Hell's Redeemer

Chapter 61

Mammon slumped onto his golden throne, still trembling but slowly regaining his composure. The room was silent, the once-rambunctious greed denizens too stunned to utter a word.

From the shadows, Mammon's assistant manager-a wiry demon dressed in a slightly less garish jester outfit-tentatively approached. He cleared his throat softly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself.

"Uh... boss?" the assistant said cautiously, wringing his hands. "What should we, uh, do with all the merchandise? You know, the stuff with... his image on it?"

Mammon rubbed his temples, his greed-fueled mind already turning despite the humiliation he'd just suffered. After a moment, he waved a dismissive hand. "Hmph. Use the backup name-the, uh, legally distinct one we came up with. What was it again? 'Infernal Avenger' or something?"

"Yes, sir! 'Infernal Avenger,'" the assistant confirmed eagerly.

"Good. Start moving it to Earth's market," Mammon said, sitting up straighter as he began to regain some of his usual bravado. "Spin it as exclusive collector's items. Say it's inspired by urban legends or whatever nonsense humans eat up these days. We'll rake in a fortune before anyone even notices."

The assistant nodded quickly, already scuttling away to implement the plan.

Mammon leaned back in his throne, sneering despite himself. "No one humiliates Mammon," he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked the usual conviction. "I'll profit off that walking corpse if it's the last thing I do..."

In the shadows of his greed-soaked domain, Mammon's sycophants exchanged uneasy glances. Even they could tell: Mammon might have salvaged some of his pride, but the fear Spawn had instilled wasn't going away anytime soon.

Mammon slumped back on his throne, still seething from the encounter. His claws drummed against the armrest, the motion sharp and impatient. The room remained quiet, the usual chatter and groveling from his sycophants replaced with uneasy silence.

"How?" Mammon muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "How can someone not want anything?" He sneered, baring his sharp teeth. "That corpse should've been on his knees, groveling-thanking me-for the chance to even touch a fraction of my empire."

The jester-like assistant, still hovering at a safe distance, hesitated before speaking. "Perhaps he's just...different, sir? Not everyone values-"

Mammon whipped his head toward the assistant, his eight spider-like eyes narrowing dangerously. "Not everyone values what, exactly? Wealth? Power? Immortality? Everyone wants something, and that cunt thinks he's better than me because he doesn't?"

His voice boomed, reverberating through the gold-streaked chamber. The assistant flinched, bowing low. "O-Of course not, sir! It's just...maybe he's playing some long game?"

Mammon scoffed, leaning forward. "A long game? That brute is nothing but rage. There's no strategy to him-just chaos." He scowled, tapping his claws together in thought. "But everyone has a price. Everyone."

The assistant dared a cautious glance upward. "What if he truly doesn't, sir?"

Mammon growled low in his throat, his irritation rising. "Then I'll find a way to make him want something. And when I do, he'll beg me for it." He leaned back, his spider-like legs tapping against the marble floor. "Nobody humiliates me and walks away unscathed. Not Spawn, not anyone."

Despite the bravado in his voice, a flicker of doubt lingered in Mammon's mind. In all his eons of greed, he had never encountered anyone like Spawn-someone whose desires were so utterly alien to him. And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.
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