interesting matter

Immemorvis, Afilada, and Hephaestus were all introduced by Winter with the same professionalism and respect she had shown to the others.

Now, only three members remained for her to introduce before the meeting could truly begin.

A beam of light from the ceiling shone down upon a woman as Winter spoke in her usual tone.

"This lady here is called Cupida Inamabilis. She is the queen of the prostitution world… We call her the Lady of Death, or the Black Flamingo."

The woman, now introduced, wore a luxurious white fur coat draped over her shoulders, with a black flamingo-patterned scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck. Long, beautiful black gloves covered her hands, complementing her slender black leather pants and high heels.

Her dark pink hair cascaded smoothly, framing a face adorned with crimson-pink eyes that gleamed with intrigue. A pair of pink-red glasses rested on her face, partially concealing the wicked smile that played on her lips.

"Oh la la, Mnemosyne was killed? Such a tragedy... How dare she die on us? May she be reborn as beautiful as she once was."

As he watched the beautiful woman speak, Immemorvis lazily rested his head on the table, lost in thought.

Cupida Inamabilis... I've never been able to handle that woman. She's incredibly annoying but not particularly dangerous—at least, not to me. The only emotion she seems capable of feeling toward anyone is lust. The only reason she's known as the queen of the prostitution world is because William allowed her to have that title.

William's influence is so deeply woven into every facet of the underworld that people don't see him as the king of any one thing… but Cupida? Her entire business revolves around prostitution, so the title fits. Still, the truth is, William makes more money from prostitution than she ever has. To be honest, she doesn't really deserve that title at all.

He sighed, then lifted his head slightly, his gaze drifting toward an empty seat where a member was missing. A dark thought crossed his mind.

I do believe her when she says she feels… Not necessarily sadness, but disappointment over Mnemosyne's death. She probably lusted after her body for quite some time.

Well, lust is the only thing she ever feels, so it's not surprising.

As for her abilities… I could handle her, but it would still be a nuisance to deal with her in the future.

As Immemorvis continued his thoughts on the woman, Winter moved on with her introduction of the next member.

"This gentleman over here is El Devorator. He is the only one of the ten corrupted spirits who doesn't have a territory. He is a nomad, wandering from place to place to devour his prey."

El Devorator was a man with crimson hair that cascaded down his back. He wore a black mask adorned with graffiti-style sharp teeth. Several nose piercings decorated his face, adding to his unsettling appearance. Beneath his black coat, he wore a traditional Mexican dancing cloak, which contrasted sharply with his dark attire. A cross tattoo was visible on his left cheek, and his eyes—a striking mix of black and crimson—further emphasized his dangerous aura.

As he raised his hands, one might notice he wore black leather gloves. He spoke in a wicked tone:

"I don't need a territory to devour my victims... the entire city is my playground. When I stay in one place and devour the same people, their souls start to taste the same. That's why I vary my diet, devouring souls from different parts of the city..."

Parasitus clapped his hands and responded in an excited tone:

"I agree, my dear Devorator! It's quite fascinating—depending on the lifestyle of humans in different parts of the city, their souls can taste so different! Have you perhaps noticed that humans from the southern part of the city taste saltier?"

Devorator slammed his hand on the table with enthusiasm. If he didn't have a mask on, one might have noticed drool dripping from his mouth.

"Yes, I did notice! Those types of souls are perfectly salty—not too salty, but just right!"

While Devorator and Parasitus were having an engrossing conversation about how souls taste different depending on the lifestyle of individuals, Winter continued.

"This lady over here is Lady Duae Monetae Mortis. Her territory is in the largest hospital complex in the city. She is a corrupted spirit with the least appetite for human souls."

Mortis wore a straw mask that covered her head, with half of it painted black and the other half white. The eyes of the mask were red and black buttons. She was dressed in a black suit and a red tie, and she stood at a petite height—no more than five feet two. Black gloves covered her hands, and a long black hat rested atop her head.

She giggled softly before speaking, her tone playful yet eerie:

"Mortis loves hospitals because it's so easy to collect souls when they pass away in one. And if that doesn't work... Mortis can always curse them."

Immemorvis glanced at Mortis, then sighed as his thoughts drifted.

Well, she's not that powerful, and I'm quite confident I could kill her without much trouble. But her abilities might have the most potential out of all of us. Devorator is just a monster with monstrous stamina, but he's not really a threat...

Well, it doesn't matter now. The meeting is finally about to begin.

William clapped his hands and turned to Winter with a smile.

"Thank you, my dear Winter. You may be dismissed. I will continue from here."

Winter bowed, and an ax-shaped portal opened beneath her feet. She fell through it, vanishing from sight.

The pale man with the white beard and crimson eyes, still smoking his cigar, exhaled a cloud of smoke before speaking.

"Well, now that the introductions are done, we can finally begin... The real reason for this meeting... the fact that, for the first time since we escaped Hell, one of us was killed by a human."

Cupida smiled gently—well, her version of a gentle smile—and spoke in a tone that hinted at shock, though not entirely:

"How is it possible that one of us was killed by a mere mortal? Aren't we supposed to be far above humanity? If a human has the strength to kill one of us, who's to say they won't take down another?"

Parasitus spoke next, his maggots writhing violently beneath his skin. His voice hinted at concern as he continued:

"Well, one of my underlings was killed not too long ago, actually..."

For the first time since the meeting had begun, Afilada spoke, his voice cold and muffled behind his beaked mask:

"Aren't your parasites' souls weak, with only tentacles as weapons? I'm not surprised one of them got killed."

Parasitus stood up, frustration bubbling to the surface as he snapped:

"You're right, but still—no human should have been able to kill one of them, even if they can perceive the spiritual! Who is this human anyway, strong enough to kill a corrupted spirit personally chosen by the Wicked and his followers with ease?"

Immemorvis sighed lazily, his hand resting on his head as he spoke.

"Don't you guys know? The rumor that's been going around the city, among the wandering crowds? Apparently, the source of all our problems comes from a shaman... a young shaman boy, to be exact... a teenager."

He then let out a wicked smile and said,

"Apparently, he's the one who took down Mnemosyne at the amusement park... I mean, it's not a surprise—she was one of the weakest among us. I wonder who this shaman boy is, though. I bet he's interesting."

Afilada glanced at him as he spoke, then turned his head away.

Immemorvis glanced at Hephaestus, who was still pinned to the ground by his own body weight, magnified a hundredfold. He then turned his gaze to Servus and spoke in a nonchalant tone:

"Don't you think it's time to let him go, Servus? He kind of needs to participate in the meeting."

Servus didn't spare a glance at Immemorvis. Instead, he nodded and replied in his usual tone:

"You're right. Apologies for my lack of judgment."

Finally, Hephaestus was freed, and he could get up from the ground. He seemed able to produce sound again, his expression filled with bloodlust, yet he simply walked to his seat without a word.

Watching the scene unfold, Immemorvis smirked wickedly to himself.

Oh? I would have thought he'd lash out as soon as he was freed. I suppose he finally realized the difference in power between him and Servus... I don't blame him. Servus could probably take almost all of us at the same time and still win, or just straight-up murder us all.

William sighed, looking at his peers before speaking.

"Well, do you guys know where this shaman might reside? Because if he hunts spirits like us, it could be bad for my business, if you know what I mean..."

Nobody responded for a while, but Servus eventually spoke, his gaze fixed on his voodoo necklace, his expression dark.

"Forgive my lack of politeness, William, but even if it's true that the boy did kill Mnemosyne, it doesn't matter. Mnemosyne was one of the weakest among us—she couldn't even compare to the strongest of us. If the shaman's goal is to hunt us down, then we'll just kill him. There's nothing more to it than that."

Cupida clapped her hands, then said in an excited, playful tone:

"I've always adored this part of your personality, Ipse... always so quick to the point!"

Immemorvis, looking somberly at the man, thought to himself:

I doubt he doesn't know what the shaman identity is... Based on what I know of his abilities, he should know.

William rested his face in his fist, his tone frustrated as he spoke:

"Well, I suppose you're right... I guess I'll just send my men to investigate. I expected more from this meeting..."

He then let out a wicked smile, continuing:

"Well, you guys are free to go... but hey, how about we hang out on my private yacht? It's been a long time since we all saw each other, hasn't it?"

Servus stood up and spoke in his usual tone:

"Before that, how about we actually name this little group of ours... and establish a hierarchy?"

Afilada raised a curious brow behind his mask and asked, still in the same tone:

"How so?"

Servus sighed, slipping his hand into his pocket.

"People in the spiritual world, even we ourselves, refer to our group as the ten low corrupted spirits chosen by Wicked and his followers—or some variation of it... it's impractical. More importantly, we don't have a hierarchy. Every group needs one to keep everyone in their place."

Hephaestus's face twisted in hatred, barely able to contain his bloodlust.

Parasitus nodded thoughtfully, his hand stroking his mustache.

"I suppose it does make sense. So, what's your proposition?"

Servus looked at all of them, his golden eyes piercing.

"My proposition is that I name our group for the first time since its formation and lay out the hierarchy of each member."

Mortis looked at the man, her mask menacing, then spoke in her usual tone:

"Mortis wonders how you plan to establish a hierarchy in a fair way?"

Servus tightened the chain that bound his wrists in both hands, then replied in a cold voice:

"With one of my abilities, Vinculum Servitutis. This ability allows me to know everything about an individual's physical attributes, mental state, spiritual energy, and their potential for growth. My ability can assess each spiritual power, and assign a number from one to nine, with one being the highest and nine being the lowest. Is that fair enough?"

Devorator let out a wicked laugh behind his mask, then crossed his arms and said:

"Hah! I like where this is going! Well, what are we waiting for? Let's begin this now—I wonder how strong I am compared to everyone."

As he watched the scene unfold, Immemorvis sighed lazily to himself.

Well, this is about to get interesting...

chapter seventy-four end