After casting a memory-erasing spell on the girl named Jennifer and using his mental power to teleport her a kilometer away to her car, William turned to the demon Fischer and said coldly, "Once you return to Hell, I want you to find out where Set is. Understand?"
"Yes, yes!" Fischer nodded frantically, though deep inside he sneered, What, you think you can follow me into Hell across the dimensional veil?
Of course William could guess what the demon was thinking. Quietly, he made a little adjustment to the spatial energy buried in Fischer's soul—if William ever lost control of it, the energy would detonate and annihilate Fischer's soul instantly.
"You want me to send you back, or can you go yourself?"
"I—I'll go myself, I'll go myself!"
William gave a slight nod. Fischer immediately dropped his disguise. The Material Plane's will rejected his presence in an instant, igniting his form in dark flame that shot skyward—then plummeted like a meteor into the ground, vanishing as he returned to Hell.
A moment later, William sensed a spatial anchor materialize in his perception. There was no mistaking it—Hell's dimensional coordinates.
Meanwhile, Fischer, having just landed back in the barren, molten wasteland of Hell, took one look at the scorched, sulfuric land and felt utterly miserable. Compared to the life he had just left—possessing humans, snacking on souls, basking in freedom—this was a nightmare.
The drastic contrast overwhelmed him. He collapsed, cursing and sobbing.
But he didn't get far.
"Aaaargh! I won't do it again, I swear!"
High above, William let out a cold snort. Instead of going himself, he summoned a magical clone and teleported it to Fischer's side.
The clone dropped down and stomped on Fischer's back, pressing him into the boiling lava.
"Shut up."
The pain made Fischer's soul tremble violently. His head nearly burst under the force.
But even through the agony, the moment he saw William's clone, his fear overtook everything else—he didn't even think of resisting, unaware that even a light attack would dissipate the clone.
Of course, had he tried, William would've simply detonated the space energy embedded in his soul.
Now that his clone had successfully entered Hell, Fischer's importance had dropped significantly—but William decided to keep him around anyway. He still wasn't sure what effect a magical identity exposed to demons might have on his real body.
"Find where Set resides. Track down this Prince Benar you mentioned. Record any major events in Hell and report them to me through prayer. Got it?"
"Understood, my master. I am now your loyal servant."
Fischer's soul burned hot—not just from the pain, but from ambition. A master who could traverse between realms at will? That was a demon's dream come true.
After all, demonic strength was directly tied to the number of souls they consumed. The more souls, the faster they grew. That was why all the demon lords and gods of Hell were desperate to invade the Material Plane and harvest souls.
"I shall begin my search at once, Master."
William raised an eyebrow in surprise at the enthusiasm, then narrowed his eyes.
Wait a second…
With a dark expression, he stomped on Fischer again, grinding his head deeper into the lava.
"Demons really are the definition of untrustworthy."
He growled, "If you already knew that Set submitted to Mephisto while you were on Earth—how can you not know where Set lives?"
Fischer squealed. "Master! I swear! That information came from Freddy! He's a nightmare demon. He communicates with others through dreams, that's how we knew what was happening in Hell!"
William's frown softened—slightly.
"You have three days," he said flatly. "Find Set, and I'll reward you with a hundred souls. Fail—and you'll beg for death."
"Y-yes, Master!" Fischer whimpered.
William then demanded the soul-harvesting spell Fischer had been using. Once he had the full spell matrix memorized, he dispersed the clone.
Fischer waited a while, then cautiously looked up—only to find William long gone.
He staggered to his feet, cursed William under his breath, and then… remembered the promised reward.
One hundred souls…
With renewed energy, Fischer transformed into a cloud of smoke and sped toward Mephisto's territory.
Meanwhile, back in the Material Plane, William was examining the soul-harvesting array Fischer had given him. After carefully analyzing it, he took out a hundred gold coins from his storage space.
He melted them down with flames and recast them into coins with skulls embossed on both sides. Inside each coin, he etched the soul-capturing array.
Then he pulled out the interstellar communicator he'd taken from Yondu.
"Sunday, connect me to Yondu."
A moment later, Yondu's scruffy face appeared on the screen, smiling respectfully. "What can I do for you, Mr. Devonshire?"
William closed his eyes and mentally locked onto the Ravager ship he had visited once before.
Shiiing—a hundred skull coins materialized in front of Yondu, floating in the air.
"Each of these coins can hold over a hundred souls. If you're interested, take them to battlefield worlds across the galaxy and help me collect souls."
Then William added, "For each coin you fill, I'll give you one healing sigil in return. Deal?"
"Hmm… I'll have to think about it."
Yondu was, of course, just trying to bargain for more healing sigils. He didn't give a damn why William wanted souls. All he saw was profit.
The galaxy was riddled with war. If it wasn't Ravagers fighting, it was Kree or Skrulls or pirates or mercenaries. And if Yondu wasn't the one starting those wars, then there was no reason not to make a buck off them.
If things got dangerous, he could always target weak-tech planets like Earth. Fewer defenses, less risk.
As he calculated in silence, Yondu's eyes gleamed brighter and brighter.
One healing sigil from William was worth 200 energy crystals—around 20,000 galactic credits.
Even if a trip to a war zone cost him 50 energy crystals in fuel, the profit margin was still insane.
The only tricky part was getting reliable intel.
Which meant going to the black markets.
"That's the only problem, Mr. Devonshire," Yondu said. "I need timely info to reach battlefields in time. That means paying the black market for tips, and they don't come cheap…"
William's face darkened. "Are you suggesting you want to publicly post this job on the black market?"
"What? No! Of course not!"
Yondu quickly realized what William meant.
He doesn't want anyone knowing he's collecting souls…
That meant the buyer was trying to stay off-radar. And that meant leverage.
Yondu grinned. "Two hundred credits per soul? Generous. Still, gathering intel quickly is expensive. If I have to run across the stars chasing ghosts…"
"One soul-filled coin gets you one healing sigil," William interrupted. "But if you finish a delivery within three days, I'll give you the exclusive rights to sell 10,000 healing sigils."
"Ten thousand?!"
Yondu nearly leapt out of his chair.
But he reined himself in quickly and forced a calm tone. "C-could we make it… 10,000 sigils per year instead?"
William snorted. "What do you think?"
"…Alright, alright!" Yondu raised his hands. "Three days it is!"
______
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