Building the new version of Battleworld would take some time. During that period, Owen and Lucifer, who needed to work at full capacity, first set up their offices and laboratories.
Lucifer directly dug his palace out of Hell and suspended it above New Earth of the Battle Realm, turning it into a floating island adrift in the cosmos.
Satan's palace was still ancient and coated in the dust of bygone days. Its dark walls set off layer upon layer of candelabras, carrying a profound loneliness.
On the first day after the move, it received an unexpected visitor: Schiller.
Schiller folded up his umbrella at the door. Lucifer stood just inside the entrance, watching the radiance of space cast a hazy halo around Schiller's figure.
"Looks like you've found Walt Disney already." There was a hint of smugness in Lucifer's tone. "I imagine you now understand some of how I felt. Facing someone omniscient, omnipotent, and high above you isn't easy."
"You're that kind of person to me as well." Schiller followed Lucifer through the long corridor. His somewhat low voice echoed through the exceptionally vast space, the vibrations of the echoes almost tangible.
They turned left at the end of the corridor and passed a row of towering Gothic stained-glass windows. The rhythm of leather shoes clicking made their footsteps across the alternating light and shadow seem like fingers dancing over piano keys.
When they pushed open the reception room doors, the style changed again, thick with the atmosphere of an English manor. The carpet was the deep red of dried blood. On the right stood row after row of tall bookshelves crammed with ancient tomes, while in the pitch-black fireplace on the left burned flames more vigorous than those in an ordinary home.
The curves of the Gothic dome