Vol. 2 Chapter 92: Barthomefolus

"I can accept this condition provided that you accept another request of mine," I reply with a devilish smile.

She grinds her teeth, clearly annoyed."When you become my Servant, I will make sure to punish you for this insolence."

"It will be what it will be. It makes no sense for me to back down at this point," I stand firm in my position.

"Speak, Strauss Wagner," she invites me to continue, clearly annoyed.

"You will not be able to use spells that favor your Servants during the game. No healing, no enhancement, no interaction," I state firmly.

The queen laughs heartily, amused by my unabashed request. "The first time we spoke, I thought you were not greedy enough, but it turns out there's no limit to your gluttony. In you, I see myself from the past, before I obtained the power and riches I now possess."

"I wouldn't have interacted in the game anyway, but I can agree to this request, only by adding another participant to my team because the game requires it." It's normal for her to want to increase her number of participants considering she is at a numerical disadvantage compared to me. But this is a bit sudden, as she didn't seem worried about this minority. She was very confident in her seven Servants. Should I allow the addition of another participant? In reality, it wouldn't be an unreasonable request, but I can't afford to be fair if I want to win.

"What do you mean the game requires it?" I ask, trying to understand her strategy.

"The game I have chosen requires at least eight participants," she explains nonchalantly. "Wait, you choose the type of game? My will in this choice isn't considered?" I inquire, vainly trying to maintain control of the situation.

"We're playing in my house, I choose the game," the queen smiles. She is serene and confident. This is what she wanted, and perhaps everything I have done so far was already anticipated by her. I feel a bit disoriented, but I try not to show it.

"Sylthrenn will be the last addition to my team," announces the queen, with a tone that brooks no argument. "Sylthrenn?" I repeat, somewhat surprised. "The Elfrider messenger?"

"Yes, he is much more than just a messenger," she replies, her voice veiled in mystery that puts me on alert. Her statement gives me pause.Is Sylthrenn such an important piece in the queen's game? I must be careful. Indeed, the spider-elf has shown mastery of space-time magic, and I'm not quite sure how to handle that.

"Do you accept my conditions?" she asks with a smile. "Negotiations are over, Strauss Wagner," she adds, looking at me challengingly.

I take a moment to reflect. "I'd like to know more about the type of game we're participating in before giving a definitive answer," I respond, trying to regain lost ground and gather more information.

"Quite simple," she begins, "the game is called 'Spider's Eyes'. Each team has eight gems. Each participant must carry one, hence the need for at least eight players. The game will take place here in Arach’ch’el, at the highest point of the city, in the great temple dedicated to the Grand Mother of Spiders, which will be our arena for the Demonic Game of Death."

I listen carefully as she continues. "At the top of the temple, there are two spider statues, one for each team. You need to insert your opponents' gems into the eye sockets of your team's spider statue. The first team to complete the eyes of their statue wins."

From her description, it sounds like a kind of 'Capture the Flag' combined with a team deathmatch, I think, recalling my video game experiences from my previous life.

"The gems must be worn as necklaces, visible and not hidden or swallowed. Any means to obtain the gems is allowed: defensive or offensive strategies, any tactic is permitted."

The queen continues in an impassive tone, almost as if she were reciting the rules of a children's game. "There are eight smaller temples surrounding the main temple, connected by staircases. They can be used as guard posts. The game lasts a maximum of eight hours. The winner is the team that has inserted the most eyes into their statue at the end of the time. In the event of a tie, the team with the most remaining members wins."

“What if there’s a further tie in the number of members?” I ask.

“It will continue indefinitely until all members of one team are eliminated,” she responds.

As I listen, my mind works frantically. This game, 'Spider's Eyes', is an intricate challenge. It lends itself to various strategies, all valid. I observe the queen, trying to decipher her thoughts, but her face is an impenetrable mask.

I wonder if Sylthrenn, the Elfrider messenger, has hidden qualities that could be crucial in this game. However, the rules and the type of game favor me, having a more numerous team. Additionally, to win, it's not necessary to defeat all enemies but rather to seize their gems.

The queen has chosen this game specifically, and this leads me to believe she feels strong in it. I must remain vigilant, but I think traditional deathmatch games might not suit me, not knowing the strength and abilities of her Servants.

"I accept your conditions," I finally say, hiding my caution behind a mask of confidence.

"And I accept yours," responds the beautiful elven queen, satisfied.

"Now, let's put down in writing what we've discussed," the queen says as she bends down to pick up the inkwell and quill she had dropped earlier.

Beside me, I sense Raqahela's invisible presence. I feel her discomfort, and the air turns electric, signaling that something of great importance is about to happen.

Without any theatrical effects, he appears, as though he had always been there. Tension in the room escalates as Barthomefolus materializes.

The queen turns with a gesture of respect, bowing her head to her archdemon. There is a clear relationship of subordination here. "Barthomefolus, my lord, grant me your power and bear witness to the drafting of the Demonic Game of Death contract," she asks reverently.

My blood turns to ice. Terror, despair, horror. I experience these and more. These dreadful sensations panic me. Blackout.

Adrenaline starts to pump in my blood to counter the pure horror that the demon's figure provokes in me. An aura of absolute power, a mountain that cannot be scaled. Something ancient and terrifying, something a normal person could never survive an encounter with. I thought I had seen it all, but I wasn't ready for him. Terror.

I step back, overwhelmed.

I am stopped by a gentle, warm touch. Instantly, my mind feels lighter, the terror is gone. I am calm. I turn around.

Behind me stands Raqahela. Her expression is serious, but I feel her support. She infuses me with courage. I am not alone in this war. Archdemon against archdemon. A war that has been repeating incessantly since the dawn of time.

The gaze of the enemy demon is intense, probing. I feel his power and his threat, but I remain steady and focused. His appearance is horrendous. There are no better words to describe it. Or perhaps there is one, now that I think about it more carefully. Abomination.

The pig-headed figure looks at me, evoking disgust. Its form is an abomination to reason: a humanoid pig, a beastly fusion of flesh and depravity, an affront to natural laws. Its horns, akin to those of a goat, rise from its head like twisted towers, symbols of a distorted royalty.

The figure is immense. It towers well over three meters and is very heavy. A majestically distorted figure in its horrific presence. Four ostrich-like wings, immense and incongruous, sprout from its back, and from these, bird heads resembling tentacles protrude, pecking at the air agitatedly.

The aura surrounding it is laden with ancient and sinister malevolence, a darkness so thick it almost seems material. In its hand, a gigantic pitchfork, a symbol of its perverse dominion, is pressed forcefully against the ground.

The demon grunts with each breath, and its eyes are bloodshot. Its famished expression is eloquent, exuding insatiable hunger, insatiable greed, endless gluttony.

It does not speak, but I have the impression that it and Raqahela need not exchange words. Their hatred is evident and permeates the entire room, almost suffocating me.

Raqahela is not intimidated. She is focused. Eyes full of contempt meet those of her mortal enemy. I have found myself in the middle of this war, and although I would have avoided it, I have no choice but to fight it to pursue my goals.

Azherie cutting the palm of her hand with a sparkling Silverdark knife brings me back to the present. She lets her blood drip into the groove outlining the octogram on the floor.

"Your blood is needed as well," she informs me, passing the blade to me.

I grasp the knife decisively and proceed to cut my hand as well. The blade slices gently without effort. Warm blood flows from the wound, and I let it drip into the carved design on the floor.

Not much is needed. The magical circle at our feet lights up with an unnatural crimson glow. It flickers as if it were a beating organ, in sync with the rhythm of my heart at this moment.

The two demons extend their right hands forward, beginning to infuse dark energy into the ritual. The energy, in the form of plasma, unleashes in the private chamber, like a Tesla coil. Being visible to the naked eye, I can clearly distinguish its colors.Raqahela's magic is purple, while Barthomefolus's is a deep burgundy.

I hear them chanting incomprehensible words in a language unknown to me. It must be high-level demonic magic, a level beyond my reach.

The alien sounds they utter unsettle me, as if I am listening to something forbidden. Yet, I am fascinated and wish to learn more. I imagine that even Kanna would pay to witness this scene.

Azherie writes on the parchment the terms of the contract that we have discussed and negotiated, along with the rules of the Demonic Game of Death. The pen glides gracefully over the sheet of paper, the queen writing confidently without mistakes. She uses my language, and I appreciate this concession from the queen. I carefully read every line she writes.

Finally, with a fluid gesture, the queen signs the document. The dark elf hands it to me, inviting me to sign.

“AzHaRiE yOu mUsT wIn! DeFeAt NoT tOlErAtEd. If YoU lOsE, i WiLl HuNt YoU dOwN.” The dreadful sounds, like grunts echoing from the mouth of the archdemon, make the room tremble. "I know, my lord," she replies with a bow of the head.

Then, looking at me, “StRaUsS wAgNeR. i AcKnOwLeDgE yOu As My EnEmY.”

“SHUT UP!” Raqahela yells with an intensity that shakes the room in the same way Barthomefolus did. The two demons exchange a look of pure hatred.

“Sign the contract, her dear Strauss,” reassures the succubus.

I take the pen, feeling the ink sealing my fate and that of my companions.

I sign, aware that there is no turning back now.

Archdemon Barthomefolus, as he appears drawn stylized inprecisely in the books Kanna Merfal studied.