Lucas looked at the man before him.
The middle-aged figure had graying temples, yet his spirit was vigorous and alert. His eyes seemed to carry the weight of countless years, filled with deep, ancient weariness—yet at the same time, they burned with an ever-active intensity, like embers that had never cooled.
Mephisto stepped forward on his own initiative and sat down at the table. With a flicker of red light from his fingers, a teacup formed out of nothing. Right in front of the Ancient One and Lucas, he calmly began brewing tea for himself.
"Well then," Mephisto said casually as he took a sip,
"have you finished discussing how you plan to deal with me?"
He set the cup down and smiled.
"Do you need my help, perhaps?"
The Ancient One looked at him calmly.
"You came here to talk. Don't waste effort on unnecessary theatrics."
Mephisto grinned.
"Oh, we're definitely talking."
"But before that," he continued, "I'd like to know—how much are you willing to pay for that soul?"
Lucas answered without hesitation:
"Your Hell. And your life."
The Ancient One said nothing, remaining quietly to the side.
Mephisto, however, seemed unbothered.
"And you are…? I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
Lucas snorted.
"Release her. Or don't."
Mephisto turned toward the Ancient One.
"I came here with sincerity. With his temper, how exactly am I supposed to negotiate?"
"Sorry," the Ancient One replied calmly,
"I'm not the one negotiating with you. He is."
Mephisto looked back at Lucas.
"Young man, has anyone ever told you that you're terrible at negotiations?"
Lucas laughed coldly.
"This isn't a negotiation. This is an ultimatum."
Mephisto's expression darkened. His patience finally cracked.
"Don't push me," he growled.
"If you do, I'll destroy her soul outright."
Lucas set his teacup down slowly. A ruthless gleam appeared in his eyes.
"Then I guarantee this," he said coldly.
"As long as I still draw breath, I will exhaust every possible method to destroy you."
"Even if I can't do it myself," Lucas continued,
"I'll sacrifice myself if I have to—just to summon something capable of wiping out your domain."
Mephisto burst out laughing.
"Oh? You think I've survived this long in Hell—surrounded by monsters and tyrants—by luck?"
"Then by all means," he sneered,
"try it."
Lucas met his gaze without flinching.
"Try me."
Mephisto was genuinely irritated now.
He had planned to outmaneuver Lucas with intellect and leverage, extracting what he wanted step by step.
Instead, he'd run straight into a wall—someone who ignored all games and went straight for his throat.
"You're forcing me to destroy that soul," Mephisto said darkly, convinced he had found Lucas's weak point.
"Then you're forcing me," Lucas shot back,
"to empty your Hell of every soul inside it—and then personally erase you from existence."
"For someone like you," Lucas continued,
"if your domain collapses, your own kind will tear you apart before I ever need to lift a hand."
Mephisto's face sank.
In countless ages—whether dealing with other Demon Kings or cosmic beings—he had never found someone this impossible to bargain with.
And that was saying something.
"And let me give you one more piece of advice," Lucas added calmly.
"Even if you really destroy her soul, I still have a way to bring her back."
"That's impossible," Mephisto snapped.
Lucas didn't explain.
He simply raised his hand.
The Time Stone flared to life, bathing the room in green light.
Mephisto glanced at the Ancient One with interest.
"If you keep this up, she'll imprison you immediately."
"Then perhaps," the Ancient One replied with a faint smile,
"you should ask yourself why the Time Stone is in his hands—and why I remain unmoved after hearing all this."
Mephisto narrowed his eyes, understanding dawning.
"So dragging a soul back from the river of time… compared to the risk of destroying me…"
"The latter is clearly the worse option."
With a sigh, Mephisto reached into his pocket. After a moment, he placed a small sphere of light on the table.
"Very well," he said.
"This is the container holding the soul of the human called Lois."
Lucas didn't reach for it. He simply stared at Mephisto.
After all—no one trusted Mephisto without reason.
Nothing he did was ever without purpose. Every move was part of a calculation.
"Relax," Mephisto chuckled.
"I didn't tamper with her soul. Not with the Sorcerer Supreme watching."
Lucas still didn't move, his gaze unyielding.
"You really think I'd release her without reason?" Mephisto sighed.
"No. I just want to be friends."
"If I truly wanted to target you," he continued,
"this would never have been so simple. The Sorcerer Supreme knows me well enough."
"So?" Lucas finally asked.
"I mean it," Mephisto said, spreading his hands.
"I want your friendship."
"If you ever need help in the future, just ask. This is how to reach me."
A strange demonic sigil separated from Mephisto and floated toward Lucas.
Lucas grasped it.
The sigil flashed and sank into his palm, leaving a faint, intricate mark on the back of his right hand.
"Don't fall into the cliché of thinking demons can't do good," Mephisto said lightly.
"To be honest," he added,
"if I hadn't preserved Lois's soul, you might have encountered serious trouble finding it."
"And I never harmed her," he continued.
"On the contrary, I even used some of my own treasured soul fragments to strengthen her spirit."
Mephisto smiled.
"So… no grudges between us now, right?"
Lucas picked up the container and handed it to the Ancient One.
After inspecting it carefully, she nodded.
"No issues."
She returned it to Lucas.
"All clear," Lucas said.
Mephisto stood, straightened his suit, and smiled.
"Then we're done here. The soul has been returned, and I've said what needed to be said."
"I hope," he added softly,
"you remember this favor."
....
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