A man and a woman locked eyes across the distance. Cold sweat slowly trickled down Hoffa's face as his fists gradually clenched. The Nightmare God leaned forward slightly, her golden hair cascading near Hoffa's ear:
"Agree to it, Hoffa Bach. Look around you. Isn't this the world you deeply love? There are so many people waiting for you to save them, trapped in their double suffering from fifty years ago."
Hoffa gasped for air, his shoulders trembling slightly.
"This is the meaning of being a savior. This is what it means to transcend the ordinary. This is the ultimate limit life can reach." The two drew closer. The Nightmare God's vivid lips were almost brushing against Hoffa's ear. "Agree, and I will help you. Whatever it takes."
"Haha..." Hoffa panted, stuttering. "As long as... as long as I agree, you'll help me return to fifty years ago?"
"Yes," the Nightmare God nodded.
"And as long as... as long as I agree to return, you'll help me defeat Sylby?"
"Yes, I promise," the Nightmare God replied, her lips curling into a seductive, world-toppling smile, waiting quietly for his answer.
After panting for a moment, on the silent stage where chaotic spotlights wandered over their faces, Hoffa tilted his head, revealing a trace of disdain on his face. "But I refuse."
The smile on the Nightmare God's face disappeared at a speed visible to the naked eye. "What?"
"My name is Hoffa Bach, and my favorite thing to do is to say NO to those who think they are smarter than me." He pushed aside the drum set and stood up, facing the golden-haired woman. Step by step, he forced her to retreat. "Hmph. Even gods cannot reach every corner. Despite peering into my mind so many times, you still know nothing about me."
The golden-haired woman's eyes widened as she retreated step by step to the edge of the stage, staring at him as if he were an incomprehensible creature.
Seeing the little monster's stunned expression, a wave of vengeful satisfaction surged through Hoffa's chest. The elation was intoxicating. He grabbed the sharp chin of the god before him and tilted her head up.
"Do you know the greatest lesson I learned in a month of being rich?"
The Nightmare God did not answer.
Hoffa leaned in close to her ear and chuckled softly. "When you need help, you have to humble yourself—especially in front of someone as distinguished as me."
The Nightmare God's expression darkened. "Do you even know what you're saying?"
"I do."
Hoffa released her, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked out of the theater without looking back. "It's great you came back to find me, little monster. Performing with you was a rare privilege. But this golden opportunity to save the world? Leave it for someone else. As for me... I'll just laze around and live off my fortune. Hahaha!"
He walked further away as the golden-haired woman stood on the empty stage under the spotlight, staring at his retreating figure. Clenching her teeth, she shouted, "Call me when you've made up your mind. I'll help you."
Hoffa raised his arm and waved goodbye without turning back, stepping over the sleeping vagrants sprawled across the theater floor as he left.
Outside, the sky was turning pale, heralding the end of the long, arduous night. A sleek black stretch Rolls-Royce, as long as a bus, slowly pulled up in front of Hoffa and came to a stop.
He grinned joyfully, grabbed the car's handle, and pulled the door open with a click.
But at that moment...
With a brilliant burst of flames and an eerie, triumphant laugh—"Heh heh, hahaha!"—a powerful sense of dread surged into his heart. It was a palpable foreboding of death that could almost be smelled in the air.
Hoffa's smile vanished as he spun around abruptly to look.
Boom!!
A blinding white light shot up from the theater, resembling a massive flaming skull. It tore through the theater's dome, hurling debris skyward. Stones rained down with a deafening crash, smashing onto the roof of his luxury car. It felt as if someone had dropped a high-explosive bomb in the theater he had purchased. Tongues of flame erupted from every window, licking the air with fierce intensity.
An explosion!
His face turned pale with shock.
The highly professional driver he had hired for his Rolls-Royce immediately leaped out, pressing down on Hoffa's shoulder and trying to shove him into the car.
"Get in, Mr. Bach! We need to go!"
But the ominous feeling in the air was growing stronger. Hoffa, instead, pushed the driver back into the car, slammed the door shut, and sprinted back toward the theater.
Flames brushed past him as he ran. Strange silver specks of light floated in the air within the theater. Overhead, fluorescent stage lights had been obliterated, leaving sparking wires dangling in the thick, acrid smoke. Fire surged from every corner, as if a tide of destruction were consuming the building.
The floor was littered with bodies—homeless people, addicts, punk gang members—entranced by the God of Nightmares. They lay amid the flames, each clutching bundles of British pounds, their faces frozen in euphoric smiles. Yet, none showed the slightest intention of escaping the growing inferno.
"Hey!!"
Hoffa's hair stood on end as panic seized him. With thousands of lives at stake inside his theater, he didn't hesitate to cast a shielding spell.
"Wake up!!!"
A massive, arched shield materialized, enveloping the unconscious figures on the ground. Hoffa roared, trying to rouse them from their slumber.
"Wake up!"
Thin streams of silver light drifted from the mouths of the sleeping people, floating steadily toward the stage. At the same time, their bodies began to disintegrate under the caress of the flames, crumbling like paper instead of flesh.
Following the silver light with his gaze, Hoffa saw a figure rising in the center of the stage amidst the roaring blaze. It was a man wearing a metallic birdcage on his head. Slowly, he tilted his head to glance at Hoffa, who stood by the theater doors, shield raised. The man crossed his hands, and a gigantic, red, triangular eye materialized behind him. Without a word, the man stepped backward, disappearing into the vertical pupil of the crimson eye.
"Stop!"
The air was scorching, as if it were boiling. Hoffa was furious. Everything happening here was supposed to be under his control. He couldn't believe someone had the audacity to wreck his venue—and, worse, try to kill everyone under his protection.
With the shield still in place, he charged toward the stage and the glowing red eye. But just as he reached it, the eye swirled and vanished, taking the strange man and leaving behind nothing but an endless sea of golden flames.
By the time Hoffa reached the center of the stage, there was nothing left. All he found was the golden-haired woman he'd spoken to earlier, lying unconscious on the floor. Her clothes were singed to tatters, and her eyes were closed.
"Hey? Little monster?"
Hoffa shook her, but as soon as he lifted her near-perfect body, it crumbled into fragments, dissolving into the air.
"What...?"
Boom!
A massive wooden beam, torn from the collapsing ceiling, crashed down just inches from him, sending a spray of fiery sparks and burning wood scattering around him. The fire was spreading uncontrollably throughout the theater.
"Damn it!"
Hoffa spread his wings and flew out of the theater, intending to transform into a Thunderbird and summon rain to extinguish the flames.
But as he soared into the sky, he saw a red sun rising on the horizon.
Under its light, the surging magic within his body ebbed away like receding tides.
Dawn had come.
A curse caught in his throat. His wings dissolved into nothingness, and he plummeted straight toward the ground.
(End of Chapter)
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