Mephisto squatted on his throne. It was simply a habit of his, as if the throne burned his ass and he could only get comfortable by squatting on it.
Listening to the screams of souls drifting over from the plains, he swayed his head with his eyes closed, savoring this rare moment of leisure. Yet Hell was currently at war, and even this brief respite was a luxury to him.
To fight over the tens of millions of souls who had died in World War II, the major Hells had exhausted every possible means. Open military offensives were merely side dishes; the real contest lay in covert operations and mutual scheming.
Demons, after all, treated trickery as instinct. And as the one with the greatest power, he had naturally become the common enemy of nearly everyone.
The Handmaidens of Destruction stood beneath his throne before him, respectfully lined up in two rows. Yet their shriveled faces and blank white eyes made it clear that they were unwilling.
They were fallen first-generation Valkyries. Eating corpses was one thing, but being sold to a demon king was another.
Compared with King Bor, Mephisto was clearly no good master. The various torments they had endured in Hell were beyond anything they could have imagined before.
Now they wanted nothing more than to find Loki and kill that frost giant bastard. But Loki had anticipated this long ago, and his contract with Mephisto contained protective clauses.
Mephisto closed his eyes and savored the malicious gazes around him. It felt wonderful. He held a skull filled with magma-like liquor, which was brought to his lips from time to time.
"Your Majesty! That, that human from last time is here again!"
At a time like this, some blind fool of a servant had to come and