, a shockwave rippling through the room. In the entryway stood Baal Zebub, his twisted grin and confident swagger instantly commanding attention.

  “What a tricky little space this is,” Baal began, his voice dripping with amused menace. “But once you’ve been here before, it’s surprisingly easy to find your way back.” His chilling laugh echoed off the walls, intensifying the mounting tension.

  The Bookkeeper’s usually composed face furrowed. “How did you breach my library?” he demanded, his tone calm yet sharply edged.

  “Oh, it’s quite simple,” Baal replied mockingly. “I found a door—any door will do—and devoured the space between it and your little sanctuary. Really, you should lock your doors better.” His smile widened with a hint of delight.

  Markus raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not a bad idea, breaking down the space between realities like that.”

  The Bookkeeper shot him a cold glare. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warned.

  Unfazed, Baal strolled further into the room, eyes gleaming with mischief as he surveyed the assembled Council. “Quite an intriguing assembly you’ve got here—monsters, gods, demons, immortals, cosmic horrors… and, of course, a few humans. Truly fascinating.” His words pierced deeper than mere observation, exposing secrets that threatened to unravel fragile alliances.

  Baal’s grin broadened as he relished the tension. “Anyway, I’d like to make a proposition.” Stepping forward with deliberate, dark intent, he continued, “Help me retrieve my remaining fragments—my eyes, my fang—and maybe a few of the Sins’ hearts. In return, I’ll join you. Surely the old King of Demons, an ex-god, is worthy of a place on this Council?” His tone exuded unwavering confidence.

  “My ability is known as the Subjugator of Gluttony—it’s a subjugation type ability,” Baal added with a slight bow.

  Wallace’s curiosity broke through the charged silence. “What the hell is a subjugation type ability?”

  The Bookkeeper smiled knowingly. “I’ll tell you, but you have to owe me a favor.”

  “Fine, fine, just get on with the debt,” Wallace sighed.

  “Typically, such abilities are reserved for demon kings—with one human exception. They impose a single rule upon all concepts. For example, the Subjugator of Frost freezes everything. As for Baal, he devours any and all concepts—space, time, death, whatever,” the Bookkeeper explained.

  Harvester, as always, remained still, his voice cutting through the tension like a whispering blade. “I would like to endorse Baal,” he said slowly. “The man I seek to kill has one of your eyes.”

  Baal paused, intrigued, his gaze shifting toward Harvester. “I like you,” he admitted with a sinister edge. Then, without hesitation, he stepped onto the table and loomed over Harvester. “However, I don’t trust anyone who hides their face.”

  The tension in the room peaked as Baal and Harvester locked eyes, their silent standoff holding the Council captive. It was as if the very fabric of reality trembled beneath their combined power.

  “Fine, is this better?” Harvester said in a low, dismissive tone. With a crisp snap of his fingers, the paper bag covering his face vanished, revealing a strikingly handsome man. His long white hair framed a face marked only by dark bags under tired azure eyes. His steady gaze never wavered as it fixed on Baal.

  A quiet gasp escaped Sabrina. “That's him!” she whispered excitedly to Eliza, her eyes sparkling with recognition. “That’s the handsome man who saved me from my stalker! I’ve waited for this day!” Eliza raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-incredulous.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Baal, however, seemed unimpressed. His eyes narrowed, his playful smirk hardening into a scornful sneer. “Do you really think that cheap reveal fools me? I can see right through your fa?ade.”

  Harvester’s calm remained unbroken. “If you doubt me, then devour my memories.” With a subtle gesture, a small purple orb of energy materialized in his hand and floated toward Baal.

  Baal’s grin widened as he accepted the challenge. Without hesitation, he opened his mouth and consumed the orb. In a heartbeat, his head exploded violently—blood and fragments splattering the walls. The room erupted in shocked gasps as his lifeless body slumped forward.

  But then, as if defying the laws of mortality, Baal’s head began to reform. Skin, muscle, and bone knit themselves back together in a grotesque yet mesmerizing display of regeneration. Moments later, he sat upright, whole and even more amused than before.

  “Woah,” Baal chuckled, casually wiping blood from his hands. “I devoured so many memories that I died instantly. I had to consume the very concept of death just to survive that. It’s been a while since someone managed to kill me, even for a moment. I couldn’t process your memories, Harvester. Fine, I’ll side with you, you bastard.”

  With a casual flourish, Baal plopped into Jeremiah Oswald’s old chair, propping his feet up on the table as if nothing unusual had occurred. The room fell deathly silent, shock rippling through the remaining members at his audacity.

  Alexander’s cold, authoritative voice sliced through the silence. “I’ll allow it,” he declared, his blue eyes narrowing as he surveyed Baal’s defiant posture. “We’ll keep one slot open for future members, and Baal will take Jeremiah’s old seat. Ivan will take Celeste’s old seat. Now that this matter is resolved, we must focus on our next issue—the coordinated attacks on the Alpha, Beta, and Gamma facilities that occurred yesterday.”

  “Since the only survivors from the Gamma facility are now dead, Bookkeeper, please explain what occurred there,” Alexander demanded, his icy blue eyes fixed on the enigmatic figure.

  The Bookkeeper leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he idly stroked the edge of his cloak. “Will I be compensated for this? I don’t recall attending meetings or giving status reports being part of our agreement,” he replied, his tone light yet laced with unmistakable intent.

  Alexander sighed, the weight of the situation already pressing down on him. “What do you want, you greedy bastard?”

  A slow smile spread across the Bookkeeper’s face. “Oh, I don’t know… How about a simple ‘I owe you’ from you, Alexander?” His voice carried an eerie playfulness, as if he were toying with a mouse. The room shifted uncomfortably at the proposal.

  “Absolutely not,” Alexander shot back, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “That’s an incredibly dangerous deal to make.”

  The Bookkeeper chuckled. “Fine, fine. I’ll settle for something less dramatic. How about you restock the manga section in my library? I’ve run out of new volumes. The nonfiction may be infinite, but the fiction—now that, is rather lacking.”

  Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable. Fine. Just get on with it.”

  A heavy silence fell as the Bookkeeper cleared his throat, his tone shifting to a more somber register. “The Gamma facility, as many of you know, was a prison for death row inmates. But it was more than just that—it served as an experimental lab where we fused prisoners’ bodies with alien parasites. The goal was augmentation, but what we created were monsters that straddled the line between human and something far worse.”

  Eyes widened around the table. Even the most seasoned Council members knew little of the true horrors hidden deep within Gamma’s chambers.

  “Only two survivors managed to master their symbiosis with the parasites,” the Bookkeeper continued. “The first, as you’re well aware, is Frank.” He gestured toward Frank, whose vicious smile spoke volumes without a word. “The second is an arsonist known as Lovecraft. Before the experiments, he wielded pyrokinesis. Now, fused with these parasites, he’s a walking inferno—a force of pure destruction. And as of yesterday, he has allied himself with Nikolai.”

  Alexander’s eyes narrowed, his tone laced with barely contained anger. “Nikolai’s new ally? How much of a threat are we talking about here?”

  “Enough to rival Eliza on a good day,” the Bookkeeper replied coolly. “Imagine someone who can manipulate fire and control parasitic mutations—turning entire facilities into smoldering ruins while commanding an army of abominations.”

  Eliza leaned forward, despite her fatigue. “And the other inmates?”

  The Bookkeeper nodded. “The rest were released. Though most are mentally unstable, fused with parasites but lacking full control, they are unpredictable and deadly—especially when cornered.”

  Alexander’s voice returned to its cold, calculating tone. “I see. Nikolai has gathered a new force to replace his losses. Now, we’re dealing with a rogue arsonist with parasites and a horde of deranged prisoners on the loose. This complicates matters.”

  Baal lounged lazily in Jeremiah’s old chair, a smug satisfaction radiating from him as he chuckled under his breath. “This is getting interesting. What a colorful little group we’re up against,” he drawled, resting his head on his hand with a gleam of excitement in his predatory eyes.

  “Take this seriously,” Alexander warned, his tone icy.

  Baal scoffed. “I don’t respect those weaker than me. Your arrogance is quite irritating,” he retorted with a laugh.

  Alexander’s glare sharpened. “Arrogance? I have every reason to be arrogant. In that sealed state, I could easily kill you,” he snapped.

  “Man, devil, or god, you’d look down on everyone the same. What an arrogant human,” Baal chuckled.

  Alexander’s eyes flashed as he countered, “My arrogance crushed even Superbia, the Sin of Pride, under my heel. I built the strongest organization on the planet, and I have a literal god at my beck and call. Tell me, what reason do I have not to be arrogant? The world is exactly as I want it.”

  Baal leaned back, his tone turning calm and mocking. “Perhaps. But what will you do when you’re dethroned, oh arrogant one? I imagine you’ve got snakes in your garden, just waiting for a chance to strike.”

  Alexander’s voice turned lethal. “I can handle snakes. Anyone who dares betray me will be executed. Bookkeeper, care to show our dear council members what I acquired this morning?”

  At once, the Bookkeeper snapped his fingers. Around thirty pink gift boxes, each tied with a white ribbon, sprang open on the desk. “Do please open one, Baal,” Alexander requested.

  Baal’s eyes gleamed with mischievous anticipation as he selected a box. With deliberate care, he opened it—and a horrifying image was revealed. Even though Baal did not rely on sight, the stench of decay reached him as the rest of the Council recoiled in shock. Inside lay a severed head: its tongue gruesomely torn out, its lips crudely stitched, and its eyes replaced by two nails embedded in the sockets. Around the neck, a fresh wound was carved with the word “traitor.”

  Alexander’s tone turned almost cheery as he explained, “In return for giving Michello a month without an assassination attempt, the Shrine Maiden of the Church of the Infinite Gates has agreed to deliver these to Nikolai. That bitch has an alliance with Noir.”

  Baal chuckled darkly. “How classy—you really put effort into this frilly gift.”

  Alexander smirked as the boxes vanished without a trace. “Clean this up, make sure it's nicely done for that bitch. Maybe next month I'll return her spies to her.”

  Baal raised an eyebrow, his tone calm as he replied, “Why allow the traitors to roam if you know them all?”

  Alexander's smile turned wicked. “I want to see what they’ll try. Their pathetic attempts to steal from me, thinking I don’t know—it's quite adorable.”

  At the edge of the table, Jonathan shuttered slightly, a flicker of anxiety crossing his features as he feared Alexander might have discovered more than he let on. He did his best to remain composed.

  Markus’s voice then sliced through the uneasy murmur. “Well, let’s move on. We need to find Noir’s base. We can’t keep letting them ambush us.”

  The Bookkeeper sighed, slowly adjusting his glasses in a deliberate manner that sent shivers through the room. “Unfortunately, the location of their base is something I am… not allowed to give you.”

  A heavy silence descended as each member processed his words. Markus leaned forward, his scowl deepening. “How is that? Before, you were more than willing to feed us information. Now you're holding back. I’m still pissed about that whole Applecrest debacle. A warning that we’d face Nikolai would’ve been nice.”

  The low growl in Markus’s voice barely contained his fury. The Bookkeeper, however, remained unfazed, his expression inscrutable. “I’m sorry, but going forward, there will be restrictions.”