"LADIEEEEEES AND GENTLEMEN! AND ALL YOU WRETCHED, VILE, AND ABOMINABLE THINGS — DEMONS, DEMONESSES, CURSED BLOODLINES, EXTINCT GODS, AND UNSPEAKABLE RACES FROM THE KNOWN UNIVERSE AND THE UNKNOWABLE CHAOS BEYOND!"
A demon roared to the crowds surrounding him.
A wave of screeches and howls tore through the arena. Demons, humans, and alien horrors of all shapes and sizes roared in ecstasy, drunk on bloodlust, booze, and god-knows-what.
After all, it's not every day you witness a God bleed.
"TONIGHT! BEHOLD! THE ONE — THE MYTH — THE COSMIC JOKE MADE FLESH!"
"ONCE A HUMAN! NOW A LEGEND, A CURSE, A TOY PASSED BETWEEN GODS!"
"HE'S BEEN REBORN AND REWRITTEN MORE TIMES THAN THE LAWS OF REALITY CAN COUNT!"
"HE'S SLAUGHTERED HEROES, KINGS, GODS — AND MADE BEDMATES OF ANGELS, DEMONS, AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN!"
"HE'S CONQUERED WORLDS, BURNED HEAVENS, DEFIED FATE — AND YET, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES HE DIES..."
"...SOME SICK BASTARD UPSTAIRS ALWAYS BRINGS HIM BACK!"
"GIVE IT UP FOR THE ONE, THE ONLY — MERCURIUS THE EVERLASTING!"
The man who's done everything there is to do... and is absolutely fucking sick of it.*
A huge throne was dragged forward, reclined atop a jagged throne made from unknown materials, encrusted with bone charms and cursed jewels, hoisted on the shoulders of the beautiful and the damned. Handsome men and impossibly alluring women from forgotten, exotic races — feathered, horned, scaled, winged.
His skin was moon-pale, glowing faintly like a corpse blessed by starlight. His silver-white hair spilled down his shoulders like river silk, brushing against bare flesh and infernal silk robes dyed in forbidden reds — the kind that looked like they'd been soaked in the blood of saints.
Rebellion, a massive greatsword black as void-iron and humming with death-songs, rested in his hand like a casual accessory .
He let it dangle lazily, dragging against the stone floor, carving sparks and runes with each slow, arrogant pass.
The man who'd fucked fate, murdered time, and made boredom into legend.
His soul was a relic of blasphemy and glory — baptized in sin, forged in myth, and crowned by endless conquest.
Standing from his throne, he rose — a twelve-foot giant. It wasn't his original form, but Mercurius preferred it.
He spread his arms, lifted his head, and roared:
"WHAT A WONDERFUL DAY!"
Mercurius might've been a murderous bastard — a liar, a swindler, a full-blown narcissistic psychopath whose soul had once been simultaneously promised to three different demon lords (and sold for entirely different reasons each time)
He had that thing — the presence, the madness, the myth. The kind of charisma that made even the damned cheer for him, even if they'd sworn to flay him and eat his soul next time he showed up.
"AND IN THE OPPOSING CORNER… WE HAVE THE CHALLENGER!"
A winged demon announcer soared down from above, landing beside the small, frail old man in the white coat. He glanced at him, confused.
"…Sorry, what was your name again?"
The old man slowly lifted his head, a faint smile on his face.
"I'm known as the One Above All."
The demon blinked — then turned back to the crowd, shouting:
"THE ONE ABOVE ALLLLLL!"
A beat of silence. Then the crowd erupted into laughter and boos.
"BOOOOOOO!"
"BOOOOOOO!"
"GET OFF THE STAGE, GRANDPA!"
"WHERE'S HIS WALKING STICK?!"
Unbeknownst to them, Mercurius's smile had stiffened. If not for his long, bitter experience dealing with demon lords, he might've already turned and run — if he wasn't bound by contract.
Of course.
Of fucking course it's "The One Above All."
Just as Mercurius's smile began to crack — not from fear, of course, but from calculated concern — a familiar, unwelcome weight settled on his shoulder.
"Well, well," came a smooth, mocking voice near his ear.
"You look like you've bitten off just a bit more than you can chew this time."
Mercurius didn't turn. He didn't need to. The scent of sulfur, Expensive cologne, and raw sin was enough.
Lucifer.
The Devil himself, lounging on his shoulder like a bored cat with too much time and too many opinions.
"I'll miss our little… private moments, darling."
A chuckle. "Do visit when you're dead. Assuming he leaves anything behind."
And with a swoosh he was gone.
Only the faint scent of burnt roses remained.
Mercurius sighed, adjusted his grip on Rebellion, and muttered under his breath:
"Fuck…I really need better friends."