A/N: i am feeling quite bored an so, lucky you, i am going to give 2 chapters! Praise me mortals!
As the crimson wasteland faded away, Asmodeus felt his footing change. The air grew thick, carrying the tantalizing aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and ripe, succulent fruits. The landscape before him was a grand feast—endless tables adorned with plates of food that glittered as if infused with divine light. Golden goblets brimmed with wine that sparkled like liquid stars.
The world itself seemed alive, pulsating with abundance. The skies above were adorned with clouds made of cotton candy, and rivers of chocolate streamed across the horizon. Every corner of the realm radiated indulgence, inviting all who entered to partake in its bountiful offerings.
For the first time, Asmodeus's confident smirk faltered. This wasn't a trial of temptation; it was a trial of endurance against the most primal instincts.
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"Gluttony, huh?" he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with disdain. "You'll have to do better than food to break me."
But the trial wasn't so simple.
As he walked forward, ignoring the tantalizing scents and sights, he began to feel it—a gnawing hunger creeping up from the pit of his stomach. At first, it was subtle, like the emptiness one feels after skipping a meal. But with each step he took, the sensation grew sharper, more insistent.
It wasn't just hunger. It was an ache that clawed at his insides, demanding to be fed.
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"Is this it?" he spat, trying to mask the unease growing within him. "You think hunger can break me?"
But then the voice returned.
"Oho! Looks like we've found a crack in that unyielding façade of yours," Dreamer chimed in, his voice echoing mockingly through the feast-laden air.
Asmodeus snarled. "You again. Haven't you had enough of your games?"
"Games? Oh, no, no, no, my dear Asmodeus," Dreamer replied, his tone dripping with glee. "This isn't a game. This is survival. You see, the hunger you feel now? It's not just physical. It's tied to your soul, your very existence. The longer you resist, the more it will consume you—quite literally. But hey, you're strong, right? I'm sure you'll figure something out."
And just like that, the voice vanished, leaving Asmodeus alone with the gnawing emptiness inside him.
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He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. I won't break. I am Asmodeus. A mere trial won't defeat me.
But as he took another step forward, the world seemed to conspire against him. The tables of food moved closer, the aromas growing richer, more intoxicating. Each step felt heavier, as though the hunger was sapping his strength.
His vision blurred. He could almost see the food reaching out to him, calling his name.
Just one bite, a voice whispered in his mind. One bite won't hurt.
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"No," he growled, shaking his head violently. "This is nothing. I've faced worse."
But his body betrayed him. His knees buckled, and he stumbled, falling to the ground. His hands gripped the earth—soft and warm, like freshly baked bread.
"Damn it," he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead.
His mind began to falter, memories of past indulgences creeping in. The feasts of his demonic past, the blood he drank, the forbidden fruits he consumed. Each memory amplified the hunger, feeding the very thing he sought to resist.
For the first time since entering the trials, he felt doubt.
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"Why fight it?" the voice returned, softer this time, almost soothing. "You've indulged before. You know the pleasure it brings. Why resist? You're not a saint, Asmodeus. You're a demon. Indulgence is in your nature."
He shut his eyes, teeth gritted. The voice wasn't wrong. He wasn't some noble hero bound by morality. He was a demon, born and bred in sin.
But that's exactly why he couldn't give in.
If I fall here, he thought, what's the point of everything I've endured?
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With a guttural roar, he forced himself to his feet. The hunger clawed at him viciously, his vision darkening with every step he took. He focused on the pain, using it to fuel his resolve.
Then, the landscape shifted.
The tables and food vanished, replaced by a grotesque, writhing mass—a monstrous amalgamation of mouths and limbs, endlessly consuming everything in its path. The creature let out a guttural wail, its countless eyes fixating on Asmodeus.
"So, this is the heart of the trial," he muttered, forcing a smirk despite the exhaustion weighing him down.
The creature lunged at him, its mouths snapping hungrily. Asmodeus dodged, his movements sluggish but precise. He summoned his energy, his crimson aura flaring to life, and struck the creature with a blast of raw power.
The beast recoiled but didn't fall. Instead, it grew larger, feeding off the very energy he used against it.
"Of course," Asmodeus grumbled. "Gluttony isn't satisfied by anything."
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Realizing brute force wouldn't work, he changed tactics. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath despite the raging hunger inside him.
"Gluttony thrives on excess," he muttered. "So what happens when there's nothing left to consume?"
Focusing his will, he began to suppress his energy, pulling it inward. The crimson aura faded, leaving him vulnerable but resolute.
The creature hesitated, its movements faltering as it sensed the change. Without energy to feed on, it grew weaker, its once-massive form shrinking with each passing second.
Asmodeus smirked. "Starve."
The beast let out one final, pitiful wail before collapsing into nothingness, leaving Asmodeus alone in the barren realm once more.
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He stood there, breathing heavily, the hunger still gnawing at him but no longer in control.
"Two down," he muttered, his voice tinged with both exhaustion and triumph. "Bring on the next."
The world shifted again, preparing for the next sin.
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