Miao Mu remembered clearly.
Earlier, Constantine had once commented on the power within him: it came from Hell, but had no creditor.
In other words, no matter how much energy Miao Mu used, he did not need to borrow from demons, nor did he need a contract.
As for Dormammu's energy, before they had even discussed a price, Doctor Manhattan had interrupted midway.
It was like dining and dashing. As long as he never encountered Dormammu again, he could get away with it.
Besides, Dormammu could not chase after him.
Miao Mu raised his wrist. The Ouroboros Brand on it, red as a reflective sticker, instantly burst into flames.
"You want this, don't you?"
The magical patterns in Miao Mu's palm rose into the air. Every single one contained a demon's true name.
They bound demon souls.
White Mammon watched those floating magical patterns. He lacked neither demons nor souls; what he anticipated was that unknown world.
And a Hell whose authority was utterly different from theirs.
"All right, you really are still alive."
Seeing his deception exposed, White Mammon was not embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he openly pulled out the contract.
"Come to think of it, I really want you to become my knight."
White Mammon unfolded the contract. The writing on it was in demonic language, and Miao Mu could not understand a word.
Forget Miao Mu—even if Doctor Strange were here, he might not understand the tongue-twisting meanings hidden within demonic words.
But one thing was certain: once someone signed it, demons had ten million ways to interpret those words.
A demonic contract ten thousand times more miserable than a contract of indenture.
Although he could not read it.
Miao Mu recognized one symbol: a circular emblem divided into black and white, like a human face.