Chapter 156: The Hell Pact and the Holy Lord

Stan shouted for quite a while without receiving any reply. As he turned around, he suddenly noticed a book resting on his favorite chair.

"It's you, isn't it!" Stan walked up to the chair, fixed his gaze on the cover, and said with absolute certainty.

The surface of this book was crafted from an unknown material, resembling some sort of leather at first glance, and exuding a decaying odor.

As he stared at it for a prolonged period, intricate and complex patterns vaguely emerged upon the surface, while a faint scent of gunpowder drifted from the pages.

"It is me..."

That voice sounded once again. This time, Stan heard it crystal clear, but he realized that it was his own voice, yet the sound originated from deep within his own body.

This terrifying phenomenon failed to elicit even the slightest trace of vigilance from Stan. His body and mind were utterly captivated by the book, which represented both wealth and status in his eyes—in short, it contained everything he desired.

The aura of hell also began to waver and drift outward from Stan's body. He had already been assimilated by the laws of hell, and the faint red glow in his pupils was the ultimate embodiment of this change.

Finally, after standing frozen for a few minutes, Stan could no longer restrain himself and reached out his hand. When his palm brushed against the cover, a strange sensation blending freezing cold and scorching heat washed over him.

As his fingertips brushed across the edge of the book, hidden barcbs pierced his skin, and the clotting action of his platelets completely failed at that exact moment.

Gushing blood soaked through the entire book in the blink of an eye. Under the permeation of the blood, the characters spelling out "Hell Contract" slowly materialized on the cover, and the power sealing the entire tome was directly unlocked.

Disregarding the wound on his hand, Stan flipped open the cover. The moment he laid eyes on the contents within, his sanity completely collapsed.

This was a book originating from hell, inscribed with numerous methods for forging contracts with hellish creatures, along with some simple hell spells used to bind the contracted demons.

In a state of delirium, terrifying talons grew from Stan's right hand. Following the instructions on the first page, he tore open his clothes and carved an evil array directly into his own chest using his flesh and blood.

The moment the array was completed, Stan's entire body seemed to transform into the likeness of a demon, and the Hell Contract seamlessly fused into his body.

Feeling the surging power coursing through him, Stan burst into an uncontrolled, raucous laughter. He swung his arm forward with great force, but only managed to stir up a slight breeze; nothing happened at all.

*Why! Why is my innate ability gone?!*

Irritable and frustrated, Stan tried repeatedly. He had indeed contracted the power of the claw-fiend from the book, but it seemed he had only gained physical enhancements.

After exhausting the strength in his body, Stan's rationality returned slightly, prompting him to flip through the book once more.

In the latter half of the volume, Stan found the reason: the ambient energy and arrays on Earth repelled the entry of hellish energy. If one wished to attain vast power, they had only to open the sealed rifts. Only then could the various mystical forces from hell truly manifest.

In the current world, the seal regarding the hell rift that was easiest to break was located in Hong Kong, China. Someone had previously attempted to open the array there; although it had failed due to various reasons, it had nevertheless weakened the power of the seal.

"Heh heh... Hong Kong..." Saliva dripped from the corner of Stan's mouth, hitting the floor and corroding the ground, sending up wisps of pale smoke.

"I am coming... I am coming..." Stan continued to mutter to himself. His body shifted back to its original appearance—this was the simplest of hell magic, human disguise.

Meanwhile, in a towering skyscraper in downtown New York, a massively built man walked toward a room on the top floor, surrounded and escorted by countless people.

His entourage stopped outside the door and stepped back in unison. After retreating a certain distance, Wilson Fisk walked into the room alone.

On one wall of this room hung a strange sculpture. In appearance, it resembled a coiled dragon, except that twelve gaps were arranged in opposition along the dragon's body.

Right in the center of the sculpture was a majestic and imposing dragon head, its blazing red eyes standing out even more against the surrounding golden plating.

"Sheetan, we are in a partnership; stop sending me messages for no reason," Fisk said, standing before the sculpture. "You said the talisman sealing your power has appeared in Hong Kong. I've already sent people to look for it, and there will be news soon. Stop constantly nagging me!"

The eyes on the dragon head lit up. "Fisk, do you no longer wish to attain supernatural power? Do you no longer wish to clear your name?"

"So you still remember what I asked for," Fisk sneered. "Have I obtained supernatural power? As for clearing my name, you still refuse to tell me the locations of the seals for the other seven demons. Without that, how am I supposed to clear my name?!"

Ever since the mystical side made its presence known to the world, Fisk immediately realized that he needed to accelerate the pace of legitimizing himself. To achieve this goal, he had even spent a massive sum of money to get himself thrown into prison, only to spend another fortune to bail himself out.

With the help of a small army of lawyers, as long as Fisk committed no further crimes during his bail period, he could be considered half-cleansed on the surface in the United States.

Yet hidden dangers remained. The moment someone with far greater influence than him made a move, or if those mystical forces intervened, all his painstaking efforts would be wasted.

There was only one way to truly wash his record clean: to accomplish a deed so monumental that even the mystical side would no longer pursue his past misdeeds—for instance, the merit of preventing seven or eight demons from breaking their seals.

"No... aside from their locations, you have an even better choice," Sheetan said to Fisk in a raspy voice.

"What is it?" Fisk leaned on his cane, maintaining eye-to-eye level with the Sheetan mounted on the wall.

"I smell the scent of an old friend. Banish him, kill him, and you shall become a hero in the mouths of mortals," Sheetan continued.

Simultaneously, two beams of light shot forth from his eyes, projecting an image into the air.

Within it was none other than Stan, who had just left the villa. In the projection, Stan bore the visage of a demon, and his cruel, irritable emotions bled directly through the image.

"Mephisto and his minions. Trust me, dealing with him is the best choice," Sheetan added.

Fisk fell silent for a moment. He certainly recognized the name Mephisto—the Lord of Hell from mythology.

"Thank you for the reminder; I will go and try it out." Fisk turned and walked away, his tone devoid of even a shred of sincerity in his words of gratitude.

Sheetan did not mind. Once Fisk provoked Mephisto, he would realize just how insignificant his own power truly was.

When that time came, he would naturally scramble to find the talismans and come seeking his assistance.

The dynamic between the two would no longer be one where Fisk held a slight upper hand as he did now, but would instead be completely reversed.

As for whether Fisk might acquire the talismans and refuse to hand them over, Sheetan was not concerned. As long as the talismans did not fall into the hands of the Heavenly Court, everything else could be negotiated, everything...