Chapter 1986: Dementia

The figure who approached was no ordinary man.

He was an embodiment of molten fury and unyielding power. His very form radiated infernal heat. Skin cracked like scorched stone revealed veins of liquid fire burning beneath, each pulse of molten light like the heartbeat of a volcano. His eyes glowed like smoldering coals—piercing, unrelenting, seeming to see through flesh, bone, and straight into the soul. His hair, white as ash, burned faintly with an aura of flame-touched brilliance, framing a face carved by time and war. Scars furrowed his skin, each a record of battles that had spanned millennia.

Armor draped his form—not ordinary metal, but charred plating fused into his flesh, as though the earth and flame themselves had forged his body. At his chest rested the image of a skull, its hollow sockets glowing faintly with embers. His arms were like pillars of volcanic stone, corded with muscle, battle-forged and terrible, while flames licked across his shoulders and hands, threatening to engulf the world around him.

In his presence, the air thickened. The heat grew unbearable. The world itself seemed to waver, blurred by smoke and shimmering waves of fire.

Cain’s face hardened into a solemn expression as he felt a power that surpassed Amon and Bael’s.

"So this is Leonidas. He is like a living inferno—an unquenchable fire."

Behind the man loomed something more terrifying still: the spectral visage of a great flaming demon, its wings and horns etched in firelight. It was no illusion, but a manifestation of his dominion over Concepts—his Ego Eternal Path made visible.

Leonidas advanced until only ten meters separated him from the Scarlet King. Despite his fearsome appearance, his eyes were calm, and his smile carried a peace that did not match his infernal aura.

"So, you are the infamous Scarlet King," Leonidas said, his voice deep but not hostile. "I have heard much about you. I watched your battles in the Everlife War. At first, I thought your youthful appearance was nothing more than a manifestation of your soul’s abilities. But no—you truly are just a young man. Not even two hundred years have passed for you."

The words carried neither mockery nor envy—only a kind of detached wonder.

With a gesture, Leonidas conjured a small table between them. Upon it appeared two cups and a jug of deep crimson liquor.

"Every conversation advances smoother with a drink," he said, seating himself easily and motioning for Cain to join him.

But Cain remained standing, eyes sharp, posture wary. He did not like conversing within what looked to be a prison cell. His gaze kept flicking to the countless seals and formations etched across the walls. His instincts screamed caution.

Leonidas noticed, and a rueful smile touched his scarred face.

"Do not worry about the seals," he said softly. "They are not here for you. The only thing this place is designed to cage... is myself."

Cain’s brow furrowed. Confusion rippled through him. Why would anyone forge a cell for themselves, at the very heart of their own Heaven? It defied sense.

Leonidas did not elaborate. Instead, he gestured once more to the seat opposite him.

Finally, Cain exhaled and sat. It would be an insult to refuse hospitality any longer. Leonidas poured a measure of the liquor and offered it across the table. Cain raised the cup with courtesy, took a small sip—and his eyes widened.

"This is... delicious."

Leonidas laughed, a sound that rumbled like stone breaking.

"Hahaha! That’s right. It took me five thousand years to perfect the brewing. Of all my creations, it is my finest. By far the tastiest of my liquors."

He raised his own cup, drank deeply, then sighed. His smile faded into something more serious.

"This is nice, but I understand you are in a hurry. So let us speak plainly. I will not join you in your war."

Cain slowly set his cup back onto the table. His golden eyes narrowed as he studied the elder deity’s face.

"Joining the Scarlet Alliance would bring you great benefit," Cain said evenly. "I could help you unlock Resurrecion. I could grant you treasures, strengthen your cultivation. And..."

His words paused. His gaze sharpened, golden light flaring, seeming to pierce straight into Leonidas’ soul.

"I can help you with your problem."

Leonidas arched a brow.

"My problem?"

A faint, almost amused smile crossed his lips as he leaned back.

"Ah... I see. You mean the rumors. That because of my age, I am forced to sleep more and more, my waking hours shortening with every century."

Cain frowned. The Flow revealed something strange—a ripple of amusement in Leonidas’ soul, not deception exactly, but not pure truth either. There was something Cain was not seeing. Still, he nodded.

"Yes. If age truly plagues you, I can aid you. With Genetic Coding I can extend your lifespan by thirty million years without difficulty."

Leonidas chuckled softly and took another sip of liquor.

"I am the one who spread those rumors," he said at last. "I wove them deliberately to hide what is really happening to me."

Cain’s eyes narrowed further. His caution deepened.

Leonidas’ gaze lifted, meeting Cain’s directly. His eyes no longer glowed like fire—they were simply old, heavy, carrying a weight of endless years.

"To be honest, I like the way you look at the world. It is refreshing. And yes, I agree with you—the alien who calls himself Azazel is a true threat to the Everstrife Empyrean World."

Cain leaned forward, his tone sharp.

"Then why not help me?"

Silence fell.

Leonidas said nothing for a long moment. His gaze wandered, drifting somewhere beyond the walls of the cell, beyond the magma, beyond even the continent itself. When at last he spoke, his voice carried a sorrow so raw that Cain’s breath caught.

A smile touched Leonidas’ lips—but it was not the smile of strength or defiance. It was the smile of loneliness, of a man who had carried too much for too long.

"Tell me, young man... do you know of a disease known as dementia?"