Before him stood a black solitary peak. If it weren't for its color and the lava continuously flowing from it, it might resemble the Frozen Throne somewhat.
Su Ming transformed his weapon, flicked off the flesh and blood on it, and the cloak carried him effortlessly into the air, heading directly toward the cliff.
Since Mephisto had already warmly welcomed him, he saw no need to be polite.
Just as expected, by the lava pool adorned with rubble and withered wood on the mountain's summit, he encountered this Lord of Hell.
The infamous Great Demon looked like a molt-shedding blood figure, his emaciated body squatting on an obsidian throne, one leg resting on the chair and the other dangling freely.
His skin was crimson, with straight long horns on his head, and his yellow eyeballs immediately caught sight of the intruder, his face expressionless, and his tone quite indifferent:
"Welcome, Deathstroke actually arrived at my plane; not many dare to descend into Hell directly."
Su Ming gradually descended, walking to the other side of the lava pool. The heat distorted their vision, making everything seem unreal.
"It seems like most of the people I've killed have come to you."
"Indeed, Germans, villains, killers, idiots, and the like. But you should know I don't need to read their souls; the Magic Realm is abuzz with news of you. By the way, most people think your armor is pretty impressive."
Mephisto leaned back, shifting to a more comfortable posture against the chair's backrest, propping his elbow on the armrest, and yawning.
"I'm here to ask you a few questions... The souls from the Immortal Palace don't belong to you. Why meddle in their war when there's no benefit for you?"
The temperature and scent of Hell weren't suitable for humans, and Su Ming had no intention of exchanging pleasantries with him.
When this question was raised, Mephisto made a weird expression, touching his chin like someone with a toothache, his sharp teeth grinding back and forth:
"So it was you, that horse-headed monster was sent by you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Su Ming calmly replied, removing his helmet. Mephisto had no evidence.
"Damn it, do you know how many instruments he destroyed? How many souls he scattered?!"
"What are you talking about?"
Mephisto watched Deathstroke's puzzled expression as if he genuinely knew nothing, his eyeball rotating slightly.
"Forget it, after all, a mechanical modified person is something I can handle. What is it you wish to ask? Maybe we can negotiate a trade?"
Su Ming took out a cigarette box, drew two cigarettes, placing one in his mouth and tossing the other to the Hell Demon King: "You think I'd be foolish enough to negotiate a trade with a Demon King?"
"Hiss, that makes things difficult. Why not stay in my domain for a few decades, think it over slowly?" Mephisto pretended to scratch his ear, which was full of thick, black hair, often feeling itchy.
His ability could trap life in the Hell Dimension, making escape impossible. However, here there was no conventional food or water, and life couldn't survive here. He didn't often do this.
As a Lord of Hell, a Demon King, he loved negotiating terms and signing contracts.
Killing was merely an optional pastime for him. When Hell contained billions of souls, focusing on a single soul held no appeal. Mephisto's actions would aim for grand events, capturing at least a billion souls at once to even begin.
But for Deathstroke, he wouldn't mind using his powers; the Supreme Mage's successor's value was different from ordinary people.
"No need; here, one can only eat sulfur and drink lava. It's not suitable for me. I merely came to see if there's any Hell Lord foolish enough to trade with the Great Serpent and help him destroy the Nine Realms."
"Heh heh, well said." Mephisto nodded happily, squatting entirely on the throne: "So, do you guess if it's me?"
"From the start, I didn't believe it'd be you. You see Earth as your pasture, where souls can be harvested continuously. If Earth were destroyed, you might indeed receive a lot of souls at once, perhaps tens of billions? But then you'd have no more. It's a loss no matter how you look at it."
Su Ming exhaled a smoke ring, squatting on the ground as well to answer Mephisto's question; both of them seemed like ordinary villagers having a chat by their doorstep.
"Clap, clap, clap..."
Mephisto applauded, his red face full of smiles: "If not for identifying souls, I might suspect you're another Hell Lord in disguise... I'd like to propose a deal."
"No deal."
"Don't rush, young man. Listen to my terms first; the contract can be amended." Mephisto magically pulled out a long scroll filled densely with text and patterns.
"Not interested."
"My terms are harmless to Earth; all you need to do is help me find a lost artifact, and I'll tell you what you want to know."
He stated his terms bluntly, and Su Ming looked at him, expressionless.
Mephisto retracted the scroll, put the cigarette in his mouth, and without any visible action other than a breath, the cigarette lit up. He deftly flicked the ash away.
"I suppose you're searching for the Saint Gonzales Contract? Sorry, I refuse," Su Ming chuckled coldly, knowing that no matter how harmless the Hell Lord's conditions appeared, the fact he initiated contact meant trap after trap was ready for him.
From the paper and patterns of the contract to the signatures at the end; from the rights and obligations of both parties to the fulfillment process. All were pitfalls, with some deceptions Mephisto might not even know himself, the demons excelled in calculated dealings.
"You think Hell is a place you can come and go as you wish? I won't kill you; take your time to consider." Mephisto sighed and jumped off the throne, signaling to his attendants to surround Deathstroke; time was on his side, and he could now continue listening to 'music.'
Su Ming glanced at the ever-emerging army from the lava pool, unsurprised, knowing beforehand that entering Hell would lead to this. Hell Lords often turned against others faster than tearing a book.
He wasn't sure if others could leave Hell, but he knew if he wished to leave, no one could stop him.
"I've already gathered the intelligence I wanted, farewell."
"Hmm?"
Mephisto knew that Deathstroke was a warrior, and logically, even with the help of the Magic Floating Cloak, it would be impossible for him to escape this dimension; Hell is a standalone plane, without even a boundary—it is the embodiment of the concept of Hell.
Even if Deathstroke could fly, he could never fly out.
Then he saw Deathstroke put on his helmet, take off the arm armor, and cut his arm with a dagger, disappearing instantly.
"..." Mephisto's expression changed for a moment, but ultimately he revealed a smile, as if he had seen something interesting: "The Ancient One, always one step ahead..."
..........
Loki straightened his back, clutching his side; it was finally over, he had cleaned out all the sheep dung from Thor's barn.
This was Thor's sheep pen, no need to mention its luxuriousness, except Thor was too lazy to clean it, with sheep droppings piled up everywhere.
"Finished? Loki, my brother, come over for a drink and rest."
Thor did come to help Loki, though his help was simply to cheer him on from the haystack next to him while Loki worked. If there was anything good among the droppings, Thor would point it out, urging Loki to retrieve it quickly.
No choice, goats have such habits—they eat everything, sometimes even swallowing trinkets or jewelry.
Loki ignored his brother's invitation to drink.
He conjured water to wash his hands and face, then leaned close to the palace window, poking his head out to breathe fresh air. Not to mention drinking, even opening his mouth here was accompanied by a strong goat smell, Loki couldn't care less.
"What's wrong?" Thor continued to shake the wine jug at Loki.
Loki's black hair lay wet against his face, as he felt the refreshing breeze, gradually calming his heart: "I'm not in the mood, put down the wine, you can leave."
"You're not going to drink with me?"
Thor showed a puzzled expression, casually grabbing a piece of straw to chew on for fun.
When they were children, the two had made a bet about straw.
The bet was whether one could drink the wine without pouring it out of the jug, using no magic—Thor didn't believe it was possible, and bet with Loki.
Loki used a hollow straw to reach into the spout, drinking all of Thor's good wine, leaving not a drop. He then gleefully waved the straw, demanding Thor fulfill his promise of being a horse for him to ride.
Thor honored the bet, but Loki didn't just ride him; he kept patting his head, mocking him as a fool. Enraged, Thor flipped him off and beat him up, and they didn't speak for several days.
Thinking back to childhood now, Thor actually found it amusing, revealing a fond smile.
Loki sighed, looking at the silly-faced Thor, as he headed outside: "I just want some peace and quiet alone now, don't follow me."
"Ah..."
Thor reached out to grab him, but caught empty air—it was another illusion. Loki had already appeared outside the door. The Thunder God quickly chased after, while Loki began a mad dash; the two started a game of pursuit.
Once their figures completely disappeared from view, the air at the window shifted, and the real Loki appeared, holding his cheek with his hand, face full of gloom.
He impatiently flicked his long hair, looking down at his luxurious clothing, covered in wool and dung stains.
Why is Odin so unfair?
"Heehee..."
"Who!?"
Loki suddenly heard a laugh, very faint, like a woman's voice, seemingly coming from the dark corner of the sheep pen.
He glanced at Thor's two goats, which seemed oblivious and continued eating their feed with their heads down.
As if sensing Loki's gaze, the goats showed a smug look, wagging their tails, dropping another string of pellets on the ground.
The goats moved and signaled Loki to hurry and clean up.
Loki raised an eyebrow, taking out a small bottle from his pocket, using his Illusion Technique to conceal it, controlling the contents to mix with the goats' feed.
Originally intended for Thor, it now seemed it should be used on his mounts. This poison ensures they won't be able to relieve themselves for a month—those two goats can wait for their stomachs to explode.
"Heehee..."
The laughter came again, seemingly encouraging Loki's recent actions, this time the source was quite clear, coming from outside the window.
It was right where Loki had just been looking.
He looked outside again but saw no one; only a magpie perched atop a distant tree, watching the Prince of the Immortal Palace with its jet-black eyes.
The bird spoke, and even over dozens of meters, each word drifted accurately to Loki's ear, its tone filled with teasing and mockery.
"Are you going to tell me a joke today? Continue with the one interrupted last night?"
It said.