Chapter 81: The Sound of the 66th Dimension

  The bells of the 66th Infernal Dimension did not merely toll; they groaned with a weight that seemed to press the very air into the damp earth of the borderlands. It was a sound that ignored the ears and struck directly at the soul—a rhythmic, agonizing pulse that touched every devil inhabiting this land.

  Standing before the Voivode’s private mansion on the Mountain of Mists, Ignatius the Emptyhead wondered whether it was really the best time to visit old Boruta.

  'Those mad bells clearly do not mean anything good!'

  The desire to run away and hide on his own mountain was so strong he almost did it instinctively. There was, however, a small catch to that, and he was forced to sigh in frustration.

  'As if it couldn't happen on any other day...'

  Recently, he had achieved a monumental cultivation breakthrough, and it was clear that Boruta would finally lift his cursed nickname. Ignatius had even spent the entire morning practicing squinting his eyes, convinced that a killer look would make him totally irresistible to all the she-devils in the nearby infernal dimensions.

  "In the end, it all comes down to priorities in life..."

  Shaking his head and striking a significantly braver pose—despite being hidden under a face-covering hood—he decided that shedding the nickname came first.

  'It is probably nothing important after all.'

  But then, the toll hit again.

  The sound was heavy and final. It lacked the rhythmic clang of a call to war or the celebratory boom of a victory.

  Every devil, from the lowest peasants to the most arrogant minor nobles, had stopped. Even the mists surrounding the mountain seemed to thin strangely.

  Ignatius felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. He had to get to Boruta before something dangerous happened.

  He reached the Voivode’s private mansion. As he burst through the heavy oak doors, the guards didn't even try to stop him.

  The air in the chamber tasted of stagnant water and decaying willow. Devilish servants were gathered in the center of the room. There, on the oversized bed, lay the Voivode. Ignatius, annoyed by how calm his boss was while everything else was in disarray, soon let his thoughts out.

  "What is it with all those bells, old man?! It feels like the entire dimension is screaming!"

  It was then that he noticed something was strange.

  Boruta looked like a piece of ancient, weathered wood. Ignatius became completely paralyzed as the old man’s right hand slowly, agonizingly slid off the side of the bed. It hit the floor with a soft, hollow thud.

  "Wha—"

  He couldn't even finish. The bells started to toll like mad, and the dry words of the dimension's spirit, Mr. Twardowski, tore through the air.

  "Boruta, the 66th Infernal Voivode and ruler of this dimension, has met his end."

  Meanwhile, in the 60th Dimension, the center of attention was focused on the arena and the fights of the adepts.

  The burning sun sent its stinging rays in an eternal battle against the gathered crowds. In this particular moment, however, no one seemed to care about the heat. Everyone was focused on a particular aura radiating from the ground.

  Svarticus, the star adept of the 61st Dimension, had just murdered his opponent. He didn't look as if it even mattered to him. All he saw in his mind's eye was Justinian, to whom he had sent his declaration.

  It did not take long for the amphitheater to fill with the wild cheering of gathered devils.

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  "Yes! The 61st Dimension is the strongest!"

  "He will put that damn human in his place!"

  "Was... was that the Virtue of Wrath?!"

  Justinian watched from the stands with a serious expression. Beside him, Seweryn was sweating profusely.

  "That guy is the 61st Voivode’s son, and more importantly, his executor. At the 3rd level of Foundation Establishment, he supposedly handles all the dirty business of his ruler."

  Just by the aura emanating from that devil, it was obvious the rumors were true. It was also clear that he was a serious threat.

  As Svarticus turned his back to return to his delegation, a strange thing happened. For the first time that he could remember, Justinian suddenly heard the quiet voice of Doctor Totius whispering in his ear.

  "This devil..."

  Surprised, the young human placed a hand on his pipe, supplying it with a clear stream of energy.

  "Hmm?"

  "I can feel... something very... familiar from him."

  Before Justinian could ask any questions, the second round of fighting was announced. This time, he was supposed to be the first one up.

  He stepped onto the sand. His opponent was a devil clad in black, heavy leathers, emanating the respect-worthy fluctuations of the 1st level of Foundation Establishment.

  "So," the adept sneered, looking at Justinian with disregard. "Where is the real deal, boy? Where is your dimension's golden child, Felix?"

  For some reason, almost every adept devil from other dimensions he met always asked about Felix Faustus. It really made the young human curious.

  "And why are you even asking?"

  The devil opposite him gritted his teeth.

  "Do you even need to ask?! We have been waiting for years to get revenge for his underhanded methods!"

  His gaze burned with fury and hatred. At first, Justinian could not really understand it, as it didn't resonate with the image of Felix he knew.

  'That guy and underhanded methods? He was just crazy stro... oh...'

  Suddenly, the reason for this animosity seemed painfully clear. A strange expression appeared on Justinian's face.

  "Could it be... Felix beat you all up?"

  His opponent’s reaction was more than telling.

  "Shut up! It was all because he cheated! We will definitely get back at him!"

  The devil started going on and on about how unfair the whole fight had been and how it was rigged.

  As the adept's trash talk grew more frantic and became almost unbearable, a flash appeared in Justinian's eyes. Without waiting for the devil to finish or even prepare, he used all the speed he could muster to appear before his opponent and land a powerful punch.

  A thunderous sound echoed through the arena as his opponent flew a dozen meters backward. There, he lay gasping in the sand, unable to continue.

  Justinian leaned over him. The devil’s eyes were wide with a sudden, primal terror.

  "If I were you," Justinian whispered, "I would be really careful with who I am attempting to smear."

  Then, with a final strike, Justinian ended the match. The silence was absolute.

  It was also then that he noticed something. While the crowds in the arena were stunned by how quickly he had ended the match, the reaction of the dimension rulers was different.

  Every Voivode—from the one-armed Ericus to the grim patriarch of the 63rd—was staring at him.

  It was a gaze of pure, unified enmity.

  The following morning, Justinian sought the solitude of the lake. He was running along the northern shore, where the lush green and red flowers of the 60th Dimension usually provided a calming backdrop.

  As he was thinking about the events of the past day, one strange, annoying thing occurred.

  "How the hell has the temperature suddenly dropped so much?!"

  It had been a warm spring day yesterday, and now he felt as if snow was about to fall. What was disturbing, however, was that the dimension's flora had not reacted to it at all, as if they existed in two completely different cycles.

  Shaking his head, he actually started missing the Mountain of Plague and Misfortune of the 66th Dimension.

  A bit terrified by that thought, he focused on running for the next few miles until he noticed something unusual. A massive portion of the lake had been turned into a sheet of jagged, unnatural ice.

  In the center of this frozen world, a scene of absolute carnage was unfolding that made the hair on his neck stand up in horror. There was a large group of devils wearing black furs—the distinctive equipment of the 63rd Dimension—with their Voivode at the center.

  The ruler was looking down with impunity at a small unfrozen area in the ice, which he soon kicked so powerfully that the air shook.

  The most terrifying part, however, was the sound that followed—the sound of something spilling and rolling.

  'This cannot be real...'

  What was rolling across the ice was nothing other than the head of the devil Justinian had defeated yesterday. Its eyes were open in fear, and red blood was slowly coloring the snow. Just a few meters further, other adepts from the 63rd Dimension who had lost their fights were drowning, struck on their heads by other devils whenever they tried to emerge from the freezing water.

  This was an execution. Nothing more than a massacre on ice.

  Justinian watched from the treeline, his breath hitching in the soulless cold.

  The Voivode didn't turn around. He stood with his back to Justinian, his iron staff dripping with dark ichor.

  "In my dimension, we do not tolerate failure."

  Then, he suddenly looked the young man in the eye. His eyes were like two pits of darkness, devoid of any light.

  The Voivode pointed the iron staff toward Justinian.

  "Your head will be the next one to roll."

  Saying this, he disappeared into the mists, leaving Justinian alone with the chilling warning echoing in the depths of his soul.