Chapter 13 — The Miserable Routine of a Dragon in Hell
Arriving home, Razan pushed the door open with a tired groan, letting it swing shut behind him before stretching his whole body. His spine cracked from top to bottom, a sharp pop-pop-pop echoing through the small living room. He let his arms fall, head dropping forward as he muttered with the defeated tone of someone who had lost all hope in life—and afterlife.
"Ah… what a sad life I have," he complained dramatically. "When I was alive, I worked my ass off to pay bills and rent. Then I die, come to Hell… and I STILL have to work. Now THIS is real hell!"
He pointed at the ceiling as if the universe owed him an explanation.
"I wanted to go to Heaven and become a lazy bum who does nothing all day…"
From the hallway, Loona stopped mid-step. Her ear twitched. Her eye narrowed. She stared at him with pure disbelief and growing fury.
Razan didn't notice.
"…seriously, imagine waking up every day and doing absolutely nothing—"
POW!
Loona punched Razan so hard the sound echoed like an explosion inside the apartment. He flew backward and crashed into the wall, leaving a Razan-shaped dent in the plaster.
"WHO WAS IT AGAIN that said he would 'never regret' being here because he found ME!?" Loona shouted, her tail puffed up in rage.
Embedded halfway into the drywall, Razan blinked slowly and peeled himself out of the crater. He brushed off the dust with a pout.
"But I didn't think I'd still have to pay rent even in Hell! When are us low-level demons gonna get mansions, cars, and wom—"
He didn't get to finish.
Another punch.
Another impact.
Another Razan-shaped crater.
Loona's voice thundered through the apartment: "Women? What WOMEN, Razan!?"
She marched toward him with heavy steps, each one shaking the floor slightly.
"You're a demon who turns into a DRAGON, earns thousands a day, and still has the nerve to call that 'low level'!?" she barked. "Do you want to start a revolution now!?"
Razan, still halfway stuck in the wall, mumbled weakly, "Well… I didn't think that far ahead…"
Loona looked at him—the energetic idiot who somehow never learned—and let out a long, exhausted sigh. Her anger slowly faded into resignation. She rubbed her temples as if dealing with a chronic migraine.
"Stop causing trouble at this hour. I'm going to take my shower."
Without giving him another glance, she turned, walked down the hallway, and entered the bathroom. The door closed behind her, muffling the sound of running water.
Once she was gone, Razan slumped forward, detaching himself from the wall and stumbling until he fell face-first onto the couch. He lay there, arms spread like a defeated starfish.
"Tsk… so underappreciated," he muttered. "I'm clearly the older one. Why does she think I'm not reliable?"
He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling with a pout that belonged on a teenager, not a dragon demon.
Then he exhaled and called out to the system in his mind:
"Hey, system… when I reach 100% of the Acnologia template—excluding Lucifer's abnormal part—who do you think I could fight on equal ground?"
The system responded instantly, its voice calm, neutral, and echoing faintly like it came from everywhere and nowhere.
"Host, taking Acnologia's power into account, you would be able to face beings such as Satan under balanced conditions."
Razan's eyes widened slightly.
The system continued:
"Considering that Acnologia's strength ranges from destroying the surface of a planet to completely eliminating it, optimistically speaking, you could face entities of that level in a stable manner. Even if you cannot win, they would not be able to kill you either."
Razan slowly sat up, excitement building inside him like a spark turning into a blaze.
"So my first goal is to reach their level," he said with a grin. "After that… I'll think about Lucifer. His level is still way too far from mine."
"That is a reasonable plan, host."
The system's approval only made Razan's grin wider.
Feeling energized again, he got up and walked into the kitchen. It wasn't fancy—just a narrow space with mismatched cabinets, a slightly crooked stove, and a fridge that hummed like it might explode someday. But Razan didn't seem to mind.
"Alright… let's make dinner," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I don't want to order takeout. In the human world they already spit in the food… here I don't even want to imagine what they do."
He grabbed a pan, turned on the stove, and started preparing something passable enough to call a meal. The sizzling sound filled the apartment as the smell of food mixed with the distant scent of sulfur that always drifted in from outside.
Meanwhile, water continued running from the bathroom. Loona's silhouette passed behind the frosted glass door, steam slipping out from under it as she showered. Every now and then she would grumble something incomprehensible—likely still complaining about Razan.
As Razan stirred the food, the apartment shook slightly.
BANG-BANG-BANG!
Gunshots echoed from the street. The windows flashed with distant explosions. Someone screamed. Someone else was thrown against a car. A demon was launched across the sky like a meteor.
Razan didn't even blink.
"Yep… another Tuesday," he muttered.
Outside, chaos was the norm. Flames reflected on the buildings, horns honked angrily, and somewhere far away a monstrous roar echoed down the avenue.
Despite everything—the apartment, the food, the hot shower, the brief peace—Hell reminded them of its true nature every single minute.
It was chaotic. Violent. Unpredictable.
And still, somehow… normal for them.
Razan flipped the food one last time and sighed.
"Hell really is Hell."