Diluc raised his hand to brush away the petals that had fallen onto his shoulders. The pale pink fragments turned into specks of fluorescent light the moment they touched his fingertips, then dissipated into the air.
He glanced down at his torn clothes and the wounds that had not yet fully healed—his expression remained calm.
The Black Rock Slasher Blade trembled slightly in his grip before dissolving into countless dark red particles of light, drifting like embers through the air.
Only then did Carter Slade and Johnny Blaze, who had been hiding in the distance, dare to approach.
The two stood in the devastated cemetery, surveying the destruction. The ground was crisscrossed with deep gullies, and charred fissures still radiated the residual heat of lava.
Dozens of tombstones had been caught in the battle between man and demon—some cleaved cleanly in half, others reduced to rubble. The air reeked of sulfur and scorched earth.
Johnny Blaze took a breath and spoke in a dry voice:
"This level of destructive power… is it really possible for a human to achieve?!"
Carter Slade stared at Diluc with a deeply conflicted expression.
As a former Ghost Rider, he could barely cause this much damage himself.
But this man standing before him—if he could even still be called human—
had fought the projection of a legendary dimensional demon god to a standstill using nothing but a mortal body.
How terrifying was that?
Diluc ignored their astonishment and casually pulled an orange fruit from his waist. He took a bite, and sweet juice trickled down the corner of his mouth.
Carter Slade frowned, then finally asked outright:
"Are you really human?"
Diluc didn't answer immediately. Instead, he finished the entire fruit in silence.
As he swallowed the last of the pulp, the deepest wound on his chest began to scab over at a speed visible to the naked eye, and color slowly returned to his pale face.
Only after finishing the sunset fruit did he speak, his voice still cold:
"Contract… are you still planning to take it?"
At this, Carter Slade instantly shook his head.
"Thank you, but I politely decline! You can take it as long as you like."
After witnessing Diluc's battle with Mephisto, Carter Slade was thoroughly convinced. Even Mephisto—despite his terrifying power—had failed to drag the Witcher back to Hell. He, Carter, stood no chance either.
And this mysterious man who called himself Diluc… the one he was addressing might actually be capable of succeeding.
Johnny Blaze couldn't help but interject:
"Wait—wasn't that contract important? Are we just letting him walk off with it like that?"
Carter Slade rolled his eyes, giving Johnny a look that clearly said, "I'm sorry you're a human being," and replied:
"If you think it's inappropriate, go ahead—grab the contract yourself. There's a vacant plot right next to your dad."
Just as the two turned to ask Diluc how he intended to handle the San Venganza contract, they found he had vanished—as if he'd never been there at all.
In an apartment in the Bronx, New York…
"Wuwuwu—!!"
In the living room, Damian clamped a sour plum between his teeth, his face twisted in pain. He dabbed medical alcohol onto the wound on his chest, letting out occasional, guttural groans.
Two and a half hours later, he'd finally cleaned the wound and wrapped it in gauze.
"Fuck! Mephisto, you old bastard—you've got no morals! Picking on a teenage comrade like me?!"
He paused, wincing.
"Just you wait! Once I pull out the Reign of Death, I'm robbing your house blind!!"
Still cursing, Damian tugged his shirt back on. He couldn't help but feel his life resembled one of those Japanese romantic-drama films—where the guy screams "No!" while clearly going along with everything anyway.
The kicker? He wasn't even the protagonist. More like one of those hapless, emasculated husbands you always see in those movies.
Aside from Mephisto, there was someone else Damian couldn't stop thinking about: the Ancient One.
The big boss must've noticed him long ago—otherwise, he wouldn't have intercepted that attack at the last second.
But after stepping in, he hadn't shown up again, asked no questions, offered no explanation. Just… vanished.
What on earth was that old man thinking?
Ding-ling-ling…
Just as Damian was lost in thought, his phone rang.
He checked the caller ID—Peter Parker.
Clearing his throat, Damian answered in a mock-automated voice:
"Sorry! Hi! The incredibly handsome gentleman you've reached is currently unavailable. Please try again later."
Pause.
"Sorry, the subscriber you dialed is unable to take your call. Please redial later…"
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing just because I don't speak Chinese, you bastard!!" Peter's exasperated voice crackled through the speaker.
Damian pulled the phone away with a satisfied smirk, scratched his ear with his free hand, and drawled,
"Alright, alright—cut the cursing. What do you want?"
Heavy breathing came from the other end. After a long silence, Peter finally said,
"…Forget it. What time are you coming to the party tonight?"
Damian froze.
Party? He racked his brain but couldn't recall agreeing to any party.
To him, American teen "parties" weren't parties at all—they were dens.
They called themselves "party partners," but really, they were just a gang!
It was a stereotype, sure—but based on his limited experience, stereotypes sometimes hit the mark.
When Damian didn't answer, Peter's voice dropped low and ominous:
"You… forgot, didn't you?"
"—How could you even suggest such a thing?! Am I the kind of person who forgets? After all we've been through, is this how you see me?!"
He launched into a dramatic lament:
"As the saying goes, 'A kind word warms the heart through winter, but a cruel one cuts deep even in summer.' And you, my friend—you've shattered my soul! I fear spring will never come to my world again—"
"You really forgot." Peter cut in, ice-cold.
Damian stopped mid-performance.
"…So what if I did? I'll just bow and apologize! Whose party is it anyway? You're acting like it's some big deal—Gwen knows, right? Aren't you worried I might—"
"It's Gwen's birthday party."
Silence.
Then, realization dawned.
"Ohhh~! I told you I didn't forget—you just didn't believe me!" Damian chirped, instantly recovered. "I'll be there around eight. Got stuff to handle here, so
I'll hang up now. Bye!"
And before Peter could respond, he ended the call.
"Phew… That was close. Almost got caught."
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