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Chapter 107: Cravings vs. Profit
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 13:15:01 +0000 UTCThe gold curtain still shimmered between battlefield and terrace when Avaritia’s gaze swept over his Grand Temple.
What had been the polished jewel of Greed’s heart now looked like an auction lot stripped bare, blocks of shattered marble, streets drowned in black sand, whole buildings reduced to nothing.
His golden eyes narrowed.
There. Ledger.
The shareholder’s body moved unnaturally, the parasitic curse still forcing her into that grotesque dance of destruction. Childish, shadowed, banshees-like creatures coiled from her feet, illusions still dragging soldiers and civilians alike into mental pits they could not climb out of.
Avaritia didn’t waste a second. He pointed at her, his voice low and precise.
“Businessman skill: [Asset Freeze].”
A golden sigil bloomed beneath Ledger. The ground lit with perfectly inscribed runes, thin like engraving lines on a minted coin. A column of golden light shot upward, and her entire form stiffened mid-step. The pink curse-light in her veins dimmed.
Gold swept across her skin in a perfect sheen, her movement stopping completely. The mental tide evaporated in seconds, shadows retreating like a tide pulled back. Wraiths scattered into nothing.
The battlefield quieted, back to a sudden clarity.
Avaritia’s other hand moved, summoning a flat, rectangular light screen before him. It resembled an ornate ledger page, gilded and perfectly balanced on invisible hinges.
“[Account - Expenses].”
Figures spilled across the display. Whole districts marked with red losses, columns tracking destroyed property, infrastructure, and employee casualties in real time.
But his eyes weren’t on the losses, they scrolled, searching deeper. Line after line of damage reports, until…
Ledger’s name.
[
Status: Alive, Cursed - ‘Parasomnia’ (Parasitic Curse)
]
His eyes turned to ice.
When he looked back at Gula, the malice there wasn’t loud. It was deep, cold, and final.
“It seems you’ve gotten bold during my absence,” he said, each word clipped with disdain. “Tell me, Piggy…who did you ally with to ambush me on my most inconvenient day? Coward.”
Gula’s smile stretched cruelly at the insult.
“You’ve no right to call me that,” she said, her voice carrying easily over the chaos. “I’m not the starving idiot I used to be. I know you weren’t being friendly when you used to call me that, Profit.”
She gazed at him with a condescending sneer.
“We were never friends. I figured that out long ago.”
Avaritia straightened his golden tie over his immaculate black-and-gold suit. He didn’t break her gaze.
“If you think killing me with an avatar, on a day I cannot use my tenet will work,” he said, “you are sorely mistaken.”
The shareholders behind him stiffened. Some gasped quietly. It wasn’t Gula herself? Even her avatar had thrown their territory into chaos. Their spines tingled at the thought.
Gula’s grin deepened, the black sand below her churning like an ocean in a storm. The Witherspawn clawed at the coin barrier, their draining touch testing it, but the golden shield held.
“I remember a time, Profit,” she said, her tone almost nostalgic, “when you were just a puny little support devil. Hans and I did all the punching and eating.”
Her finger pointed toward another building.
“[Nibble].”
Sand surged like a tidal wave, forming jagged dunes shaped into fanged maws. They lunged for the targeted building.
Avaritia didn’t flinch.
“[Peril Policy – Vandalism].”
The ground around the building snapped upward into a flawless gold dome. The sand crashed against it uselessly. His eyes never left hers.
“The two of you had your uses back then,” he said flatly. “But I wanted more. And Hans, and you…you were holding me back. People change.”
The grin vanished from her face, replaced with something colder.
“Even if that was the case,” she said softly, “did you have to steal my artifact? The one keeping me alive back then?”
She chuckled then, the sound rougher than before.
“In a way, I should thank you. Hans fed me for centuries after you took it, sometimes with his own body. And my body adapted, mutated. While he became stronger. More durable. When my mind finally balanced again… the Gate had already been closed.”
Her eyes glimmered with satisfaction.
“But now, with my new friend, I’ve found a way to have my cake and eat it too. So I came here, to Neel, just to ruin your meal.”
A vein pulsed at Avaritia’s temple.
He realized then, this wasn’t an assassination. She had come to bankrupt him.
And to him, as a Wealth Devil, that was a fate worse than death.
He thought over her words again, her friend. The curse on Ledger. Why it had slipped through unnoticed, close enough to latch onto a shareholder. His mind sharpened, and the pieces fell together.
A devil, relatively strong, now moved in Gula’s shadow.
“You think I’ll allow you to get away with this?” His voice carried iron. “Cursing my territory’s ground, killing my employees?”
Gula laughed harder, voice ringing with mockery.
Then her expression shifted, her golden eyes turned predatory.
“The Gates of Hellnia will open in one year,” she said. “When they do, Hans and I will hunt you like the dog you are.”
Her hand rose to the sky.
“Now Suffer, Gluttonous Devil Skill: [Munch].”
The ground rumbled with a force that cracked stone and shook the gold coin barrier.
Around the Grand Temple, the earth split. Mountain-sized teeth, black as the void, erupted from below, forming a circular maw around the district. The land within began to sink as the teeth rose, preparing to slam shut.
Half of Greed’s territory was inside that circle.
Avaritia’s jaw clenched.
He raised his own hand, gold coins spilling from his suit like a waterfall. They dissolved into dust mid-air, the toll of his tax day leeching his reserves faster than he could replenish them.
“Wealth Devil Skill: [Midas Tower].”
Golden walls erupted from the sinking ground, racing upward to block the massive teeth. The sound of shadow enamel grinding against metal filled the air.
But the teeth pressed harder, and more coins fell from his suit. The glittering rain turned into a stream, then a cascade.
The barrier trembled.
His eyes narrowed, and his voice cut the air.
“[Deep Pocket].”
Gold swelled upward like a living tide, curling over itself into a radiant horizon. Avaritia’s fingers snapped, and the battlefield folded in on itself.
The Grand Temple, broken as it was, along with the surrounding ground, Ledger’s frozen form, Gula’s avatar, and his three remaining shareholders were swallowed whole into the endless abyssal vault.
The sound of reality locking shut rang like the clink of a closing cash register.
Now they stood in a space that had no sky, only the shimmer of miles upon miles of gold and gemstones stacked into mountains, the light gleaming off their surfaces blinding and absolute.
Vast rivers of coins flowed between dunes of treasure. The sheer scale was dizzying; even the ruined temple was a mere centerpiece among this ocean of wealth.
This was [Deep Pocket], the second vault in Avaritia’s possession. The first, larger still,remained anchored in Hellnia and could not be recalled into Neel. Here, in this separate space, the cursed ground could spread no further.
Avaritia turned sharply, scanning for the others.
Dollar. Beryl. Mint.
They stood near the temple steps, tense but unharmed. Ledger was still encased in gold, the curse within her locked and silent.
“You three,” he said, his voice like a frozen knife. “Find the core of Gula’s Wither Curse. It will be underground. Bring it to me, only I can destroy it.”
Dollar stepped forward, bowing his head. “Understood, Father.”
His cold gaze shifted to Gula’s smiling avatar.
“I’ll deal with her…. Your avatar can only hold so much energy, Piggy. I don’t know what trick you used to cross planes into Hellnia… but you’re on borrowed time.”
A golden ledger appeared in his hand, its pages flipping on their own, runes of value and contract flashing across the parchment.
“Just like you, right?” Gula chuckled low, crouching into a predatory stance, black sand curling at her feet. “This has been a long time coming, Profit. You slighted me twice… and there won’t be a third.”
Avaritia’s eyes narrowed. Twice? He remembered one slight clearly, but if she counted two, then something had happened beyond his sight. Something that pushed her into this madness.
Before the thought could deepen, Gula pounced.
Her movement shattered the air, blinding speed sending a shockwave that rippled through the golden mountains and made the ruined temple tremble. Coins spilled in avalanches from high ridges.
Avaritia raised his hand, the spell already forming despite the heavy cascade of coins pouring from his coat and turning to dust.
~~~
Outside Deep Pocket.
Where once the Grand Temple’s heart had stood, there was now only a perfect black sphere, featureless, smooth, and ominous.
It pulsed faintly, reality distorting around it.
The golden walls Avaritia had raised before still held around the remaining parts of the city. Outside, the mountain-sized teeth still bit down on those walls, scraping and sparking, trying to consume what lay beyond.
Beneath the Grand Temple - Intelligence Wing: Lower Levels.
Cashmere’s consciousness drifted back like a slow tide.
He was buried beneath chunks of marble and collapsed beams, his suit torn and dust-choked, well past the point of a skilled tailor's aid. His head pounded, the memory of the attack blurred. He recalled running toward the audit wing when the chaos began, then veering into the nearest lower level entrance to avoid the mind magic’s devastation. Everything after that was darkness.
He clawed his way up from the rubble, coughing dust, ears ringing. The halls were dim, emergency lanterns flickering in the distance.
With unsteady steps, he headed deeper. The way he had come was blocked entirely by debris, there would be no going back. The deeper he went, the quieter it became. The tremors of battle above were dulled here, but so was life itself.
Finally, he reached the Fate Exchange Room.
Six enormous obsidian domes lined the walls, each one housing a Fate Devil, custodians of threads no mortal or devil could fully comprehend.
Except…
One dome had a jagged hole torn in its side and top. Black sand poured through it in a slow, steady stream, leaking into the chamber floor and seeping across toward the other domes. Already, the sand began corroding them.
Cashmere froze, scanning for survivors.
Then, the sixth dome lit faintly, and the Fate Devil inside stirred.
The figure’s voice carried an odd warmth. “The one in that broken dome… died ten minutes ago. But he saw it coming. Made peace with it.”
A chuckle followed.
Cashmere didn’t smile. His voice was hoarse. “Is there another way out of here?”
The sixth devil tilted its head within the lighted dome. “There is. But you know the rules. Payment is required.”
Cashmere’s face tightened. Anger stirred in his chest. Payment, now? When the city burned?
But rage alone couldn’t outweigh the truth. They were all businessmen. Every transaction had a price.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The devil chuckled again. “Hekekeh! Draw the marking I left for you, on my dome.”
Cashmere’s gaze slid right. On a small table beside the dome’s base, a slip of paper sat waiting. Upon it was a half-drawn sigil, curling in strange loops, the design unfamiliar.
His instincts flared suspicion.
As if sensing it, the Fate Devil said, “Time is running out. Soon, this place will fill with sand. The others have already accepted their fate… but you, Cashmere? I doubt you have.”
He stared at the paper for a long moment. The sand hissed faintly as it spread.
Finally, he exhaled slowly and stepped forward. “Fine.”
He could feel the devil’s grin widened. “Draw it on top of the marking already there.”
Cashmere’s eyes flicked to the faint marking already inscribed at the dome’s base, a faded design etched directly into the wall, the subtle mana barely there now. He wanted to ask what this was, but the devil’s voice cut him off.
“An investor should know when not to ask questions, especially in times like these.”
Jaw tight, Cashmere knelt and began sketching. His strokes completed the missing loops, the new lines merging seamlessly with the old.
When the final stroke met the first, the sigil shivered, then blazed with dark light.
From the black sand across the floor, a sticky, tar-like liquid seeped forth, crawling up the dome toward the glowing mark. Where the tar touched, the black sand beneath it turned to ordinary tan grains, stripped of corruption.
Cashmere’s brow furrowed. He didn’t understand it, but he kept drawing back as the sigil’s light swelled.
The dome split with a hiss, two halves sliding open. The Fate Devil inside stretched as if freed from centuries of confinement.
Seeing the breach, Cashmere pinched the bridge of his nose. “…My status as a debtor is sealed now.”
The devil stepped lightly onto the chamber floor, smiling without remorse.
He gave Cashmere a pat on the shoulder. “Indeed. And in this chaos, there’s no better time to collect.”
~~~
The golden wall between them shattered with a sound like a thousand coins snapping in half.
Gula burst through in a twisting surge of muscle and momentum, bare feet hardly touching the sand. Her body moved in tight, precise lines, each motion both indulgent and disciplined, a chef preparing a dish with the only ingredient being her enemy’s pain.
Avaritia,’Profit’ to her, flipped his golden ledger in one hand, his other scattering handfuls of coin that shimmered into arm-thick shields midair.
"Cravings…" His voice was sharp, but his eyes never left hers. "I thought you were feasting in your pit, not spilling your appetite here."
"You're always thinking, Profit," she smirked, her teeth flashing. "And I’ll keep eating."
She slammed a knee toward his ribs, the impact ringing off a golden barrier that spiderwebbed and burst in the same breath. He reeled back, a dozen gilded chains whipping out from his coat to snare her limbs. Each chain pulsed with economic curse-script, siphoning value from whatever they bound.
Gula laughed, twisted, and with a single shoulder roll crushed three of them between her muscles. The other nine tightened, gold biting into her flesh, only for her to lean in close and whisper, "Tax me harder, Kakaka!" before flexing outward and snapping them all with a blast of aura.
Avaritia’s counters came relentlessly, golden coin storms that turned to serrated saw-wheels mid-flight, collapsing markets of illusory cities that drained her stability with every step through them, sudden inflation bursts that doubled the weight of her own avatar body. But Gula’s speed and strength was obscene. She’d vanish from in front of him in a blur, reappear to his flank, her elbow smashing through protective walls of wealth as though they were paper screens.
Every exchange was a trade, her raw, gluttonous strength versus his precise balance sheet of buffs and debuffs. He conjured markets in miniature, selling short her momentum with bursts of vacuuming force that pulled her just off balance. She’d crash through them anyway, shattering the economic constructs, spilling gold everywhere.
He caught her wrist mid-swing, ledger flashing as he stamped a seal on her arm, [Debt Overdue]. The weight hit her like an anvil, slowing her strike. She grinned, bent forward until their foreheads almost touched, and in a whip-crack twist of her torso broke his grip and smashed her skull into his nose.
Blood and gold sprayed in the air.
Avaritia slid back, boots grinding trenches in the sand. He flicked his fingers, and the spilled gold surged up, becoming roaring lions of molten coin that lunged at her from every side. They bit down, and Gula’s avatar roared back in hunger, her mouth stretching wide to bite one lion, her aura shadowing her bite, causing an even larger blow, biting it in half. She then spun, tearing through the rest in a cyclone of fist and knees.
Avaritia’s gilded coat fluttered in the heated updrafts of their clashing strikes, and with no time to breathe, Gula was on him again, her movements a molten blur, her clawed fingers dragging furrows in the golden shields he kept conjuring, her feet hammering through layered constructs of credit and debt.
He snapped his wrist, a new ledger page igniting with contract flame.
“[Tort – Compensation].”
The battlefield shuddered, the golden light around him twisting into a vicious lattice of fine-script law that etched itself into the air. His voice rolled out, controlled yet sharp.
"All harm dealt shall return to its sender… with interest."
A circular sigil manifested under him, burning with contract seals. Every blow against him now would rebound with equal force, restoring his vitality as the aggressor paid the price.
Gula’s advance slowed for a heartbeat. Her head tilted, grin curling.
“… You think this little clause will save you, Profit?”
Avaritia’s lips tightened. “It’s not a clause. It’s a verdict.”
He drove forward, letting her next swipe connect. The impact cracked the air, and immediately the contract sigils blazed, sending a mirrored shockwave back into her. His posture straightened as warmth from the transferred damage restored him.
She barely flinched.
Her pupils dilated like a predator’s, and she surged in, claws striking faster. One, two, three, each blow reflecting back with punishing force, his health surging higher. And yet… she wasn’t slowing. In fact, her grin was widening.
“Go on, Profit. Keep hoping.” Her laughter bubbled low in her throat. “I’ll pay your little tax …and still eat you alive. Kakaka!”
Her blows accelerated. The reflected damage piled higher, the set transfer rune in the contract lattice flickering from the sheer throughput. He felt the balance begin to strain, the law under his feet heating, glowing.
“You…!” he deflected a swipe. “You’re bleeding for this!”
“Bleeding?” she scoffed, the golden energy sparking around her skin. “I am appetite, Profit. What’s a little pain to a hunger that doesn’t end?”
She struck him with a double palm thrust. The lattice buckled, its runic frame trembling. He pivoted, trying to create space, but she was already inside his guard, another blow driving him back.
His internal calculations screamed, the damage set transfer was approaching overload.
He reinforced the lattice. “Break, damn you! Break before-”
It shattered.
A sound like chains snapping under a millstone filled the air. The golden runes dissolved into dust, the reflected power scattering harmlessly into the sand.
She exhaled slowly, savoring the moment.
“You’re trying to be a class you’re not, Profit. Tank? Bruiser? Mage? You want it all.” She leaned forward, close enough that the heat from her skin stung. “But you can’t have it all. Some dishes don’t go on your menu.”
His jaw tightened, frustration boiling in his chest. That ability was meant to grind attackers into bankruptcy by their own aggression, yet she’d simply paid the bill in full without slowing down.
And now she was laughing at him for it.
They circled. He was sweating now. Gold dripped from him more freely than it should, at first he thought it was simply the cost of fending her off, but then… he noticed it.
Near the edge of the battlefield, where the sand had been churned, a slick black liquid gleamed under the light. It mixed with the grains, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
He recognised it immediately.
Essence of Desire.
And it wasn’t just leaking, it was flowing steadily toward Gula’s feet, vanishing into the base of her avatar, feeding her stability with every passing moment.
He grit his teeth. "So that’s your little trick, Cravings… no wonder you’re not fading."
She winked, licking a smear of molten gold off her thumb. "You finally reading the fine print, Profit?"
He stepped in again, golden ledger in hand, swinging it like a hammer. The blows came fast.
Record. Strike. Record. Strike.
Each entry a binding contract, each contract trying to force her avatar into deficit. But for every bit of power he drained, she pulled more from that black-slick sand, her strikes hitting harder, faster.
She ducked one hammer-swing, spun low, and drove her heel into his knee. He staggered, flooding the space between them with a wall of gold bars, but she tore through them with a ruthless fist that crushed his suit's gold chest plate lining inward.
His thoughts raced. He could keep trading blows, but this was Tax Day, the one day his reserves bled faster than they replenished. Every coin spent to maintain his buffs felt like it came from his marrow. And with her siphoning Essence of Desire, the balance sheet was tipping hard against him.
Avaritia took a sharp breath, using a burst of gold-backed wind to vault backward, buying a few seconds of distance. His gaze flicked to the black liquid again, calculations spinning behind his eyes. If he couldn’t starve her, he couldn’t win.
But Gula was already moving, sand exploding under her steps. "Don’t run, Profit, you're worth too much to let go. Kakaka!"
He set his jaw, tightening his grip on the ledger. "And you cost me too much to keep around, Piggy."
The next exchange would decide whether he cut her supply or drowned in her appetite.
Comments
CringeWorthyStudios
We’re playing monopoly and we play for keeps!
Aune
Cravings, 1th Gula is a badass behind her indulgence. Ohhh how sweet if she can curse crack his horns, where ever fix fails, and no hidden action tolerated. Where a drop of her, blood,hair or sand/food from sweet oasis would break it, letting him regrow them. Father devil God horned shamed for 1 year at minimum.
Prent
Go bankrupt, go bankrupt, go bankrupt, go bankrupt!
