No More Pain For This Villain.

[After a few minutes]

"So, that's what I saw," Smokeball finished his speech.

According to him, after we went to the floating island where it had left him down below, he sensed a group of people that were suspicious, wearing similar cloaks and moving together – so he followed them.

So did Professor Alder, but somehow, for a few minutes, Blaze lost sight of them because he was distracted by a projection above. He then tried to spot them again, and the next time he saw them, Zephyrion and some of his people – demons, per se – were huddled together, muttering something. After that, they picked up their teleporter and left.

Just this –

"Well, you already said that they are traveling all over the continent to place their transposition circles, so I thought it was just that, the same thing they did in Sephra. But I checked everywhere, and they haven't put any magic circles in the whole city," Blaze added, showing that he did his research.

"They can't. Amrose can sense if anything is wrong in the Eshmera, so it would be stupid of them to put a circle here of all places."

"Maybe a bit in the forest outside of the city – since I don't remember there being any inside demon sightings in Eshmera, even in the scrolling texts of the storyline," I pointed out. Zephyrion must've put the circle outside the city.

"So what now? You gonna check for the circle?" Blaze questioned.

"Hell no, I don't think it's any use since there are going to be hundreds of them hidden well. It'll be just a waste of time, and Eshmera was never conquered by demons even in the war, so there's no use," I explained.

I'll just leave it there for now. I don't think it's wise for me to do anything like going outside of the Nexus Institute's premises because of the rumors. They're just gonna make shit up from now on to keep me in check.

"Ugh, I'll see if the banquets are still going or not."

***

[Third Person View.]

Ren walked through the empty hallway, oblivious to the fact that it was bedtime for everyone else. He vaguely remembered hearing about a banquet, so he made his way to the grand hall. Peeking inside, he saw a spacious dining area with rows of tables and a food counter at the far end.

"Looks like everything's finished," he sighed, stepping into the hall. Hoping there might be some leftovers, he ventured further inside, his stomach rumbling with hunger.

Unbeknownst to him, a silhouette sat near the counters, silently occupying a circular table without making a sound.

Approaching the food counter, Ren flicked his middle finger and thumb together, creating a small ember to illuminate the area. He peered into the containers, noticing a few pieces of bread that were still warm, likely due to the magic used to maintain their temperature.

As he picked up the bread and placed it on a nearby plate, he reached for another container when suddenly –

"Hup!" A hiccup.

Startled, Ren jumped into a fighting stance, dropping the plate on the floor with a loud crash that echoed through the empty hallway.

Ren's heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the dimly lit room for the source of the hiccup. His eyes widened as they landed on a sight that left him utterly baffled.

There sat Aron, looking more bewildered than ever, holding multiple bottles of wine and gin in both hands. He sat at a table with a small ball of wind positioned in front of him, seemingly using it as a shield of defense.

"What on earth?" Ren exclaimed, momentarily forgetting his fear as he took in the absurd scene before him.

Aron, caught off guard by Ren's sudden appearance, nearly dropped the bottles in his hands. "Oh, uh, hi there," he greeted, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.... swaying in the seat.

Ren couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. "The fuck....what are you doing?"

Aron glanced down at the bottles in his hands, then back up at Ren. "Well, you see, I was just, uh, experimenting with some...uh...alchemy!"

Ren raised an eyebrow skeptically. "With alcohol?"

Aron scratched the back of his head nervously. "Um, yes! Exactly! Alcohol alchemy! It's a thing, you know."

Ren couldn't contain his laughter any longer. "Sure, Prince ...whatever you say." he knew that Aron was way too drunk to hold a conversation.

As he approached the table, Ren couldn't help but notice the small ball of wind hovering in front of Aron. "And what's with the wind ball?"

Aron's face flushed red with embarrassment. "Oh, this? It's, um, my defense mechanism! You know, just in case things get...uh...windy?"

Ren couldn't hold back his laughter any longer.

Aron sat there, looking confused – he was way too wasted to hate Ren as he usually did or to make any backhanded comments at all.

Ren calmed his laughter after a good minute and focused on Aron.

"How many have you drunk?" he asked.

"Twenty... twenty-two bottles, new record... maybe," Aron answered, fumbling over his words.

"Any left?" Ren questioned.

Aron looked around in a very cartoonish manner, scanning left and right before reaching under the table and pulling out a bottle of beer.

"A few... A few dozen," Aron replied, ignoring the gulp that Ren had to take – he's not an alcoholic, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy his alcohol.

[After an hour.]

Blaze wore a disappointed look on his face as he walked away and stationed himself at the entrance of the hallway, looking like a lost guard in a play about knights.

"Any left?" Ren asked, his voice echoing in the empty hallway like a ghost's lament.

Aron, resembling a drunken squirrel, scurried under the table, his movements more erratic than a toddler on a sugar rush. After a comical struggle, he emerged victorious, clutching a glass bottle like a treasure hunter finding the last nugget of gold.

"Yes... no," Aron declared, turning the bottle upside down with the dramatic flair of a magician revealing an empty hat.

"We drank that one?" Ren inquired, peering at the bottle with all the intensity of a detective inspecting a murder weapon.

"Don't remember," Aron confessed, his words slurring together like a lazy river flowing through a meadow.

Ren sprawled on the floor like a fallen hero, his laughter ringing out like bells at a clown convention, while Aron attempted to rise using a chair as support, only to crash to the ground in a heap reminiscent of a deflated balloon.

"Pffff." Ren laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls like a mischievous imp playing with echoes.

"Eh?" Aron blinked, his eyes struggling to stay open like a stubborn garage door refusing to shut.

"I remember your face when you followed me to the third entrance of the maze. Haha, you looked ridiculous!" Ren laughed, his amusement reaching levels typically reserved for watching a toddler trying to put on pants.

"Fuck off. At least I wasn't about to slip on my face. You think I didn't notice that Erik saved your *hup* ass from embarrassing yourself?" Aron retorted, his words a mixture of defiance and drunken honesty.

Ren's laughter subsided, leaving behind a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon. He didn't care what Aron said – he was floating in a sea of drunken bliss, his mind a ship navigating the waves of alcohol.

If it weren't for downing a few special bottles of wine that couldn't be cleaned with magic, they would have been fine – they had drunk the bottles meant for the professors. Aron had procured them by rummaging through the dining hall's cabinets and the attached kitchen, like a mischievous raccoon raiding a picnic basket.

After staring into nothing for a while, Aron, drunk Aron, said, "Hey Ren, you think you're smart?"

"Hmm?" Ren raised a brow, his expression that of a scholar pondering the mysteries of the universe.

"Then riddle me this: why don't skeletons fight each other?" Aron seemed to be in a whole different mood – well, not like Ren hadn't outdrunk him even after joining late in the run.

"Say why?" Ren asked, his curiosity piqued like a cat eyeing a dangling string.

"Because they don't have guts," Aron declared triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of a riddle solved.

"Don't get it? Ugh, you have a very bad sense of humor, I suppose. If I had said that to any whore in the Twin Cities, she'd be laughing her way to death," Aron muttered, his disappointment palpable like a soggy sandwich left out in the rain.

"Because you'd pay them or kill them," Ren said without filter – he thought it, so he said it, his words as sharp as a dagger slicing through the silence.

Aron paused, wanting to say something but stopped. "Yeah."

There was a silent moment before Aron spoke again. "Okay, another one: tell me, why did a scarecrow win an award?"

"Because it was outstanding in his field?" Ren answered, his wit as quick as a rabbit dodging a hunter's arrow.

"I've heard that one. Come up with something unique, Prince – I'm not one of your whores," Ren mocked, his laughter bubbling up like a hidden spring bursting through the earth.

"Ugh," Aron grumbled, his frustration evident like a storm cloud brewing on the horizon. "I hate you."

"Feelings are mutual, dude," Ren spat, his tone as light as a feather caught in a breeze, his stomach doing somersaults like an acrobat at the circus.

"But I don't hate hate you, like I hate you, but I don't hate you enough," Aron began, his words a tangled mess of contradictions and drunken ramblings. "I hate you like I hate anyone else, but I don't hate you like I hate... umm, Adam Stales, yes! I don't hate you like I hate that son of a bitch."

"I don't know how I feel about that," Ren replied.