While Jason was deep in thought, the light leaking through the tent's thin fabric lessened as a human shadow was cast over it, blocking out the light and signalling that someone was standing just outside Jason's tent. Just a moment later, a voice called out for Jason, asking if he was awake.
Jason, hearing the familiar voice, rose and opened the flap before stepping out into the budding camp.
The camp had changed significantly since yesterday. Despite only a day having passed, the initiates had already begun to settle in, setting up additional tents and even food stalls where meals were being prepared and distributed.
The atmosphere remained sombre, but beneath it lay the undeniable desire to live, a clear testament to humanity's resilience to persevere, even in the face of uncertainty and fear.
It was this resilience that had attracted Jason to humanity in the first place, and in some ways, Jason could even see himself in them.
In Jason's earlier years, in his previous form, he, too, had been weak and prey for the stronger demons. Only through his sheer perseverance had he clawed his way to power, and having invested in humanity, it was not wrong to say these humans had been of great help in him growing stronger.
Jason's eyes continued to scan the camp and he noted the absence of the giant's corpse.
After looking around for a bit longer, Jason found that the fallen form of the Giant had been moved beyond the camp's perimeter, perhaps to prevent the stench of decay from spreading.
After briefly looking around, Jason looked back in front before locking eyes with Smith, Morris's tall and robust right-hand man. Jason had learned that Smith was a retired military officer who had served as Morris's bodyguard before coming to the tutorial.
Currently, Morris had entrusted Smith with organising the camp's defence.
The man's face was as stoic as ever, his expression unreadable, like a statue carved in stone. Behind Smith stood about twenty men, all visibly exhausted with laboured breathing and sweat glistening on their foreheads, evidence of a recent exertion.
"There is going to be a meeting amongst the leaders, and Morris wants you there", Smith said in his usual no-nonsense tone, skipping pleasantries entirely.
Jason nodded, adjusting his posture before responding.
"When is this meeting?"
"In about an hour. It'll be near the centre of camp." Smith replied.
Jason then glanced curiously over Smith's shoulder and at the group of men behind him.
"And what happened to them?"
Smith's face remained as rigid as ever.
"I've been running drills with them," he explained.
"If we're attacked again by the giant—or anything else—the people need to be ready. These are just a few. The others are resting or grabbing food."
Jason's lips curled into a faint smile, though his thoughts were hidden beneath his outwardly neutral demeanour. He was mildly impressed by Smith's efficiency and quick work. Not many would take the initiative to organise a defence so quickly. It raised Smith's standing in Jason's internal ranking of useful individuals.
"Well," Jason said with a measured tone,
"I'll be at the meeting. Thanks for letting me know." He offered a slight nod before his eyes flickered over the tired group again, though this time his gaze lingered on one individual, a teenager, for a few seconds longer.
'That face?' Jason questioned internally.
As the group left, Jason's eyes followed the young man's form, scrutinising him with a narrowed focus.
'One of the Templars?'
The thought surfaced sharply in Jason's mind, bringing with it a ripple of intrigue and slight anger. After all, the 'Templars' had been a specialised unit of the organisation 'Nights order' that had long been a thorn in his side, led by their fearsome leader, 'Galahad'.
'Well, it makes sense. This is the United Kingdom's Tutorial, after all. I would have come across them sooner or later.'
Despite the curiosity, Jason let it slip as the group disappeared from sight.
Instead, a sudden rumble from his stomach reminded him of the needs of his new body. With a sigh of resignation, Jason turned his attention away from the group and toward one of the makeshift food stalls.
'A mortal inconvenience', Jason thought with mild irritation.
Sure, he had known hunger, but he had cast it away long ago in his old form.
As he approached the stalls, a sweet smell infused the air, unlike the dull military rations he had eaten earlier.
'Hm?' Jason mused whilst busing his hand for a plate of food.
--
The second layer of Hell.
The Molten Wastes of the Demon World
Astaroth's Point of View
Astaroth stepped through the smouldering expanse of the demon world, where jagged obsidian rocks jutted out of the land like the broken teeth of a colossal beast.
The air shimmered with heat rising from rivers of molten lava, their glowing red veins snaking through the blackened landscape. Geysers erupted sporadically, belching clouds of sulphurous smoke that clung to the atmosphere like a suffocating shroud.
This was no place for the weak; the land itself seethed with malice, the ground groaning under the weight of its ancient torment.
Astaroth strode forward with measured elegance, his form a sturdy mix of beauty and menace. He towered over most demons, his slender frame cloaked in a shimmering black mantle adorned with gold and silver filigree that seemed to shift like liquid under the dim glow of the false hellish sky.
His skin was as pale as moonlight, marred only by the faint scars of past battles, and his long, raven-black hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall of shadows. A pair of great horns spiralled outward from his temples, polished to a dark sheen that reflected the flickering firelight. His eyes burned with a cold, calculating intelligence, one golden, the other a milky white orb that swirled with faint, spectral shapes.
Astaroth exuded an aura of unshakable confidence. His every step was deliberate, and every gesture was dripping with grace and authority. Vanity was his essence, and his visage was a masterpiece of calculated perfection.
Yet beneath his composed exterior lurked a cunning mind steeped in intellectual deceit, a master manipulator who wielded lies and half-truths as deftly as a swordsman wielded a blade.
The Throne of Beelzebub
At last, Astaroth came upon the throne of Beelzebub.
The immense structure loomed in the heart of a volcanic chamber, carved from the bones of long-forgotten beasts and adorned with the skulls of lesser demons who had dared to challenge the supreme titled 'The Lord of Flies'. The throne pulsed faintly, as if alive, exuding an aura of decay and pestilence that pervaded the chamber.
Beelzebub himself sat atop the throne, a towering monstrosity of grotesque magnificence.
His form was massive, his flesh mottled and glistening like a hive of living corruption. His wings, torn and ragged, buzzed faintly with an ominous drone, and his bloated body seemed to shift with the restless movement of the swarms of flies that crawled across him.
Two glowing red eyes burned with malevolent intelligence, and his voice, when it spoke, carried the weight of centuries of unholy dominion.
"Speak"
Astaroth bowed deeply before the immense throne for a few more moments before straightening. When he started to speak, his tone was respectful and his voice was smooth as flowing ink despite the oppressive heat of the chamber.
"My lord Beelzebub, Sovereign of Decay and the Unseen Plague, I am humbled to stand in your presence. Your throne, as always, is a testament to your boundless power. It inspires awe... and a touch of envy in those who witness it."
Beelzebub's grotesque form shifted slightly, the bones of his throne creaking under his massive weight. His red eyes burned like embers, scrutinising Astaroth with disdainful curiosity. His voice, deep and guttural, echoed through the chamber like the buzzing of a thousand flies.
"Speak, Astaroth. Flattery drips from your tongue as sweet as honey from a hive, but I have no time for empty words. What brings you to my abode?"
Astaroth straightened, his sly smile never faltering.
"Of course, my lord. As you know, the Ascension Trials have begun once more. I come seeking your wisdom on how we should... influence the human world during this most 'delicate' time."
Beelzebub leaned forward, his immense form casting a shadow over the pale demon. His wings buzzed faintly, the sound filling the air like an ominous chorus.
"And why, Astaroth, do you assume I care for such trivialities? The trials proceed as they always have. What is it you truly seek?"
A faint flicker of annoyance crossed Astaroth's face, but he smoothed it away with a restrained smile.
"My lord, I must admit... I cannot locate him. The parasite has vanished, leaving his position overlooking the ascension trials."
Beelzebub's eyes narrowed, the buzzing of his wings growing louder.
"You cannot find him?" Beelzebub's voice dropped, venom dripping from every word.
"Do not think to hide your schemes behind feigned incompetence, Astaroth. I know your games too well. You failed me last time; hence, you lost your position to that parasite. You would not stand before me empty-handed unless your ambitions were woven tightly into this web of failure."
Feigning a wounded expression, Astaroth placed a hand over his heart, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.
"My lord wounds me with his suspicion! I exist only to serve your glory, as always. What are my petty ambitions compared to the vastness of your dominion?"
He paused, his smile returning as sharp as a blade.
"Still, my lord, this disappearance is not without its opportunities. Should you permit me to oversee the trials in his absence, I could ensure that the chaos serves to strengthen your dominion. After all, a touch of disorder—carefully orchestrated—can remind both mortals and demons alike of your unassailable supremacy."
Beelzebub leaned back against his grotesque throne, the sound of the buzzing flies intensifying as his red eyes bored into Astaroth's golden gaze. For a long moment, the air in the chamber hung heavy with tension, the weight of Beelzebub's displeasure almost palpable.
"You would dare to suggest that my dominion requires reminding? That the trials need a 'careful hand'—your hand—to steer them?"
His voice rumbled with a dangerous edge, like the crackling of molten rock.
"Do not insult me, Astaroth. I see through your web of flattery. Your ambition seeps through every word you speak."
Astaroth's smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of tension crossing his otherwise composed face. But he bowed deeply, his voice steady and as smooth as before.
"I would never presume to suggest such a thing, my lord. Your dominion is unquestionable. I only offer my talents to serve you in a time of uncertainty. If this... parasite has abandoned his duties, it leaves an opening, one that could be exploited by lesser creatures—an opening that I would gladly seal in your name."
Beelzebub's form shifted slightly, the creaking of the bone throne resounding through the volcanic chamber. His wings twitched, sending a cascade of flies scattering through the air.
"You presume much, Astaroth. But your cunning is a tool I would rather wield than allow to rust. Very well. The trials are now your burden. Oversee them, and ensure no chaos arises that is not to my benefit. But mark my words..."
Beelzebub leaned forward, his massive bulk casting a shadow that seemed to envelop Astaroth entirely. His glowing red eyes blazed like infernos.
"If I find that your schemes stray even a single step beyond what I have permitted, I will not hesitate to strip you of everything—your station, your power, your very essence. I will consume everything you own and then I will consume you. This is your last chance. Do you understand!"
Astaroth bowed even lower, his voice dripping with reverence, though his golden eye gleamed with the faintest hint of satisfaction.
"Perfectly, my lord. I will not fail you. The trials will proceed without disruption, and your name will remain the echo of terror across all realms."
Beelzebub leaned back, dismissing him with a wave of his clawed hand.
"Go. And remember—chaos has its limits, even in my domain."
Astaroth turned, his steps measured and deliberate as he exited the chamber.