– CHAPTER THIRTY –

  KING MATNAT | THE GAME | LEVEL ONE

  TELEVISION BROADCAST | TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION is on the air, live from the SOLOMON COLISEUM bunker, for the start of LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat games: the First Phase, the Offering of the Dishes!"

  Laura Bennett: "That's right, Michael! The Coliseum is packed, millions of spectators live, and President CEO Magnum is already at center stage with First Lady Maxinne. The pyramid lights pulse, the crowd vibrates... the moment has come for the drawing of the first initiate!"

  Michael Grant: "The sacred urn is being opened... what a historic moment! Each name represents a potential pact. The eyes of all THE-IMPERIUM are fixed on this stage."

  Laura Bennett: "Absolute silence now. CEO Magnum lifts the parchment... the name is being revealed..."

  Michael Grant: "THOR BLOODPURE! It's him! The heir to the Bloodpure line, brother of the veteran Parys Bloodpure, one of the players in the KING MatNat games!"

  Laura Bennett: "And the Coliseum erupts in euphoria! The boy carries the weight of a dynasty, and the confidence of someone born already pacted!"

  Michael Grant: "Look at his entrance... Thor descends the Coliseum steps as if the ground were made of velvet. The white cape, the translucent gemstone detailing, the impeccable posture. Every step timed to the millimeter for the camera. The Bloodpure family knows how to command a spectacle."

  Laura Bennett: "He waves to the crowd and smiles with that air of someone who has already won. The drones track him in full close-up... and look, the rows of Patrons rise to applaud. What a reception!"

  Michael Grant: "Meanwhile, CEO Magnum and Maxinne ready themselves for the second drawing, the most feared of all: which demon will receive the initiate's dish. But that is coming up, right after a brief announcement sponsored by the POOPGHENE FRANCHISE. Try the space-marshmallow soda, straight from THE-IMPERIUM's orbital colonies!"

  Laura Bennett: "Don't go anywhere. Fac Foedus!"

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! We are back with TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION, live from the Solomon Coliseum, where the name that opened the KING MatNat 2024 games has already been revealed: Thor Bloodpure!"

  Laura Bennett: "The heir to the Bloodpure line. And the audience remains pure electricity."

  Michael Grant: "And here he comes, descending the central altar of the Solomon Coliseum with the confidence of someone who carries a surname engraved in THE-IMPERIUM's history."

  Laura Bennett: "And the crowd goes insane! Look there, Michael, camera number four catching the reactions in the stands. Bloodpure family fans waving their flags."

  Michael Grant: "Thor reaches center stage. He greets CEO Magnum with a nod and moves toward the ritual counter, the sacred kitchen where each initiate puts the final touch on the dish he will offer to his drawn demon."

  Laura Bennett: "The Seractcube has already been opened and his dish is there, impeccable: filet mignon in port wine, celeriac purée with truffles, and a golden crust. The aroma reaches all the way here, and across the entire Coliseum with the olfactory reverberation fields activated. It's a Bloodpure classic, a symbol of tradition and dominion."

  Michael Grant: "Thor raises the wine goblet, presents it to the public: vintage 1899. Then he sets it beside a carmine rose. Everything rehearsed to the millimeter."

  Laura Bennett: "Now he wipes the rim of the plate with a white cloth and takes a deep breath. A crucial moment. The entire Coliseum in silence... camera two in close-up."

  Michael Grant: "He makes the cut on his finger. Blood runs over the sauce... one, two, three drops. Ritual validated."

  Laura Bennett: "Thor lifts his gaze to CEO Magnum. The President nods. The oven is already ready. Sixty seconds of heat, and the fate of an entire initiate."

  Michael Grant: "There goes the dish into the ceremonial oven. The flames part. The cameras swivel, catching every reflection. THE-IMPERIUM holds its breath."

  Laura Bennett: "The oven opens. Thor withdraws the golden plate, steaming. He adjusts the purée, positions the goblet, takes a deep breath. It's ready. Now all that's missing is the guest."

  Michael Grant: "Absolute silence. CEO Magnum brings his hand to the urn. The letters begin to glow. And the name... has just been revealed."

  Laura Bennett: "ASMODAY!"

  Michael Grant: "The three-headed demon: fire, ram, and bull, mounted on a dragon. The audience reacts with ecstasy and fear. It's with him that Thor Bloodpure will open LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat 2024 games!"

  Laura Bennett: "The Coliseum lights shift to red and gold. The air vibrates. And here he comes, Michael. Asmoday, emerging from the center of the stage, mounted on a colossal dragon. Smoke, fire, and that sensation the ground is about to crack."

  Michael Grant: "It is a vision that blends fear and fascination. The three heads turn in different rhythms. The human one watches Thor. The bull one exhales smoke. The ram one roars. Each step makes the ceremonial altar tremble."

  Laura Bennett: "Thor holds his posture. He doesn't even blink. And the audience... look at this, millions of people in silence. Even the drones seem to hesitate. The boy extends the plate, the final touch still shining in the sauce."

  Michael Grant: "Asmoday lowers one of his heads, the human one. He sniffs. The forked tongue slides over his lips. He lifts his gaze to Thor and, for an instant, he seems almost interested."

  Laura Bennett: "The President watches without moving a muscle. Everyone waiting for the verdict of the first pact."

  Michael Grant: "Asmoday bites. Chews slowly. The entire Coliseum holds its breath. Camera seven in close-up. The sound of chewing echoes through the loudspeakers."

  Laura Bennett: "Look at his expression... look at this, Michael... the human head is stopping its movement. The bull head starts to snort, smoke rising. The ram head writhes... and... my God!"

  Michael Grant: "He vomited! The demon Asmoday vomited the dish straight into the face of the initiate Thor Bloodpure!"

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd reacts in shock! The lights flicker! And Thor... Thor tries to keep his composure, but he is covered in what looks like liquid fire mixed with demonic bile!"

  Michael Grant: "Asmoday roars. The dragon recoils. The Coliseum floor trembles. No pact sealed. The first initiate has failed."

  Laura Bennett: "The purification teams are already coming in with torches and cleaning drones. And the audience... half boos, half screams the demon's name. The usual ritual chaos."

  Michael Grant: "Thor wipes his face, stares down the crowd, but his gaze has changed. The Bloodpure heir begins the game marked by the fire of failure."

  Laura Bennett: "And the President, Michael, look, he didn't react. Not a word, not an expression. Only the gesture to move on. The urn is being repositioned. The next name is coming."

  Michael Grant: "THE-IMPERIUM does not wait. Nor does it forgive. And TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION keeps following every instant. After the break, we will know who the second initiate will be to face the judgment of the demons. Stay with us."

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION continues live, direct from the SOLOMON COLISEUM bunker, in LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat games: the First Phase, the Offering of the Dishes!"

  Laura Bennett: "And the crowd is still vibrating after the impact of the first ritual, Michael. The name Thor Bloodpure set the Coliseum on fire, but Asmoday's judgment has left THE-IMPERIUM in suspense. Now the time has come to find out who will be the second initiate to face the same fate."

  Michael Grant: "The sacred urn is already in the hands of President CEO Magnum. The field of silence has been activated. Millions of voices silenced by a single gesture."

  Laura Bennett: "The lights shift to gold. CEO Magnum lifts the parchment. The seal breaks. The letters begin to ignite."

  Michael Grant: "Jessie Hornes! It's her! The initiate from Equal One Zero Academy! Jessie Hornes will be the second to offer her dish to the demon!"

  Laura Bennett: "The Coliseum reacts with pure euphoria! Jessie appears at the top of the stairway. Look at this, Michael. She runs, waves to the crowd, blows kisses, trips on a step and already laughs at herself. Energy through the roof!"

  Michael Grant: "A perfect entrance for her style. Jessie Hornes is raw charisma. She sings, twirls her cape, talks to the cameras. And the ritual stage is ready to receive her."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd buys into the bit. Drones in close-up, signs raised, wristbands at maximum pulse. Jessie shouts, 'Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM!' and the entire Coliseum throws the chorus right back."

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum watches, impassive. The ritual field is recalibrated for the second presentation. Everything is ready for the finalization of the dish."

  Laura Bennett: "And the sequence continues right after a brief announcement from our official sponsor, POOPGHENE FRANCHISE."

  Michael Grant: "Discover the Nebular Macarons, crisp shells with a cosmic-caramel filling and crystallized stardust. Available at all POOPGHENE stores."

  Laura Bennett: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE, interdimensional sweetness with the THE-IMPERIUM seal."

  Michael Grant: "We'll be right back with the final touches on the dish and the demon draw. Fac Foedus!"

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! We are back with TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION, live from the Solomon Coliseum. And the second participant of the night is already approaching the altar: Jessie Hornes."

  Laura Bennett: "Look at her energy, Michael. Jessie hops down the steps, smiling, almost dancing. The crowd vibrates, and even the drones seem to catch the rhythm. She turns the ritual into a spectacle."

  Michael Grant: "Jessie reaches center stage. She greets CEO Magnum with a brief bow and a wink that makes the audience burst into laughter. Then she heads for the ritual counter."

  Laura Bennett: "The Seractcube has already been opened. The dish is there: lobster risotto with champagne and saffron, finished with edible gold dust. A subtle perfume fills the Coliseum air, amplified by the aromatic diffusion fields."

  Michael Grant: "She sets the plate at center, adjusts the sides with precision, and lifts a crystal goblet of sparkling wine. She shouts to the crowd, 'For THE-IMPERIUM and for the taste of the impossible!' and toasts alone."

  Laura Bennett: "Jessie Hornes is pure audacity. She laughs, talks to the cameras, blows a kiss to lens four and already grabs the white cloth to wipe the rim of the plate. The entire Coliseum watches her, enchanted."

  Michael Grant: "Ritual moment. The cut. She raises the blade, takes a deep breath, slices her finger and lets the blood run over the risotto. One, two, three drops. Ritual validated."

  Laura Bennett: "She lifts her gaze to CEO Magnum. The President nods. The ceremonial oven is activated. Sixty exact seconds of ritual purification."

  Michael Grant: "The dish goes into the oven. The flames part in gold. Cameras turning, drones in close-up. The Coliseum holds its breath."

  Laura Bennett: "The oven opens. The dish comes out steaming, golden, gleaming under the ritual light. Jessie blows on the vapor, sets the goblet beside it, and makes a heart gesture with her hands to the crowd. Everything is ready."

  Michael Grant: "Absolute silence. CEO Magnum brings his hand to the urn. The letters begin to glow. And the name has just been revealed."

  Laura Bennett: "ALLOCES!"

  Michael Grant: "The soldier-lion demon, a knight of Hell, mounted on his red steed. The audience erupts in screams and awe. It is with him that Jessie Hornes will face the second judgment of LEVEL ONE."

  Laura Bennett: "The lights shift to carmine. The air heats up. Smoke rises from the center of the stage. And here he comes, Michael. Alloces, with the head of a lion in flames, descending astride an incandescent horse."

  Michael Grant: "It's a monumental apparition, Laura. The lion head turns slowly, its blazing gaze sweeping the arena. The red horse neighs, spitting sparks. The Coliseum floor trembles."

  Laura Bennett: "Jessie tries to hold her smile, but look at her hands, Michael, they're shaking. Even so, she straightens the plate and steps forward. What courage."

  Michael Grant: "Alloces dismounts. His armor grinds, the bronze looks alive. He approaches the table, the heat of his body warping the air. Jessie lifts the dish and presents it, keeping her chin high."

  Laura Bennett: "Look at that gesture. Jessie Hornes offers the risotto as if she were presenting flowers. The crowd vibrates, screams, applauds. She blows a kiss to the demon and the entire arena goes delirious."

  Michael Grant: "Alloces sniffs the dish. His tongue touches the sauce. The flames in his eyes subside. He brings it to his mouth, chews slowly. Camera seven in close-up. The Coliseum lights flicker."

  Laura Bennett: "Look at his expression, Michael. The lion head stops moving. The horse backs away. And... wait..."

  Michael Grant: "He vomited! Alloces vomited the dish straight onto Jessie Hornes!"

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd screams in shock. Jessie staggers back, covered in incandescent bile and gold dust. Alloces' horse rears and neighs. No pact sealed."

  Michael Grant: "Alloces roars, raises his sword, and strikes at the air. Flames spread. The President watches without moving a muscle. Another initiate has fallen."

  Laura Bennett: "The purification teams move in with torches and neutralization drones. Jessie is taken off the stage still waving, wrapped in smoke and laughter. The crowd applauds."

  Michael Grant: "Even in rejection, she keeps her shine. Jessie Hornes leaves the Coliseum smiling."

  Laura Bennett: "The altar is cleaned. The ritual field is reset. And the President is already repositioning the sacred urn for the next drawing."

  Michael Grant: "TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION remains live, following every instant of LEVEL ONE. THE-IMPERIUM awaits the third initiate."

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION continues with exclusive coverage of LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat games: the First Phase, the Offering of the Dishes!"

  Laura Bennett: "And the Coliseum is still vibrating with the echo of the last ritual, Michael! The audience has not recovered from the apparition of Alloces and the courage of Jessie Hornes. The air is heavy, almost electric. But the show does not stop, because the third name will be revealed now!"

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum is back at center stage. The sacred urn has been repositioned. The ceremonial seal is touched... and absolute silence takes hold of THE-IMPERIUM."

  Laura Bennett: "The pyramid lights shift to deep blue. The mist rises. CEO Magnum lifts the parchment. The seal breaks... and the letters begin to ignite."

  Michael Grant: "DONNIE BJELKE! It's him! The third initiate!"

  Laura Bennett: "Look at the crowd's reaction, Michael! Some are cheering, others look tense."

  Michael Grant: "And here he comes! He appears at the top of the stairway, stumbling over his own foot, but he keeps going! What an entrance, THE-IMPERIUM!"

  Laura Bennett: "The audience splits between applause and nervous laughter. He tries to wave, drops his handkerchief, picks it back up and pretends it was part of the choreography. What chaotic energy."

  Michael Grant: "Donnie Bjelke moves forward, determined and trembling at the same time. The white cape flutters in the ritual wind... and look at this, his dish comes sealed inside the Seractcube, floating above the counter. A detail worth noting!"

  Laura Bennett: "And the crowd seems to choke back laughter. The drones follow him in close-up. Donnie takes a deep breath, lifts the Seractcube with both hands, and makes an awkward bow to the President."

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum only watches. No expression. And the ritual field is recalibrated for the third presentation."

  Laura Bennett: "Everything is ready, THE-IMPERIUM. Donnie Bjelke is next to face the judgment of the demons."

  Michael Grant: "And that happens right after a brief announcement from our official sponsor... POOPGHENE FRANCHISE!"

  Laura Bennett: "Try the new Popcorn Eclipse line: caramelized popcorn with lunar essence and black-salt crystals. Straight from THE-IMPERIUM's orbital kitchens!"

  Michael Grant: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE! Where even the pop of popcorn is interdimensional!"

  Laura Bennett: "We'll be right back with the final touches on the dish and the demon draw. Fac Foedus!"

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! We are back with TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION, live from the Solomon Coliseum, where the third initiate of the night, Donnie Bjelke, prepares for his ritual."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd holds its breath, Michael. The boy seems ready, but look at his face... sweating rivers. The Seractcube has been opened, and the dish appears: Magret de Canard in Port Wine, and Pommes Anna. It's a bold choice, and too technical for an initiate."

  Michael Grant: "Yes, Laura, a dish of surgical precision. The magret must hit the exact point, the fat properly rendered, the sauce reduced. One mistake of a few seconds and the pact evaporates."

  Laura Bennett: "And he starts well... he positions the duck breast, adjusts the sauce with the ladle. The audience follows in silence, the drones hovering. But look: his hand is shaking. The ladle slips, splashes onto the ceremonial cloak."

  Michael Grant: "And there goes the first slip. He wipes the sauce with the ritual cloth, but... no! The cloth falls into the dish! And he tries to play it off... look, he's blowing on the cloth, like it was part of the ritual!"

  Laura Bennett: "The Coliseum reacts with a mix of applause and tension. Donnie forces a smile, takes a deep breath, and gets back to work. He fans the potatoes into place, like someone trying to restore lost dignity."

  Michael Grant: "And the heat field is activated. The ceremonial oven opens, ready for purification. Donnie lifts his gaze to CEO Magnum... and look, Laura, he nods in a sign of confidence. He looks like he believes in this."

  Laura Bennett: "Cutting moment. He raises the ritual blade... breathes... cuts his finger. One drop, two... and... ah! He cuts too deep! Blood runs across the table!"

  Michael Grant: "The drones close in. Full close-up. He tries to stop the bleeding with the towel, but the blood spills over the potatoes. The audience is split between shock and pity."

  Laura Bennett: "And even so, he continues. He lifts the dish, takes a deep breath, and announces, his voice trembling: 'For THE-IMPERIUM... and for my ancestors!'"

  Michael Grant: "The crowd answers in chorus, the entire Coliseum vibrating. Donnie places the dish in the oven. Sixty seconds of ritual purification."

  Laura Bennett: "But... something feels off-pattern. The oven doesn't seal properly. He tries to push it... and the dish almost falls! He catches it in time, but the sauce runs down his arm."

  Michael Grant: "Look at this! The crowd is tense. The Patrons watch, some whisper. And CEO Magnum... nothing. Not a single gesture."

  Laura Bennett: "The oven finally locks. Sixty seconds of pure tension. Donnie breathes fast, eyes glassy. He looks on the verge of collapse."

  Michael Grant: "The oven opens. The plate comes out golden, steaming. Donnie holds it with both hands. The thermal chamber shows the heat rising. The boy smiles nervously, and the crowd vibrates with compassion."

  Laura Bennett: "Now it's the demon draw, Michael. The moment that decides everything."

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum brings his hand to the urn. The letters begin to glow. The entire Coliseum falls silent. And the name... has just been revealed."

  Laura Bennett: "STOLAS!"

  Michael Grant: "The Owl Prince. The sage of the stars, the guardian of infernal skies. The owl crowned in gold, with human legs and eyes that never blink."

  Laura Bennett: "The lights shift to deep blue. An icy wind cuts through the Coliseum. Mist rises, a low sound booms. And here he comes... the Ars Goetia demon, STOLAS!"

  Michael Grant: "What we are witnessing now is pure ritual unease. The air splinters into screams and held breaths. The stage of the Solomon Coliseum opens, and from within the veil of smoke... he emerges."

  Laura Bennett: "Stolas. The Owl Prince. His wings extend like veils of liquid night. The body is thin, the human legs long, absurdly long... and the golden crown hovers above a head that will not stop turning."

  Michael Grant: "Camera seven catches his gaze, Laura: enormous eyes, fixed, round. Stolas does not blink. He only stares at the dish, then the boy, then the crowd. And he turns his head. One full rotation. Another. Another."

  Laura Bennett: "Donnie looks paralyzed. His hands shake. He tries to smile. The audience is mute, some Patrons cover their faces. It's a kind of fear that doesn't scream, it only breathes slowly."

  Michael Grant: "Stolas leans in. The human legs fold in a motion that is almost gentle, but the sound of bones echoes through the loudspeakers. He moves closer to the dish."

  Laura Bennett: "And Donnie adds the final touch, pouring the port-wine sauce over the magret. The gesture is beautiful, but... the plate slips!"

  Michael Grant: "He catches it on instinct, but the sauce splashes onto Stolas' crown! All of THE-IMPERIUM holds its breath! This has never happened in an official ceremony!"

  Laura Bennett: "The demon lifts his head, still turning... and now his gaze fixes only on Donnie. The audience doesn't know whether to scream or pray."

  Michael Grant: "Donnie tries to salvage the dish. He sets it on the table, but the sauce spreads, coats the crystal, runs down the altar. And now the ritual continues. Stolas lowers his face, brings his beak closer, and... tastes."

  Laura Bennett: "The entire Coliseum in absolute silence. Stolas chews slowly, his head turning in the opposite direction now. The sound... Michael, the sound of chewing is being amplified. It's almost human."

  Michael Grant: "He stops. The eyes open even wider, if that's possible. And suddenly, a high-pitched sound cuts into the air. He vomits! Vomits the entire dish! The liquid runs over the altar and hits Donnie straight in the face!"

  Laura Bennett: "My God... the crowd recoils! Donnie staggers, tries to wipe his face, but he slips! He drops to his knees on the floor, covered in bile and demonic wine. It's a scene... impossible to describe."

  Michael Grant: "He tries to pull himself together, Laura... look at this... he's trying to get up, but his hands slip in his own blood and sauce. The audience watches, suspended between stifled laughter and genuine horror."

  Laura Bennett: "Donnie drags the sleeve of his cloak across his face, leaving a streak of wine and duck fat. The boy looks about to cry... and even so, he forces a smile for the cameras."

  Michael Grant: "It's devastating. The entire Coliseum in silence. The drones hesitate, not even sure whether to film or avert the lens. Stolas remains still, simply watching. The head turns... one full rotation... another... slower now."

  Laura Bennett: "There's something almost pious in that gaze, Michael. As if the demon were studying human failure up close, with the coldness of a scientist observing a failed experiment."

  Michael Grant: "Donnie tries to gather the dish, but the crystal has shattered. He picks up the pieces with his hands, bleeding even more. The audience begins to applaud softly, not in triumph, but in pity."

  Laura Bennett: "And the sound of the applause is a blow. Donnie lifts the shards, sets them back on the tray as if he could still serve something. He doesn't understand the ritual is already over."

  Michael Grant: "Stolas takes a step back. The altar fills with blue smoke. And when it thins... he's no longer there. Gone, evaporated, taking failure and shame with him."

  Laura Bennett: "CEO Magnum didn't even blink. The purification teams move in. Donnie is removed from the altar, his knees stained with sauce and tears. THE-IMPERIUM watches in silence."

  Michael Grant: "A ritual ended without a pact. An initiate shattered by his own inexperience. And an Owl Prince who tasted, and rejected, without even caring."

  Laura Bennett: "The purification torches ignite. The altar will be restored. And THE-IMPERIUM prepares for the next name."

  Michael Grant: "TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION remains live. We'll return after the ceremonial cleansing. Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION continues with live coverage of LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat games, the First Phase: the Offering of the Dishes."

  Laura Bennett: "After the confusion with Donnie Bjelke, the Coliseum finally calms down. The purification torches have been gathered, the altar has been restored, and CEO Magnum is already preparing for the fourth draw of the night."

  Michael Grant: "The sacred urn returns to center stage. The field of silence is activated. The pyramid lights flare in ceremonial brilliance."

  Laura Bennett: "CEO Magnum lifts the parchment. The seal breaks... and the name appears in white light. It's a name few people know in THE-IMPERIUM."

  Michael Grant: "Sebastyam Geekwoden. The fourth initiate of the night. A complete newcomer, from the outer frontiers. THE-IMPERIUM is meeting this boy now."

  Laura Bennett: "Look at him there, Michael. At the top of the stairway. Head down, hands shaking. He adjusts his glasses, holds the Seractcube with both hands and... oh, he sprayed the nasal spray again!"

  Michael Grant: "Again! Third burst in less than a minute. The crowd noticed. Some laugh, others clap, trying to encourage him. He doesn't lift his gaze. He walks fast, almost stumbling, as if he wants to finish before it even begins."

  Laura Bennett: "He tries to hide inside the white cape, but here, Michael, no one escapes the cameras of TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION."

  Michael Grant: "The drones track him in close-up. You can see the sweat running, the shine on his face, the tremor in his hands. He reaches the center of the altar, gives an almost imperceptible bow to the President, and steps back, as if the stage itself were dangerous."

  Laura Bennett: "Such a contrast with the previous ones, Michael. Where there was spectacle before, now there is shyness and silence. The crowd watches, attentive."

  Michael Grant: "The Seractcube opens. Inside, the dish: Risotto al Tartufo. Simple, classic, elegant. Arborio rice at the exact point, butter, Parmesan, and shaved truffle on top. The aroma spreads through the Coliseum with the diffusers activated."

  Laura Bennett: "The risotto gleams under the ceremonial light. It's almost poetic, Michael. A delicate dish, from someone who doesn't want to impress, only to survive."

  Michael Grant: "And it's this dish that can seal a pact or a sentence. The ritual field is recalibrated, the sacred oven is active, and THE-IMPERIUM holds its breath."

  Laura Bennett: "But before the final touches and the demon draw, we'll be right back with a message from our official sponsor: POOPGHENE FRANCHISE!"

  Michael Grant: "Discover the new Marshmallow Comet, limited edition. A sidereal-vanilla filling and an ionized sugar coating. A sweet approved by THE-IMPERIUM's Patrons."

  Laura Bennett: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE. Flavor that transcends dimensions."

  Michael Grant: "We'll be right back with the final touches on the dish and the demon draw. Fac Foedus."

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM. We are back with TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION, live from the Solomon Coliseum, where the fourth initiate, Sebastyam Geekwoden, prepares for his ritual."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd grows quiet. It's impressive, Michael... no one dares to shout or applaud. Everyone seems to feel the weight of the moment. Sebastyam holds the dish with both hands and breathes like someone trying to convince himself he's still alive."

  Michael Grant: "He positions the risotto at the center of the counter. Camera seven goes in close on his face: the sweat, the reflection in his glasses, the nasal spray... another burst. That's the fourth in less than a minute."

  Laura Bennett: "The gesture has already become part of his breathing. Spray, sigh, restrained movement. A boy trying to keep himself whole in front of something much bigger."

  Michael Grant: "And here comes the cut. He raises the ritual blade, touches his finger, a single drop. The blood falls onto the risotto, and the crowd holds its air. Ritual validated."

  Laura Bennett: "Look at this, Michael. He almost apologizes to the plate. He wipes the rim carefully, adjusts the Parmesan, spreads the shaved truffle with the edge of the spoon. This is pure devotion."

  Michael Grant: "The ceremonial oven opens. He moves forward slowly, as if afraid of the heat. He places the dish inside and steps back two paces, head lowered. The golden flames light him entirely."

  Laura Bennett: "Sixty seconds of ritual purification. His face reflects the light like wet glass. For the first time, he doesn't look afraid. He looks... surrendered."

  Michael Grant: "The oven opens. Steam escapes. The risotto is ready. The perfect texture, the truffle aroma filling the Coliseum. THE-IMPERIUM watches in absolute silence."

  Laura Bennett: "He withdraws the dish, holds it to his chest as if it were alive. He sets it on the ritual table, aligns the spoon and the napkin. Everything impeccable."

  Michael Grant: "Now the decisive moment. CEO Magnum approaches the urn. The lights dim. The crowd falls silent. The letters begin to glow."

  Laura Bennett: "The seal breaks... the name is being revealed..."

  Michael Grant: "Agares."

  Laura Bennett: "The demon of wisdom and the earth in motion. The old man mounted on a crocodile, a hawk on his fist. And he is the one who will taste Sebastyam Geekwoden's dish."

  Michael Grant: "The columns part. The Coliseum floor splits. The sound... it's like stones dragging Hell itself. Here he comes."

  Laura Bennett: "The arena trembles. The crocodile rises from the shadows, its skin covered in moss. Astride it, Agares: long white hair, a braided beard, eyes like someone who has watched the world die a thousand times."

  Michael Grant: "And on his fist, the hawk, motionless but vigilant. The crowd recoils in the stands. The boy can barely breathe. Not even the nasal spray seems to help him now."

  Laura Bennett: "The demon, in the form of an old man, dismounts. The crocodile remains still. The hawk turns its head, fixing its gaze on the dish. Sebastyam lowers his face. The demon approaches."

  Michael Grant: "Everything set for judgment. The plate on the table. The air is thick, almost tangible. THE-IMPERIUM holds its breath."

  Laura Bennett: "Agares moves. The demon in the shape of an old man steps down from the crocodile with ceremonial slowness. The hawk tilts its head... two gazes on the same dish."

  Michael Grant: "He circles the table, tests the air like someone smelling wet earth. His cane taps the marble three times. Signal given."

  Laura Bennett: "Sebastyam doesn't lift his face. His hands at his sides... and yes, nasal spray. One short burst. He tries to stay calm."

  Michael Grant: "Agares sits. The crocodile rests its snout on the floor. The hawk lands on the rim of the plate. The demon brings the spoon to his lips."

  Laura Bennett: "Absolute silence in the Solomon Coliseum. The risotto was finished at the exact point: mirrored creaminess, truffle freshly shaved."

  Michael Grant: "First taste. He chews slowly. He looks at the dish... looks at the boy. The left hand trembles a millimeter. The spoon again."

  Laura Bennett: "The hawk ruffles its feathers. And that changes everything. Agares closes his eyes, tightens his jaw... and..."

  Michael Grant: "Rejection. The demon spits it back out and, in a second surge, vomits the risotto straight into the initiate's face."

  Laura Bennett: "The jet coats the white mask, runs down his chest. Sebastyam staggers a step, doesn't scream, doesn't react, only breathes in short bursts."

  Michael Grant: "He tries to incline into a bow, slips slightly, catches his balance. Another nasal spray. The smallest gesture of resistance."

  Laura Bennett: "Agares rises without theatrics. He gathers the spoon, whistles low. The hawk returns to his fist. The crocodile pivots halfway."

  Michael Grant: "And vanishes into the veil of smoke. No pact. Rejection consummated."

  Laura Bennett: "Purification teams rush in: cleaning drones, neutralization torches."

  Michael Grant: "Sebastyam is guided off to the side, head down, hands gripping his own cloak to hide the tremor. A hard scene."

  Laura Bennett: "CEO Magnum doesn't change expression. One short gesture and the urn returns to its pedestal. The protocol continues."

  Michael Grant: "Four initiates, four rejections. THE-IMPERIUM learns that courage can whisper, too."

  Laura Bennett: "TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION remains live. In moments, the next name. Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION continues live with exclusive coverage of LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat games: the First Phase, the Offering of the Dishes!"

  Laura Bennett: "And the Coliseum is still vibrating with the echo of the last ritual, Michael. Sebastyam Geekwoden closed his trial before Agares, and the purification field has just been completed. THE-IMPERIUM waits, in suspense, for the fifth name."

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum is once again at center stage. The sacred urn is repositioned. Silence falls over the stands. The hour has come."

  Laura Bennett: "The ceremonial seal is broken. The letters begin to glow across the parchment... and the name is revealed."

  Michael Grant: "Wwwyye Helllwk! The Heiress of Silicon!"

  Laura Bennett: "The entire Coliseum reacts! Applause tangled with murmurs. The name Helllwk always draws attention. And look at her there, Michael, already descending the stairways of the upper altar."

  Michael Grant: "Impeccable posture. Shoulders straight, head high, her stride rhythmic. Even beneath the white cape, you can see the pink strands slipping out like cold embers. A detail impossible to ignore."

  Laura Bennett: "And not a single wave to the crowd. Not a single smile. She isn't seeking applause, only fulfilling destiny. It's almost unsettling to watch."

  Michael Grant: "The crowd seems unsure whether to respect or fear that coldness. Wwwyye advances with her gaze fixed on the altar. The Seractcube is already waiting for her above the ritual counter."

  Laura Bennett: "She reaches center stage, inclines her head briefly before CEO Magnum. He returns the gesture, and the ritual field is activated."

  Michael Grant: "All of THE-IMPERIUM holds its breath. The fifth initiate of the night is about to face the judgment of the demons."

  Laura Bennett: "The Seractcube rises. Inside it, the dish still sealed gleams under the ritual light. And the crowd awaits the final touch."

  Michael Grant: "And all of this happens right after a brief announcement from our official sponsor: POOPGHENE FRANCHISE!"

  Laura Bennett: "We present the new POOPGHENE Crystal Soda: a translucent soda flavored like polar mist, with edible glitter. A toast to the chill of success!"

  Michael Grant: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE: the flavor that shines under the laws of THE-IMPERIUM."

  Laura Bennett: "We'll be right back with the final touches on the dish and the demon draw. Fac Foedus!"

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! We are back with TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION, live from the Solomon Coliseum, where the fifth initiate of the night, Wwwyye Helllwk, prepares for her ritual."

  Laura Bennett: "The tension is different now, Michael. After the emotion of Geekwoden, the atmosphere feels... suspended. The entire crowd watches her every move, and still, Wwwyye doesn't seem to care."

  Michael Grant: "She removes the Seractcube seal with surgical precision. Not a single false motion. Inside, the dish: Beef Wellington. A classic choice, bold and, I'd say, almost cruel to execute under this kind of pressure."

  Laura Bennett: "She touches the puff pastry like someone examining a jewel. Runs the spatula, adjusts the mushroom duxelles. The crowd barely breathes. It's the serenity of someone who cooks as if Hell were routine."

  Michael Grant: "What's curious is that she shows neither pride nor fear. Only... distance. Each gesture looks like a protocol, a biological function. Camera four catches her face: a neutral expression, empty eyes, as if she already knew the outcome."

  Laura Bennett: "And still, Michael, there is a disturbing elegance. She takes the ceremonial brush, spreads the final layer of butter over the golden crust, and places the plate exactly at the center. Not a tremor."

  Michael Grant: "Now she lifts the goblet of red wine. She doesn't toast. She only sets it beside the dish, perfectly aligned with the ritual seal. Everything mathematically symmetrical."

  Laura Bennett: "It's the cutting moment. Wwwyye raises the blade, takes a deep breath, makes the precise slice. One drop, two, three... blood leaving her finger, and only then she wipes the tip of the knife with the white cloth. Ritual validated."

  Michael Grant: "The heat field activates. The ceremonial oven opens. She approaches, places the dish inside, and the purification seal glows in gold. Sixty exact seconds."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd watches in complete silence. No murmurs. Only the sound of fire vibrating inside the altar. Cameras turn, drones hover, the perfect image of control."

  Michael Grant: "The oven opens. The Beef Wellington comes out golden, gleaming. Wwwyye holds it with both hands, stares at the crowd and, for a brief instant, seems... bored."

  Laura Bennett: "She sets the plate on the altar, wipes the rim with the cloth, and takes a step back. Nothing more to say. Nothing more to prove."

  Michael Grant: "Everything is ready for judgment. The plate on the table. The air thickens, almost tangible. CEO Magnum raises his hand. The entire Coliseum holds its breath."

  Laura Bennett: "The sacred urn is activated. The letters begin to glow... and the demon's name is revealed."

  Michael Grant: "BUER!"

  Laura Bennett: "Great Buer! The five-legged spirit, the sage of illnesses, the healer of the ages! All of THE-IMPERIUM rises!"

  Michael Grant: "The lights shift to amber. A metallic roar runs through the Coliseum. The altar splits open at the center and, from within the vapor, he emerges, the Ars Goetia demon Buer."

  Laura Bennett: "My God... the body is a leonine head turning atop five goat legs. Each step is a rotation, and the sound of hooves echoes like an infernal clock."

  Michael Grant: "His gaze is ancient. Wild and thinking at the same time. He approaches the altar. Fire reflects off his fangs, and the crowd falls silent."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Laura Bennett: "Wwwyye doesn't step back. She doesn't even breathe deeper. She only watches, like someone contemplating a storm through glass. The contrast between the two is... almost poetic."

  Michael Grant: "Buer stops before the plate. The legs rotate in sync. His growl sounds like a distant wind. The demon lowers his head. He is going to taste."

  Laura Bennett: "The entire Coliseum in absolute silence. Camera seven in full close-up. Everyone watching the instant in which Hell decides the flavor of Earth."

  Michael Grant: "Buer tilts his head. The five legs move with a metallic sound, like gears of flesh. He leans toward the altar. The steam from the Beef Wellington rises, golden and dense. And the demon... tastes."

  Laura Bennett: "The sound of chewing echoes through the loudspeakers. It's wet, heavy, almost human. The entire crowd holds its breath. Wwwyye's stare stays fixed."

  Michael Grant: "Buer chews slowly. The fangs tear the pastry, the sauce runs through leonine fur... and the growl begins. A low, rising sound, coming from deep within the arena."

  Laura Bennett: "His legs start spinning in opposite directions. The lion head lifts, trembling. The growl swells, the steam changes color... it's turning greenish. Michael, that's not a good sign."

  Michael Grant: "And here it comes... he rejected the dish! Buer vomited the Beef Wellington! The golden, green-tinged liquid bursts across the altar and hits Wwwyye Helllwk full on!"

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd screams. Columns of fire ignite. Drones pull back, but she... she doesn't move. She's coated in demonic bile, her pink hair now stained green and gold. She only stares into the camera, motionless."

  Michael Grant: "Unbelievable. No initiate has reacted like this before. She lifts her arm... points at the lens... and... Laura, are you seeing this?"

  Laura Bennett: "She's giving the middle finger! Wwwyye Helllwk just made an obscene gesture to all of THE-IMPERIUM live on air!"

  Michael Grant: "An act of ritual insubordination! The entire Coliseum is in shock! This could cost her more than a simple failure."

  Laura Bennett: "Guards move toward the altar, but she remains standing. Her face still, her gaze cold, drenched in vomit and residual fire. Drone number three frames her tight. It's... an image you can't forget."

  Michael Grant: "Buer retreats, the legs spinning like infernal wheels. His roar vanishes into the smoke, but the eyes remain visible to the very last instant. No pact sealed."

  Laura Bennett: "Purification initiated. Guards and containment drones move in. Wwwyye is escorted out, head still high, as if she had won."

  Michael Grant: "THE-IMPERIUM has witnessed an affront. The Heiress of Silicon, drenched in demonic bile, raising her finger to the skies, Hell, and men. It's the kind of moment that stays branded forever."

  Laura Bennett: "TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION remains live. The ritual field will be purified and the next initiate will be announced in moments."

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM. The Solomon Coliseum does not breathe, but it vibrates. CEO Magnum is already at center stage. It is time for the sixth draw of LEVEL ONE."

  Laura Bennett: "The sacred urn returns to the pedestal. Silence weighs like stone. A single gesture decides the next name."

  Michael Grant: "The parchment rises into the light. The seal breaks. The letters ignite... and the name is revealed."

  Laura Bennett: "Nioh Nemmesis, the sixth initiate."

  Michael Grant: "And here is the difference. Nioh is a Levite of this cycle. He doesn't come down from the stands, he enters through the Coliseum's technical side, the service route reserved for those who wear the LEVITE sash."

  Laura Bennett: "Short steps, steady, regular. He coughs, takes a sip from the syrup vial, adjusts his cape, breathes. The Seractcube follows him, pulsing behind."

  Michael Grant: "The crowd parts and holds its breath. The Patrons lean forward to watch. Drone close-up: focus on his face. Concentrated, determined."

  Laura Bennett: "Nioh reaches the altar. He inclines his head to CEO Magnum. 'Fac Foedus, Mr. President.' The voice is low, but firm. The ritual field recalibrates the light to a restrained blue."

  Michael Grant: "The Seractcube docks into the ceremonial counter. The dish remains sealed, awaiting the final touch. THE-IMPERIUM, the sixth ritual of LEVEL ONE begins now."

  Laura Bennett: "And now, a brief message from our official sponsor: POOPGHENE FRANCHISE."

  Michael Grant: "Aurora Fizz. Iced-pear soda with notes of verbena and a luminescent snap. A toast to the nights of the Coliseum."

  Laura Bennett: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE, when sweetness meets the sacred."

  Michael Grant: "We'll be right back with the final touches on the dish and the demon draw. Fac Foedus."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Laura Bennett: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM. We are back at the Solomon Coliseum. The Seractcube of the sixth initiate has just been opened and the dish revealed: lamb medallions in red-wine sauce with truffled root purée. The choice is classic and difficult. Nioh Nemmesis will need absolute precision."

  Michael Grant: "And he starts well, Laura. Even with small hands and a slight tremor, the cut is steady. He lays the sauce carefully, draws the purée into a semicircle. Impeccable technique, worthy of THE-IMPERIUM's great rituals."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd notices. He coughs the entire time. He pauses, brings the vial to his lips, takes a sip, draws a deep breath, and returns. Each gesture feels like a direct contest against his own body."

  Michael Grant: "Drone close-up. Sweat runs down his forehead. He wipes the rim of the plate with the ritual cloth, breathes deeper than before, and now... the cutting moment."

  Laura Bennett: "The ceremonial blade breaks the skin of Nioh Nemmesis' finger. Three drops of blood fall onto the sauce, and the ritual field flares red. Ritual validated."

  Michael Grant: "He closes his eyes for an instant. He coughs again, almost drops the vial, but steadies himself on instinct. The ceremonial oven opens with its bluish flames. Sixty seconds of purification."

  Laura Bennett: "Sixty seconds that feel like an eternity. The crowd watches in complete silence. President CEO Magnum remains motionless. The sound of the oven is the only noise in the Coliseum."

  Michael Grant: "The oven opens. The lamb is perfect, golden and succulent. He lifts the dish with both hands. The audience answers with a brief applause, almost moved."

  Laura Bennett: "The Seractcube reclaims the ritual seal. The field stabilizes. The moment has come for the second draw, the demon who will taste Nioh Nemmesis' dish."

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum brings his hand to the urn. The seal breaks. The letters shine. The name is revealed."

  Laura Bennett: "Naberius."

  Michael Grant: "The three-formed hound of the abyss, guardian of lost voices. One of Hell's most implacable judges."

  Laura Bennett: "The Coliseum lights turn carmine. The floor splits open. Black smoke rises from the fissures. Three heads emerge, each from a different direction. Eyes on fire. Where paws should be, bird talons clink against the marble."

  Michael Grant: "Naberius rises fully, a colossal figure. The three mouths exhale dark vapor. The Coliseum trembles, but the initiate remains steady. He coughs, drinks the last sip from the vial, and meets the demon's gaze."

  Laura Bennett: "Everything is set for judgment. The plate on the table. The air thick, almost tangible. THE-IMPERIUM holds its breath."

  Michael Grant: "Naberius leans over the altar. The three heads move in different rhythms: the central one fixes its gaze on Nioh, the side ones scent the air. The sound is deafening, animal breath mixed with liquid fire."

  Laura Bennett: "The dish gives off the aroma of wine and truffles. Steam rises in spirals. Nioh steps forward, adjusts his cape, coughs... brings the vial to his lips. A quick sip. He tries to stay calm, but his hand trembles."

  Michael Grant: "Total close-up. Camera seven frames his face. Tension, sweat, and faith fused into a single frame. Naberius advances. The forked tongue touches the sauce. The metallic sound of saliva burns through the air. He tastes."

  Laura Bennett: "Absolute silence. Only the crackle of flames and the sound of chewing. The three mouths move, working the lamb. For an instant, it looks like approval."

  Michael Grant: "But, Laura... the side heads begin to writhe. The central one closes its eyes. The fangs tremble. The roar is starting."

  Laura Bennett: "Michael... he's going to reject it."

  Michael Grant: "And he does! Naberius vomits the entire dish over Nioh! The dark, dense liquid spreads across the whole altar! The Coliseum erupts in screams of shock!"

  Laura Bennett: "Nioh is covered in vomit. But wait... it looks like he didn't accept defeat. Didn't accept the demon's disapproval."

  Michael Grant: "He's screaming, Laura! Screaming like he wants to wake the whole of hell! He shoves the altar, kicks the goblets aside, rips the cables out of the ceremonial oven! THE-IMPERIUM has never witnessed anything like this!"

  Laura Bennett: "Look at this! He... he pulled his pants down and he's urinating on the altar, Michael! He's doing it live! The crowd goes feral, boos coming from every side!"

  Michael Grant: "Yes, Laura. He's completely out of control! He smashes serving platters, kicks cutlery, hammers his fists into the marble. His face swallowed by rage. The drones can't keep a lock."

  Laura Bennett: "Security teams try to move in, but the ritual field is still pulsing. He's yelling, coughing, drinks what little is left of the syrup and... look, Michael... the vial slips from his hand. It hits the floor. It nearly strikes President CEO Magnum."

  Michael Grant: "The glass shatters. The syrup spreads across the altar, and Naberius tries to lick the liquid off the ground. All three heads lift, salivating, scenting the air. The mouths open, steam escaping in hard jets. He's going to strike."

  Laura Bennett: "CEO Magnum activates the containment protocol. Drones drop from every side. Chains of light appear and clamp down on the demon's paws."

  Michael Grant: "Even so, Laura, Nioh keeps fighting. He kicks drones, shoves guards, coughs, spits curses. The scene is pure chaos. THE-IMPERIUM is in shock. Nioh Nemmesis couldn't accept the rejection and he's tearing everything apart."

  Laura Bennett: "Naberius thrashes. Three heads roar, saliva and fire mingling. The floor splits. The loudspeakers glitch. The lights strobe. CEO Magnum is rushed away by two officers."

  Michael Grant: "The ritual field collapses inward. Security drones form a shield around the altar, full containment. The chains of light haul Naberius back. Black smoke rises like a whirlpool, thunder rips through the air, and the demon vanishes."

  Laura Bennett: "Nioh Nemmesis is restrained by four guards. He still kicks, coughs, tries to break free. The crowd plunges into hysteria, screams and boos folding into a deafening wave. The altar is completely destroyed. The ceremony has been interrupted."

  Michael Grant: "The Coliseum is in shock, Laura. The sixth initiate was consumed by his own fury. The demon is gone, but the fear remained."

  Laura Bennett: "TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION cuts the transmission until the ritual field is restored. Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Laura Bennett: "We're back... Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM! The center of the altar at the Solomon Coliseum has been partially restored, the ritual field recalibrated... but the air is still heavy. The crowd is still murmuring the name Nioh Nemmesis."

  Michael Grant: "Never, Laura. Never, in all the cycles of the KING MatNat games, has an initiate lost control like this. A LEVITE, no less. The consequences... will be serious."

  Laura Bennett: "The altar has been purified, but the marks of destruction are still visible. Cracked marble, security drones holding their positions. CEO Magnum returns to the center of the stage. No smile. No applause."

  Michael Grant: "The crowd is silent. The luminous bands flash in containment mode. And now... the moment that decides the next name: the seventh draw of LEVEL ONE."

  Laura Bennett: "The sacred urn is brought back to center. Golden runes reignite. The ritual seal reactivates. CEO Magnum raises his hand. The scroll rises. The seal breaks."

  Michael Grant: "The letters appear, one by one, in the air, before millions of spectators. And the name is..."

  Laura Bennett: "Americ-Ana Delsilva! The scholarship student from Equal One Zero Academy! From the common world, drawn by Novaxtraai!"

  Michael Grant: "A LEVITE too, Laura. Just like Nioh Nemmesis. What a coincidence... or maybe not."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd reacts discreetly. Some lean forward in the stands, trying to see her emerge from the central stairway, but... nothing. No movement."

  Michael Grant: "Strange. The lights are still trained on the initiates' access corridor. The drones are waiting for a presence signal. And... silence."

  Laura Bennett: "No sound, no appearance. Americ-Ana Delsilva isn't answering the call."

  Michael Grant: "CEO Magnum keeps his gaze locked. The sacred urn has already been sealed again. Seconds pass... and nothing. THE-IMPERIUM begins to grow restless."

  Laura Bennett: "We're going to a brief break from our official sponsor while we verify what's happening. Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM."

  Michael Grant: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE presents Nebula Pop, popcorn with cosmic caramel crystal and stardust fruit powder. Available in arenas across THE-IMPERIUM."

  Laura Bennett: "POOPGHENE FRANCHISE, flavor that transcends dimensions."

  Michael Grant: "We'll be right back after the break, with LEVEL ONE resuming."

  COMMERCIAL BREAK

  Michael Grant: "Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM. We're back... but what we are seeing here is without precedent. The initiates' corridor remains empty. Americ-Ana Delsilva still has not appeared."

  Laura Bennett: "And it has been far too long, Michael. Since the start of LEVEL ONE, no initiate has taken more than a few seconds. Look at the crowd... the atmosphere has changed completely."

  Michael Grant: "The stands are murmuring. Some spectators are standing, trying to see beyond the corridor. The Patrons are speaking among themselves, uneasy. It is not common for a scholarship student to miss the call, even more so a LEVITE."

  Laura Bennett: "Americ-Ana came from the common world, chosen by Novaxtraai. It is the first time in years that someone from outside enters THE-IMPERIUM by lottery... curiosity was expected to be high, but the silence now is almost hostile."

  Michael Grant: "The drones move closer to the corridor. Nothing. No shadow. No movement. CEO Magnum keeps his gaze fixed, without moving a muscle."

  Laura Bennett: "The crowd is starting to lose patience. I hear light boos... whispers growing... and notice the cameras: the security team has taken position around the stage."

  Michael Grant: "Rituals demand precision. Failure to appear is treated as dishonor, even when unintentional. Especially when it involves a LEVITE."

  Laura Bennett: "The Coliseum... is growing impatient."

  Michael Grant: "Yes. And protocol requires CEO Magnum to make a decision if the initiate does not present themselves after the call."

  Laura Bennett: "The drones are awaiting instructions. The lights are in standby mode. And the crowd... the crowd already understands something is deeply wrong."

  Michael Grant: "We'll wait a few more moments. If Americ-Ana doesn't appear..."

  Laura Bennett: "...we will enter the countdown protocol."

  Michael Grant: "Which, in the history of the KING MatNat games... has never needed to be activated."

  Laura Bennett: "Never."

  Michael Grant: "And yet... it looks like we're about to see it happen. And look, Laura, as we said, the protocol has been officially triggered. CEO Magnum raises his arm. The ceremonial clock opens above the Coliseum: red numbers floating at the center of the arena."

  Laura Bennett: "It's... it's real, Michael. A countdown to the disqualification of Americ-Ana Delsilva. Something never seen in THE-IMPERIUM."

  Michael Grant: "Seven seconds. Seven. The entire Coliseum stands. Everyone knows what that means."

  Laura Bennett: "The voice of the crowd... Michael, they're counting along. Here it comes."

  The projection pulses with the number 7.

  COLISEUM (in chorus): "SEVEN!"

  Michael Grant: "The sound echoes through the entire bunker... every voice, every throat, every drone capturing the moment."

  The projection drops to 6.

  COLISEUM: "SIX!"

  Laura Bennett: "The Patrons are on their feet. The tension is almost unbearable. CEO Magnum does not move."

  The number shifts to 5.

  COLISEUM: "FIVE!"

  Michael Grant: "The drones circle the empty corridor. Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

  Number 4.

  COLISEUM: "FOUR!"

  Laura Bennett: "Michael... I... this is disturbing. Where is the scholarship student? Where is the LEVITE?"

  Michael Grant: "If she doesn't show by zero... she's out. Out of the KING MatNat Games."

  The number shifts to 3.

  COLISEUM: "THR—"

  Laura Bennett: "Wait... WAIT, MICHAEL... what... what is that over there on the side of the Coliseum??"

  Michael Grant: "Camera four! Camera four, zoom in! That's... that's... is that a POPPANDACORN???"

  Laura Bennett: "My God... he's... he's COMPLETELY BROKEN! Screws falling out... circuits exposed... he can barely run!"

  Michael Grant: "And listen, Laura... he's SCREAMING!"

  The drone moves closer. The microphones catch every glitch from the cracked loudspeaker.

  POPPANDACORN (screaming, voice distorted): "WAIT!!! MY MOMMY IS COMING!!! MY MOMMY IS COMING!!!"

  Laura Bennett: "Mommy? Who... who is Mommy? That doesn't... that doesn't make sense!"

  Michael Grant: "The countdown... has been interrupted! INTERRUPTED! The system detected a moving presence in the technical corridor!"

  Laura Bennett: "Michael... Poppandacorn is going down! He tripped! Screws, wires... he's collapsing onto the Coliseum floor!"

  Michael Grant: "The entire Coliseum is on its feet! No one understands what's happening! The drones are surrounding him! CEO Magnum is moving toward the edge of the stage!"

  Laura Bennett: "And Poppandacorn keeps screaming... my God... this has never happened. Never."

  Michael Grant: "Camera three, zoom in! The count stopped at three... but the system isn't restarting... what's happening...?"

  Laura Bennett: "Wait... wait, Michael... there's something... behind Poppandacorn... look there... behind him... MY GOD..."

  The drones dive toward the side corridor, lights scanning the darkness as it yawns open.

  A shadow draws closer. Crooked, uneven, staggering. Intermittent lights carve its outline.

  Michael Grant: "What... what is that...? It looks... it looks like a person... but... Laura, she's... she's COVERED IN BLOOD."

  Laura Bennett: "It's a girl... a girl running... her clothes torn... she's limping... and... Michael... this... this can't be..."

  The lens zooms in. The Coliseum holds its breath. The stands lean forward like a single living body.

  Michael Grant: "It's her. It's HER! AMERIC-ANA DELSILVA! The scholarship student! The initiate from the common world!"

  ***

  Americ-Ana ran without direction, barely noticing where her feet were taking her. The only compass was Poppandacorn’s high, robotic, glitching voice.

  “Come on, Mommy! We’re almost there! My sensors have already detected movement.”

  The corridor was a dark smear, an indistinct tunnel threaded between shallow breaths and adrenaline. Then, suddenly, his voice stopped.

  “Oh no... did Poppa go for good?” Americ-Ana murmured to herself, her heart tearing from the inside. “Poppa! Poppa! Talk to me! Where are you?”

  The cold kept running beneath her skin. Flashes of Poseidon 4.0’s brutal attack still leapt through her mind like abrupt cuts from a broken film. She felt the ocean’s ice climbing her ribs, the crushing darkness, the creature’s sweetish blood-smell mixing into the water.

  Except it wasn’t only memory. The smell was still there, stuck to her as if the ocean had come with her.

  As the adrenaline drained away, her body demanded payment. Her skin felt wrapped in a thick, sticky layer, as though she’d been dipped in viscous resin. Then she realized: Poseidon 4.0’s blood coated every inch of her, from hair to feet. A tremor ran through her leg and the pain finally detonated. Maybe in the moment the creature dragged her into the abyss, something in muscle, in tendon, perhaps even bone, had given way.

  Americ-Ana began to limp, gasping.

  “Poppa! Poppa! Where are you? Please, talk to me!”

  The voice echoed, then splintered into the emptiness.

  Farther ahead, though, a faint light flickered. Small at first, then growing as she pushed on, stumbling, dragging her ruined body forward. And with the light came another sound: the distant murmur of a crowd, a sea of voices rising like a wave.

  Americ-Ana threw herself toward the glare. When she finally crossed the threshold, the burst of brightness blinded her. She shut her eyes, lifted her hands to shield her face. Slowly, her vision adjusted.

  Then came the scream. Loud, sharp, desperate, ripping through the entire Coliseum.

  “WAIT! MY MOMMY IS COMING! MY MOMMY IS COMING!”

  Americ-Ana looked again, more carefully. Poppandacorn was sprawled on the floor, wires and screws exposed, drenched in water and smeared with Poseidon 4.0’s blood. The little plush robot screamed with the last sparks of strength his circuits still held, and he pointed upward as if that was the only thing that mattered.

  She lifted her gaze. Hovering over the Coliseum, a large digital clock floated there, red numbers burning in the air. It wasn’t moving. Three seconds. Three seconds frozen, like a heart about to fail.

  Americ-Ana took one step, then another, and only then did she realize where she was.

  The center of the Solomon Coliseum unfolded around her, no longer drowned in the corridor’s gloom, but lit by a brightness that tore through the dark. The sound followed right after: a restless murmur, millions of people whispering, commenting, reacting all at once.

  As she limped toward Poppandacorn, still catching his broken screams, Americ-Ana lifted her face and nearly lost her breath.

  On the immense LED screen that covered the entire upper ring of the Solomon Coliseum, she saw herself in close-up. Wide eyes, terrified, soaked in blood. Hair stuck to her skin. Unsteady breathing. All of THE-IMPERIUM watched her image in a silence that seemed to pulse.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to anchor herself in Poppandacorn’s cries, which now faltered like a radio running out of battery.

  “WAIT! MY MOMMY IS COMING! MY MOMMY IS COMING! WAIT!”

  Americ-Ana finally reached the little robot and dropped to her knees beside him.

  “Poppa, I’m here,” she said, stroking his metallic face, slick with water and blood.

  “Mommy! Look! We did it! We did it!” Poppandacorn kept insisting, forcing a smile through shattered circuits that crackled in tiny pops. He still pointed upward, trembling between one spark and the next.

  Americ-Ana followed his gesture. The clock still read three seconds. Three seconds that never moved forward.

  A buzz sliced through the air. High, fast. Something was coming. Still reeling from Poseidon 4.0’s brutal attack, Americ-Ana moved on instinct: she threw herself over Poppandacorn, shielding him, becoming the kind of barrier the world would never choose to be.

  “Mommy! Don’t worry! The sensors I still have online haven’t detected any danger.”

  Americ-Ana rose slowly, confused, trying to find answers in the small robot’s disfigured, flickering face. The Coliseum seemed to hold its breath with her.

  That was when she saw a drone approaching. Then another, then another. In a matter of seconds, dozens hovered around Americ-Ana and Poppandacorn, like a metallic swarm breathing in unison.

  A voice emerged from the drones’ loudspeakers, firm and procedural.

  “Fac Foedus, Americ-Ana. We are the Solomon Coliseum’s security and containment team. We need to assess the severity of your injuries so we can provide immediate care.”

  One of the drones moved in until it hovered directly in front of her. From within its mechanisms, a small robotic hand extended, ready to touch her.

  “No need. I’m fine. Please, help Poppandacorn, he needs medical attention.”

  The voice persisted, unruffled.

  “First we must prioritize you, the initiate. Then we will render aid to your Poppandacorn. Look, you are suffering a severe hemorrhage. There is blood all over your body.”

  Americ-Ana pulled away from the metallic touch.

  “No. I told you I’m fine. That blood isn’t mine. Now help my Poppandacorn, quickly!”

  She raised her voice, but all the drones stopped at the exact same time. An electronic silence settled over the air. It was as if something had entered their detection field. The hovering formation parted, each unit repositioning with millimetric precision.

  Americ-Ana understood why seconds later.

  President CEO Magnum was approaching.

  Instinct ran over any reasoning. Americ-Ana immediately threw herself in front of Poppandacorn, shielding the little robot still broken on the floor. The moment she completed the gesture, she felt the embarrassed heat of her own attitude. It was absurd to place herself like that before the President, and yet it was impossible for her to do otherwise. Her body moved before her consciousness.

  CEO Magnum advanced with slow steps. His breathing was heavy, marked by the constant effort of walking while carrying his wife, in a vegetative state, coupled to his own torso. The sound of the machines keeping her alive, if one could even call it life, echoed with an almost organic rhythm, an uncertain pulse between flesh and technology. As he drew closer, Americ-Ana also noticed the smell that emanated from him, a strange mixture of hospital and roses.

  The President stopped in front of her and said:

  “Fac Foedus, initiate Americ-Ana Delsilva. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  Americ-Ana cleared her throat, still half-choked, and said:

  “Fac Foedus, Mr. President. Thank you very much, but I must say the pleasure is entirely mine.”

  When she glanced to the side, she saw Poppandacorn trying to gather the strength to bow. His small metallic body trembled, sparks ran along the exposed wires, but he still fought to maintain etiquette.

  “Fac Foedus, Your Excellency Mr. President CEO Magnum. I am Poppandacorn, belonging to the user Americ-Ana Delsilva, my Mommy, and I place myself entirely at your disposal.”

  CEO Magnum did not even look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on Americ-Ana, as if Poppandacorn were only part of the scenery. When he spoke, his voice came out tense and blunt.

  “What happened to you? Why are you covered in blood? Where have you been? Are you alright?”

  Americ-Ana cleared her throat again, searching for steadiness.

  “Well, Mr. President, I was chosen as one of the LEVITES this year. While I was collecting the Seractcube, Mulafossur’s invisible bridge simply vanished, and the Jump Chronos Station portal vanished with it. I was trapped there, and then one of that place’s guardians, Poseidon 4.0, attacked me. But thanks to my Poppandacorn I was saved, and here I am.”

  CEO Magnum seemed to reflect for a few seconds, his expression rigid, his face partially lit by the Coliseum’s giant screens. He was about to speak when one of the nearby drones drifted closer with a short beep.

  “Excuse me, Mr. President. Please forgive me, but it’s important that you see this.”

  The drone projected a small holographic screen. Frenzied graphs, luminous pulses, thermal maps of bodies inside the Solomon Coliseum. Each point represented a citizen of THE-IMPERIUM. Every point was red.

  “As you can see, Mr. President, the stress levels, hormones, blood pressure, and respiration of the millions of THE-IMPERIUM citizens present in the Solomon Coliseum are rising dramatically. Measures will be necessary to ensure nothing unforeseen occurs.”

  CEO Magnum scanned the data with the speed of someone who already knows the situation is critical. Then he turned back to Americ-Ana.

  “Initiate Americ-Ana Delsilva, tell me, are you in any condition to participate in LEVEL ONE?”

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. The words hit her with the weight of a steel chain. In that instant, she understood the scale of the problem. Only then did it strike her, like a snap, that she had lost the Seractcube. The dish she was supposed to offer the demon had sunk into the ocean at the very moment she fought to survive Poseidon 4.0’s attack.

  Americ-Ana thought for a moment. There was no way out. Without the Seractcube, she had no dish to offer. No pact to propose. The only option was to withdraw.

  She gathered what strength she had and said to the President:

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but while trying to escape, while trying to stay alive, I ended up losing my Seractcube with my dish inside it. I don’t see any option other than withdrawing.”

  CEO Magnum lifted his face and flicked a quick glance toward the stands. The crowd was growing more restless by the second, and he feared the Coliseum was nearing the edge of what could be controlled.

  “So be it. We are already behind schedule, and the citizens of THE-IMPERIUM are tired of waiting. We must proceed with LEVEL ONE. If that’s the case, initiate Americ-Ana Delsilva, you have no choice but to wait until next year to attempt to propose a pact to a demon.”

  Americ-Ana lowered her gaze, feeling the weight of defeat. But before she could react, she heard Poppandacorn’s trembling voice.

  “Excuse me, Your Excellency Mr. President CEO Magnum, but I must inform you that my Mommy will not withdraw. She will present a dish to a demon and propose a pact right now.”

  Americ-Ana turned, utterly incredulous.

  “Poppa, no. What are you doing?”

  Poppandacorn, even broken, gathered himself and straightened up. His gears hissed. Sparks slipped from loose wires. But he held his ground.

  “Mommy, stay calm. We’ll find a way, look.”

  He opened the compartment in his belly. The small internal display flickered, on the verge of warping, but it still showed a list of objects and kitchen items he had stored. Tiny icons fluttered as if the system were about to blink out.

  “Look, Mommy. While I was shooting the evil, ugly monster with foods, drinks, and objects, there were some things I didn’t use. See, there are some foods left to make something, ingredients still intact inside Poppa’s little belly.”

  Americ-Ana stepped closer, her heart keeping time with the crowd’s frantic rhythm. When she read the list on the screen, she felt a blend of hope and despair.

  “Poppa, are you sure we can actually do anything with this?”

  Poppandacorn gave a fragile smile, little sparks leaking from the metallic corners of his mouth. He lifted his tiny hand and gave a thumbs-up with his little finger, as if that gesture could cancel the chaos around them.

  “Absolute certainty, Mommy. We’re going to repeat the success you, my beloved Mommy, achieved inside the Geburah Pyramid, in the QUEEN ORION bunker. Remember, Mommy? At the POOPGHENE STORE you went viral.”

  The memory almost brought a smile to Americ-Ana’s face, but CEO Magnum cut in at the same instant.

  “Initiate, please respond now or withdraw. Will you participate in LEVEL ONE?”

  Americ-Ana met the President’s gaze. She swallowed hard, her entire body heavy, as though it were still trapped at the bottom of the ocean. Then she looked at Poppandacorn. He smiled despite the sparks, waving with a tiny hand that could barely stay attached, determined, almost radiant in the middle of all that chaos.

  “I’m in doubt, Mr. President,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

  The President glanced at the graphs projected by the drone, then looked back at her.

  “Look, between presenting nothing and presenting something, even if it goes wrong and isn’t as elaborate as the other initiates’, I suggest you at least try. What I mean is, between doing nothing and doing something that may fall short, it’s better to do. Otherwise, you’ll never know what result you might have achieved.”

  Americ-Ana took a deep breath. She looked back at Poppandacorn, who was smiling even wider now, screws slipping out through his ears.

  “Alright. I’ll participate in LEVEL ONE.”

  Poppandacorn tried to celebrate.

  “HURRAY!”

  But the movement was too much. His arm dropped to the floor with a small, dry snap.

  CEO Magnum turned at once, moving toward the center of the altar and gesturing orders to the drones. The entire structure of the Coliseum began to reorganize under his command, preparing the ritual.

  As the drones drifted away, Poppandacorn called to one of them.

  “Hey, buddy. Can you help with some instant emergency repairs?”

  The drone spun on its axis and locked onto the little plush robot. Before it could answer, Poppandacorn grabbed the drone with the tiny hand he still had and opened his own abdominal compartment. In quick movements, he began yanking wires, cables, and boards. Then he opened the drone’s body and started stripping out parts, connecting them into himself with surgical precision.

  Sparks climbed into the air. The drone beeped. Poppandacorn worked like someone fighting for his life.

  Almost two minutes later, he was on his feet. Crooked, patched, far from good as new, but functional. Much more functional than when he had arrived at the Coliseum.

  Then, as if none of it were extraordinary, the little robotic panda extended his new hand, loose, but firm enough to hold Americ-Ana’s.

  She took his hand.

  And together they walked toward the altar, where CEO Magnum was already waiting for them at the center, the entire Coliseum pulsing around them, poised on the edge of a ritual that would decide her fate.

  CEO Magnum gave the drones his final hand-signals, and the millions inside the Coliseum erupted into applause. He positioned himself at one corner of the altar, watching as the ritual kitchen was restored.

  Little by little, the applause dissolved. An impossible silence took shape, so absolute that, even among millions of THE-IMPERIUM citizens, you could have heard a pin hit the floor. In that sonic void, only two sounds remained: Americ-Ana’s heavy, gasping, nearly broken breathing, and the metallic churn of Poppandacorn’s internal gears with each hesitant step.

  With effort, Americ-Ana lifted Poppandacorn into her arms and raised him up to the altar. The moment the little robot touched the ritual surface, he turned to her and stretched out both tiny arms, trying to help her climb. Not wanting to dismiss his goodwill, Americ-Ana leaned on Poppandacorn’s little arms... and that was when everything gave way.

  Both pieces snapped loose at once. Poppandacorn tipped backward to one side, Americ-Ana fell to the other, clutching the two disconnected parts in her hands.

  Before she even understood what was happening, a wave of laughter began to form, swelling like a storm. Americ-Ana lifted her eyes. On the LED screen that covered the entire Coliseum, there it was: her image sprawled on one side with the loose little arms, and, on the other, Poppandacorn rolling on the floor, trying to get up like a turtle flipped onto its back, spinning without coordination.

  The millions present pointed at the screen and laughed without stopping. The sound was deafening, an avalanche of laughter pouring down the Coliseum’s walls.

  Then a voice cut through it all:

  “Initiate. Please.”

  Americ-Ana flinched. She turned and found CEO Magnum staring at her, his expression completely shut, without a trace of emotion. She got up as fast as she could, climbed onto the altar, set Poppandacorn upright, and snapped both little arms back into place.

  “Thank you, Mommy!”

  Americ-Ana froze. She stood motionless, not knowing what move to make, what direction to take. Her dish was at the bottom of the ocean in Mulafossur. Poppandacorn was broken. And inside his small compartment, only a few intact ingredients remained.

  Americ-Ana looked at Poppandacorn, then at her own image projected on the LED screen, then she turned in a full 360-degree sweep of the entire Coliseum. She simply didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to begin.

  Then, little by little, scattered boos began to rise from the stands.

  “Initiate. Hurry.”

  Americ-Ana heard it, it was CEO Magnum, still wearing that closed, severe expression.

  Then she felt Poppandacorn nudge her leg.

  “Mommy! What if we start by taking a look at the ingredients I still have in my little belly that are intact and usable?”

  Americ-Ana nodded.

  “Great idea, Poppa. Let’s do that. Show me what you have, please.”

  Poppandacorn opened the compartment in his belly, and a small screen display appeared, showing tiny icons of the foods he had stored inside.

  Americ-Ana crouched down to the little robotic panda’s height, narrowed her eyes, and began to slide her finger across the screen.

  As she scrolled, she murmured under her breath what she was reading, mostly to herself.

  “Milk... oil... eggs... grated cheese...”

  Suddenly, Americ-Ana started biting her lower lip, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Poppandacorn’s eyes.

  “Mommy... stay calm. It’s going to be alright.”

  Americ-Ana looked into the little panda’s eyes.

  “Poppa, I honestly don’t know what to do. All I want to do, actually, is run out of here, take a shower first, and then hide in a hole forever.”

  Americ-Ana’s eyes began to fill with tears.

  “Stay calm, Mommy. We’ll do only what’s necessary. It’s better to do something than to do nothing,” Poppandacorn said.

  Then Poppandacorn lifted his tiny hand to Americ-Ana’s face, wiping away the tears that kept spilling.

  “Look, Mommy, why don’t you try to do something like you did back in the Geburah Pyramid? Make something that comes from here, Mommy,” Poppandacorn said, placing his little hand over Americ-Ana’s heart.

  Americ-Ana took a deep breath.

  “Okay, Poppa... let’s do this.”

  She began sliding her finger across the small screen on Poppandacorn’s chest, searching for a spark of direction.

  “I know, Poppa. Let’s try something I truly know how to make. Even if it doesn’t come out perfect, at least I’ll have done it.”

  Poppandacorn raised a robotic thumbs-up, the LED in his hand blinking with enthusiasm.

  “That’s what I’m talking about, Mommy! Let’s go!”

  Americ-Ana swiped across the screen a few more times, reorganizing her thoughts, her memories, her courage.

  “Alright, Poppa... here’s the thing. We’re going to make a recipe that sustained my grandparents for years and years. A recipe that, even in the hardest times, never let them perish. It was precisely in the moments of greatest storm that it would appear... because it was the one thing that helped them cross through their troubles.” She inhaled, steady. “We’re going to make cheese bread, which in the original is called p?o de queijo.”

  “Perfect, Mommy! Retrieving the original p?o de queijo recipe.”

  Poppandacorn’s eyes blinked and shifted into the shape of two LED magnifying glasses. Right after, a glow traveled through his belly until, on the abdominal display, the recipe began to appear, line by line.

  BRAZILIAN CHEESE BREAD (P?O DE QUEIJO) – TRADITIONAL RECIPE

  Ingredients

  

  
• 4 cups + 3 tablespoons tapioca starch


  
• 1 cup + 2 teaspoons whole milk


  
• ? cup + 1 teaspoon water


  
• ? cup + 1 teaspoon neutral oil (such as canola or vegetable oil)


  
• 1 large egg


  
• 1 teaspoon salt


  
• 2 cups grated firm cheese (approximately 7 oz)


  

  Instructions

  

  
1. Preheat the oven to 400°F.


  
2. In a small saucepan, heat the milk, water, and oil until hot, but not boiling.


  
3. Place the tapioca starch in a large bowl. Pour the hot liquid over it and mix well to scald the starch.


  
4. Allow the mixture to cool slightly. Add the egg and mix until incorporated.


  
5. Add the salt and the grated cheese. Mix until the dough becomes smooth and slightly sticky.


  
6. Shape the dough into small balls and place them on a baking sheet.


  
7. Bake for 20–25 minutes, or until lightly golden on the bottom.


  

  Americ-Ana began to read the recipe.

  “Perfect, Poppa. That’s it. That’s the original recipe. Now tell me, Poppa... do you have all the ingredients we need?”

  Poppandacorn’s eyes showed the tiny LED magnifying glasses again, blinking like someone consulting internal files.

  “Excellent news, Mommy! Poppa has every ingredient for ‘p?o de queijo’ stored in Poppa’s belly compartment.”

  One by one, Poppandacorn opened his abdominal compartment. With each metallic click, an ingredient emerged, landing on the counter as if it were part of a ritual trick.

  But the crowd began to shift. Murmurs were born, small boos echoed, moving from section to section like restless wind.

  “Initiate, you need to hurry,” CEO Magnum warned, without raising his voice.

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard.

  “Of course, Mr. President. We’re going as fast as we can.”

  Soon, all the ingredients were gathered on the marble counter. Americ-Ana began to mix, working with careful haste. Poppandacorn climbed onto an improvised chair, braced his tiny hands on the sides, and started guiding the process, pointing out the next item with the pride of a mechanical sous-chef.

  When the dough finally turned smooth and uniform, Americ-Ana took it between her hands and prepared to shape small balls. But Poppandacorn stopped her with his serious little voice.

  “Easy, Mommy. Before you shape the dough, you need to prick your little finger so your blood can fall into the food. Only then will the selected demon be able to taste the little dish.”

  Americ-Ana took the ceremonial blade, raised it before CEO Magnum in a gesture of respect, and made a precise cut on her finger. Drops of blood fell onto the dough, staining it like small chaotic rubies.

  Soon, a message echoed through the entire Coliseum, clear, deep, unquestionable:

  “BLOOD SPILL VALIDATED.”

  Americ-Ana stirred the dough once more so the blood would blend completely. Then, with her hands, she shaped each small sphere of p?o de queijo. Almost a minute later, everything was ready.

  “Beautiful work, Mommy! Now we can relax,” Poppandacorn said.

  Americ-Ana felt her shoulders finally drop, as if releasing an invisible weight. She took a deep breath.

  “You’re right, Poppa. We did what we could. We participated in LEVEL ONE. That’s all that matters.”

  She opened the ceremonial oven and slid the tray inside. The timer lit up immediately, reading sixty seconds. Flames rose, and the p?o de queijo began to bake under that ritual fire.

  While she waited, Americ-Ana let her body truly relax for the first time. Her breathing slowed, became more human. That was when she felt something pressing into her skin from inside her clothes, a small but sharp discomfort, as if until then she’d been anesthetized by adrenaline.

  When she pulled the fabric aside to see, she found the object. It had left a purple, throbbing bruise, already beginning to draw blood.

  “What is it, Mommy? Are you okay?” Poppandacorn asked, noticing something had changed in her face.

  Americ-Ana peeled the object away from her skin. The mark was clear and pulsing.

  “Look, Poppa... it’s the little tube that produces the juice of any tropical fruit. Nioh Nemmesis gave it to me during Orientation, in Mulafossur.”

  Before she could finish the thought, the ceremonial oven released a low signal. The p?o de queijo was ready.

  Americ-Ana stared at the small tube for a few seconds. The idea sparked like a flare, lighting up solutions inside her.

  “I think I know what I’m going to do,” she murmured aloud, more to herself than to the world.

  She stepped up to the oven, took out the “P?o de Queijo”, and placed it on a ritual plate. Then she squeezed the tube, scanned its QR codes, and a goblet of “A?aí” juice materialized before her, glowing with a deep, regal purple.

  Poppandacorn, sensing Americ-Ana’s lightning ingenuity, hurried to say:

  “Perfect combination to offer a demon in a pact, Mommy. ‘P?o de Queijo’ with ‘A?aí’ juice.”

  Americ-Ana smiled at Poppandacorn. Then she lifted her eyes to the Coliseum’s immense LED screen, where her dish appeared in highlight, bathed in an almost solemn ceremonial glow. Next, she looked at President CEO Magnum and nodded.

  CEO Magnum made a few precise gestures in the air. The urn began to materialize, rising like a stitch of luminous mist taking shape before millions of eyes.

  Letter by letter, the name appeared, as if it were being carved into the plane of the invisible:

  “BAAL”

  The stands stirred at once. Unease ran through the rows like an electric current. Some applauded, others whistled, others shouted distorted sounds, not exactly words, more like primal impulses of fear and euphoria.

  Then the center of the altar trembled.

  It was not an ordinary tremor. It was a slow, heavy movement, so deep that the sensation did not come from the floor, but from the air itself, as if reality had breathed wrong for an instant. Americ-Ana took two steps back without thinking. She scooped Poppandacorn into her arms and held him to her chest, trying to master the surge of adrenaline.

  The floor split open.

  And BAAL rose.

  The Coliseum’s temperature seemed to drop in a single second. Americ-Ana felt every strand of hair lift, as if her body recognized the creature before her mind could understand it. A shiver ran along her spine with such precision that she almost let a scream slip out.

  The gigantic spider lifted itself from the abyss, at least three meters tall. Its legs were long and covered in dark hair, so dense it seemed to drink in light. But that was not what made terror lodge itself in Americ-Ana’s throat.

  It was the heads.

  The one in the center was a man with skin too cold, too pale, crowned in ancient gold set with stones that pulsed like silent hearts. His eyes did not blink. They looked dull, like the eyes of someone who should never be allowed to look upon anything living.

  To the left, the head of a cat watched everything with thin pupils, perfectly still. It seemed to see things beyond human reach, fixing on empty points of the Coliseum where there was nothing.

  To the right, the head of a toad swelled and deflated slowly, releasing a wet, almost rhythmic sound, as if the air around them were being drawn into another dimension.

  The three faces did not move at the same time. First, the human head began to turn, slowly, very slowly, until it completed an entire circle, an impossible movement, unnatural, lethal in its subtlety. The cat’s head and the toad’s head repeated the gesture right after, as if they were imitating a forbidden ritual.

  Their gazes settled on CEO Magnum. Then on Americ-Ana. And finally on Poppandacorn.

  The entire Coliseum stopped breathing.

  Americ-Ana held Poppandacorn so tightly her fingers trembled. That was when she felt the little robot trying to wriggle free.

  “Poppa, what are you doing?”

  Poppandacorn slipped from her arms and hopped down to the floor with programmed delicacy. And before BAAL, he bowed. It wasn’t a mechanical gesture. It was an ancient one, as if his code recognized the presence of that Monarch of the Ars Goetia.

  Not knowing what else to do, feeling millions of eyes fixed on her, Americ-Ana mirrored Poppandacorn and bowed before BAAL. Her legs nearly gave out, but she leaned into the reverence, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was echoing through the entire Coliseum.

  Americ-Ana heard the demon snort. The sound didn’t seem to come from a throat, but from within the creature’s legs, as if the air were being compressed by something too alive. The enormous arachnid body angled forward and the gigantic hairy legs began to move, one at a time, scraping the floor with a wet, dragging sound that echoed across the whole Coliseum.

  BAAL stopped in front of her.

  Americ-Ana lifted her eyes slowly, fighting the instinct to keep them shut. She stared at the human head, locking onto the demon’s unblinking eyes, and took a few steps back, trembling. She made a gesture presenting the plate with the “P?o de Queijo” and the goblet of “A?aí.”

  But terror had already taken her. Every limb shook as if her bones were vibrating from the inside. Sensing her absolute stress levels through his newly repaired sensors, Poppandacorn touched her hand with his plush paw and began to stroke it, trying to stabilize his Mommy’s heart rate.

  BAAL leaned over the plate.

  The human head inhaled the smoke rising in small waves, drinking in the warm scent of melting cheese. The other two heads, the cat and the toad, reacted together. Their pupils widened, the skin around their eyes seemed to stretch, and soon both began to salivate, thick, slow strands spilling down.

  Then the human mouth opened.

  The forked tongue slid out, a living blade, serpentine, rippling in the air with movements too precise to be natural. It touched down on the plate’s cold porcelain and crawled toward the “P?o de Queijo.” The tongue coiled around the food, circling it in a gesture that felt almost ritual, and guided it into the mouth.

  The silence in the Coliseum turned absolute.

  BAAL closed his eyes and chewed slowly, tasting every fiber of the dough. The cat’s head chewed along, as if sampling another layer of the same flavor. The toad’s head did the same, swelling and deflating its throat in a frightening rhythm.

  A fresh wave of tension ran through Americ-Ana. She could see everything, even the muscles of those faces moving in impossible ways.

  The forked tongue emerged again.

  This time, it crawled toward the crystal goblet. The tongue reached the rim, touched the “A?aí,” and then...

  It happened.

  A beam of fire flared inside the tongue, at first like a tiny luminous crack. In seconds, the fissure split wide, spilling flames along the entire length of the organ.

  The heat rose.

  The human head’s eyes began to water. But it wasn’t water. It was lava. Incandescent lava, thick, bright, streaming from the eyes like tears of molten metal. Americ-Ana recoiled at the sight, gripping Poppandacorn’s little paw so hard her joints ached.

  The same process began in the other two heads. The cat wept lava from the corners of its eyes, and the toad let a searing glow pour from its swollen mouth, as if it were breathing a volcanic sigh.

  Darkness and light braided together. Within seconds, BAAL’s entire body was covered in incandescent trails, cracking the demon’s skin as if he were about to split in half. The radiance intensified, consumed the legs, the carapace, the faces, until BAAL looked like a colossus made of fire and living magma.

  Americ-Ana narrowed her eyes. The heat wasn’t coming only from the demon. It filled the air around her, searing her skin, forcing tears from her eyes. She raised an arm to shield her vision, but the heat only climbed, climbing, climbing...

  Americ-Ana screamed, her voice catching with pure panic:

  “Poppa! We need to get out of here, I think it’s going to explode!”

  But then Poppandacorn answered:

  “No, Mommy. Look!”

  Americ-Ana tried to look again at the demon, but the glare was so intense it felt like it was drilling into her eyes. Still, she lifted her hand and forced her sight through her fingers. The light pouring off BAAL was unbearable, white, feverish, devouring.

  From that living flame BAAL’s body had become, two gigantic wings of gleaming fire unfurled. The wings opened slowly, as if tearing the air, rising toward the Coliseum’s heights. The demon’s body began to change inside that violent luminosity. A new form took shape, a silhouette carved directly out of light, as if molded by invisible hands.

  Then everything vanished.

  The light dissipated all at once, as if someone had yanked the world’s cord from the socket.

  For a brief second, there was absolute silence.

  And right after, sound detonated.

  An avalanche of screams and applause flooded the Solomon Coliseum. It didn’t feel like a human audience, but the roar of a hundred thousand waterfalls crashing at once, a sound so colossal it made Americ-Ana curl down to the floor. She pulled Poppandacorn to her on pure reflex, trying to shield him from that collective thunder.

  The noise kept going, swelling, gathering force with every heartbeat.

  Then something touched Americ-Ana’s head.

  She lifted her eyes.

  A giant angel stood before her. A figure of solid light, immense, with wings that seemed made of wind and fire at the same time. The voice that came from him vibrated through the entire structure of the Coliseum.

  “Generation of Adam, I Am That I Am. I am Vehuiah. The Guardian Angel who contains the powers of my fallen brother, BAAL.”

  His presence was so immense it seemed to displace the air between the pillars.

  “The dweller of darkness has gladly accepted your proposal of a pact, and I am here to mediate it. My question is:”

  The entire Coliseum fell silent again.

  “Are you absolutely certain to deny the Light and covenant with the Darkness?”

  Vehuiah fixed his gaze on Americ-Ana. It did not judge, but it weighed. It weighed as if measuring centuries, bloodlines, destinies. Americ-Ana could not move a muscle. She was paralyzed, completely overtaken by shock, by a sensation as ancient as creation itself.

  Then she felt a nudge against her ribs.

  Poppandacorn.

  He said:

  “Mommy, you have to say yes. YES!”

  Americ-Ana blinked several times. She tried to reorder her thoughts, her sensations, her very existence that had been knocked off its axis. She opened her mouth, but her voice took a moment to come.

  “Y... y... y... YES!” she answered, stammering, her soul trembling from the inside.

  Vehuiah lifted his hands to the heavens. His wings opened in a monumental arc.

  “So be it.”

  His voice seized the Coliseum like a wall of sound.

  “But Thou, Yahweh, art the shield that protects me, my glory, and the One who lifts my head. Tu autem Domine clipeus circa me gloria mea et exaltans caput meum.”

  “Amen.”

  Then, once again, his body began to transform. What had been angel began to acquire scales, scales that moved like those of a living serpent, reflecting light in hypnotic patterns. The silhouette narrowed, the muscles took on masculine contours, and the entire form seemed to reorganize as if someone were rewriting the creature from the ground up.

  In place of a face, a great translucent sphere appeared.

  The sphere pulsed, breathed, shone from the inside out. Americ-Ana, still on her knees, lifted her eyes... and saw herself reflected there. Her face projected into the demon’s crystalline void. It felt like staring into a mirror placed at the end of the world.

  The avalanche of screams returned.

  Sound seized the Coliseum with violence. The human roar, mixed with the explosive illumination, struck through Americ-Ana like a blow. She curled in on herself again, pulling Poppandacorn to her chest in an instinctive attempt at protection.

  Crushed under Mommy’s desperate grip, Poppandacorn managed to wriggle free and pointed upward.

  “Mommy! Look! You did it! You did it!”

  Americ-Ana lifted her face, still dazed. She followed the direction of Poppandacorn’s tiny hand up to the gigantic LED screen that dominated the Solomon Coliseum.

  There, her image blazed. Americ-Ana’s face filled the entire screen, ringed by explosions of light, fireworks, colors dancing like beams of technological magic. And beneath her face, in monumental letters:

  “AMERIC-ANA WINS! LEVEL TWO UNLOCKED.”

  She looked around.

  The entire Coliseum was in ecstasy. People jumped, screamed, cried, some clung to each other. It felt like the summit of centuries of waiting, as if that moment were a milestone in THE-IMPERIUM’s history.

  Americ-Ana could barely breathe.

  That was when she heard someone call her.

  “My congratulations, initiate Americ-Ana Delsilva. You have advanced to LEVEL TWO. The next stage of the KING MatNat games begins for you now,” President CEO Magnum said, extending his hand.

  His handshake was firm, almost ritual.

  The Coliseum roared again.

  Americ-Ana felt the ground vibrating beneath her feet.

  And LEVEL TWO began in that exact second.

  ***

  TELEVISION BROADCAST | TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION

  Michael Grant: “Laura... I can’t believe what I’m narrating. The Solomon Coliseum is erupting! The stands look like they’re about to tear themselves off the ground! ‘AMERIC-ANA WINS! LEVEL TWO UNLOCKED.’ is blazing across the screen in letters of fire, and nobody can stay seated!”

  Laura Bennett: “Michael, I... I’m in shock. I’m literally crying in the broadcast booth. THE-IMPERIUM just witnessed something that hasn’t happened since the last century. Since the time of Director Popess Rock herself, the greatest KING MatNat player of all time, nobody cleared LEVEL ONE on the first attempt!”

  Michael Grant: “Let’s repeat this slowly, THE-IMPERIUM, so it can enter History: a scholarship student from the common world, chosen by Novaxtraai, a first-year at Equal One Zero Academy, a LEVITE of this cycle... has just done what only Popess Rock managed in the twentieth century. Americ-Ana Delsilva has just crossed LEVEL ONE on her very first try!”

  Laura Bennett: “And it wasn’t with an imperial banquet, it wasn’t with medallions, nor with the classic cuts of the traditional families. It was with ‘p?o de queijo’ and ‘a?aí’ juice. Food of memory, of survival. Michael, she placed the story of her own family on the table of a Monarch of the Ars Goetia... and BAAL ACCEPTED!”

  Michael Grant: “BAAL, Laura. One of the great Monarchs of the Ars Goetia, manifested in full three-headed form before millions of citizens, and the response wasn’t rejection, it wasn’t vomit, it wasn’t demonic bile. The response was an accepted pact, mediated by VEHUIAH, the Guardian Angel who contains the powers of BAAL himself. This isn’t just ritual, this is era-defining liturgy!”

  Laura Bennett: “And all of it in front of a girl drenched in creature blood, limping, trembling, with a patched-together Poppandacorn in her arms! Michael, she walked in here late, covered in blood, without a Seractcube, without a dish, mocked on a worldwide feed because she fell on the altar holding Poppandacorn’s own arms in her hands... and now her face has just swallowed the screen in fireworks. This is the most improbable turnaround of the century!”

  Michael Grant: “Look at the crowd, Laura! There are Patrons crying, Equal One Zero students hugging strangers, veterans who’ve already failed LEVEL ONE three times with their hands on their heads, in total existential despair. Because what Americ-Ana just did shakes the entire KING MatNat board.”

  Laura Bennett: “It’s the first time in the twenty-first century that a LEVEL ONE pact has been accepted live, at a season opener, with full transmission by TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION. And more: it was sealed right after Nioh Nemmesis’ ritual collapse, which almost destroyed the altar. We went from absolute chaos to a demon-assisted miracle in a matter of minutes.”

  Michael Grant: “And look at the contrast, THE-IMPERIUM: the great heirs served classic dishes, impeccable technique, ancient wines, noble cuts. All rejected with vomit and fire. The scholarship girl from the common world served bread, cheese, and a cup of ‘A?aí.’ The demon ignited, the angel descended, the pact was sealed, and the Coliseum’s system practically went mad trying to register the event.”

  Laura Bennett: “And I want to highlight something, Michael: Americ-Ana Delsilva did not accept the Light. She had the chance to step back, to refuse the pact, to hide inside comfortable morality. VEHUIAH asked, in front of everyone, whether she was absolutely certain to deny the Light and covenant with the Darkness. And she said ‘YES’. Stammering, trembling, but she said it. And that ‘YES’ is now carved into the bedrock of THE-IMPERIUM.”

  Michael Grant: “Look at the screen again, Laura! The replay of the moment the angelic body transmutes, the scales bloom, the translucent sphere takes the place of the face and her reflection appears inside the demon. That’s the kind of image that will open every documentary, every historical archive, every KING MatNat lecture for the next hundred years.”

  Laura Bennett: “And Poppandacorn, Michael. You can’t talk about this scene without mentioning little Poppandacorn. He is the first Poppandacorn on TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION record to actively interfere in a pact decision. He insisted, he pulled the recipe, he supplied the ingredients, he recalibrated the sensors, he calmed Mommy, and when the Angel asked the question, it was him who said, ‘Mommy, you have to say yes.’ Without Poppandacorn, this pact wouldn’t exist.”

  Michael Grant: “There are kids in the stands lifting their Poppandacorns into the air, crying, screaming his name. There are adults who never believed in Poppandacorn staring at their own device like it’s a sacred reliquary. THE-IMPERIUM is re-signifying a technological toy right before our eyes, Laura.”

  Laura Bennett: “Look at the graph on our auxiliary screen, Michael. The stress levels, adrenaline, neurological activity across the entire Solomon Coliseum population have spiked. Some peaks are comparable to catastrophe events. But this isn’t catastrophe. It’s ecstasy. An ecstasy flirting with collapse, and CEO Magnum knows it.”

  Michael Grant: “And for that very reason, THE-IMPERIUM, it’s important to say this: the President has already officially declared, through the Coliseum’s internal channels, that Americ-Ana Delsilva is APPROVED at LEVEL ONE, and that her LEVEL TWO begins today, still within this broadcast.”

  Laura Bennett: “Say that again, please, Michael, so no one thinks they dreamed it.”

  Michael Grant: “With the greatest pleasure, Laura. Attention, THE-IMPERIUM: Americ-Ana Delsilva, scholarship student at Equal One Zero Academy, from the common world, LEVITE of this cycle, has just been officially approved at LEVEL ONE of the KING MatNat games. And her LEVEL TWO will begin immediately after, following the commercial break.”

  Laura Bennett: “Later tonight, we’ll continue LEVEL ONE with the remaining initiates, and at the end, it’ll be the veterans’ turn to attempt their own pacts. But don’t be fooled: the season’s axis has already shifted. Everything now revolves around what happened here, on this altar, with ‘p?o de queijo’, ‘a?aí’, BAAL, VEHUIAH, and a blood-soaked girl who refused to quit.”

  Michael Grant: “Laura, I have to confess: as a commentator, I’m trying to keep my composure. As a citizen of THE-IMPERIUM, all I want is to leave this booth and scream with the Coliseum. We just watched a new chapter being written in the history of the KING MatNat games.”

  Laura Bennett: “Me too, Michael. If I could, I’d drop this microphone right now and run to the stands, but I have a duty to the people watching. THE-IMPERIUM, breathe. Drink water. Hug whoever is beside you. Because what comes next isn’t repetition, it’s continuation. Americ-Ana Delsilva goes straight into LEVEL TWO.”

  Michael Grant: “And with that image on the screen, ‘AMERIC-ANA WINS! LEVEL TWO UNLOCKED.’ blazing over the Solomon Coliseum in absolute ecstasy, we’re going to a break.”

  Laura Bennett: “TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION returns in moments with the start of Americ-Ana Delsilva’s LEVEL TWO. And after that, the full sequence of this cycle’s rituals: remaining initiates and veterans in pursuit of their own pacts.”

  Michael Grant: “Don’t take your eyes off the screen. The twenty-first century of the KING MatNat games truly began today.”

  Laura Bennett: “TRIPLE SEVEN DIARY TELEVISION now goes to commercial break. Fac Foedus, THE-IMPERIUM.”

  Michael Grant: “Fac Foedus.”