What had happened on the day of the W.O.O.D Hint Tournament was still a tale whispered in every corner of the city, a rumour that clung to lips the way smoke clings to a charred hall. Simma's fame had tripled overnight, he had become a figure painted in both awe and mystery.

It was no longer only whispered that he had fought in the tournament; now it was known, almost sung, that while others ventured into the Soulnexers' lair, he had entered the dreaded domain of a demon, and survived while he was still yet to become an azren.

Eyes followed him wherever he went, as though trying to peel back the layers of his silence. And if that weren't enough, Delilah seemed to orbit him like a relentless moon, always nearby, always eager to pry from him the secret of what had truly happened in that abyssal lair.

But Simma had no words to give her, or anyone. He could not speak of it. Not now. Perhaps not ever. To think of it was to drag himself back into a blood-soaked nightmare, to relive his terror and his mistakes.

Especially about the Bloodbath.

Perhaps the Umbrax had been right. If people ever discovered that the slaughter was his fault, that the bloodbath was sparked by his hand, his name would not be praised, but spat upon.

The crowd would not care that he had also stemmed the tide of death; they would see only that he had caused it in the first place. And if he had never caused it, he would never have needed to sacrifice himself to contain it.

He didn't want to start reliving all his mistake right now, so he diverted his mind.

Tomorrow was Halloween, and on that day, the initiations would begin. For now, Simma lay sprawled across his bed in his usual clumsy fashion; torso slumped on the mattress, legs dangling toward the floor, fingers tapping absently against the frame. He stared at the ceiling as though he had developed a crush on it.

His mind lingered to and fro. He thought of the SOS but pushed the thought away. It always drove suspense into his soul, making him lack patience and unable to wait till the next day, which was Halloween, for it was then that they would be initiated into the SOS…. whatever that was.

Yet, despite all this weight, a smile tugged faintly at his lips. He could now summon his dragon without rage, and his weapon as well. Now Mr. Paws wouldn't have to feel so lonely, since he had his dragon to be with. He knew it was stupid to make a dragon and a Shade Walker be companions, but what other choice did he have?

Mr. Paws was what he nicknamed Ms. Shady's cub. Ms. Shady herself had not yet been given a proper burial. The thought left a pang in his heart, and he silently promised himself that her rest would not be delayed forever.

Sitting upright, Simma closed his eyes, reaching inward with practiced focus. His soul stirred. And when his lids snapped open again, the dragon was there, summoned before him.

Simma had also mastered the ability to summon his dragon with different sizes like small or big, but now it loomed at its natural size, the measure of his current rank. Well, that was its biggest size for now, until Simma gets to higher ranks.

The dragon's horned face lifted toward him, blue eyes burning like twin lanterns in a storm. It studied him, and in that gaze, Simma felt his own unease reflected. Then, the voice came; slow, deliberate, and ancient, as though each word had been weighed and forged before being spoken.

"Master… what troubles you? You do not seem well."

Simma's lips curved faintly. The last time this dragon spoke, its voice had been a roar of terror. Now, it was calm. Now, his beast was truly his again.

He had not named it. Not yet. Naming had never been his gift. Even in his past lives, he had been terrible at it. He remembered once calling it Havoc, back when he reincarnated, and lived as Davis Hunt

He had also named it one time Stone Face, because it had caused him to die in one of his other reincarnations.

But now, seeing what he went through in the demon's lair and seeing that he was the only one that had a dragon as an inner beast out of all the newly recruited Azren, he wanted to name him something very simple and special.

Simma did not noticed how he had been staring at his dragon, smiling. He had been lost in thoughts and had forgotten that he had summoned his dragon.

But his dragon voice broke the silence,

"Is it Sarah?" it asked, calmly.

The name jolted him. "Yes," Simma answered, reflexively, then froze. He looked at his dragon sharply, as if hearing the question clearly for the first time.

"No… hell no," he replied, taking back his former reply. "Why would you think that?"

The dragon shifted its serpentine body, coiling like a massive serpent before settling back. Its ancient eyes glimmered with mischief.

"I have seen the way you look at her."

Simma blinked. The words didn't pierce his ears so much as brush across them. He shook his head as if to scatter the thought.

"The way I… look at her? How… how do I look at her?" he stammered, his gestures betraying a guilt he did not admit.

The dragon's laugh rumbled like a low and cozy thunder.

"You do this thing with your eyes," it said, exaggerating the motion of its scaled lids, imitating him.

"Ughhh," Simma groaned. "You annoying b-brat… I don't do that… I have never done that with my eyes," he teased, as he spread his arms innocently.

But the dragon continued what it was doing with its eye's lids, mocking him further, enjoying itself. It always knew how to prod at Zelihuth's nerves… always… and at times their banter would boil into outright sparring.

They had this wacko relationship that even some people would hardly think that they were master and beast. It was as if they were just friends, so tight that the dragon got to his nerves teasingly every time until sparks flew.

Simma groaned yet again, slapping his palm against his face. cursing, "How did I end up with this annoying dragon?"

"You should see your face right now," he said to his dragon. And then it hit him, name he should give his dragon.

He turned and looked at it, as it was still making faces that Simma makes when he stares at Sarah (which Simma believes he doesn't).

"I think I have a name for you," Simma said.

The dragon looked at him with its big, scary face, which Simma had gotten used to, as it replied,

"If I am not mistaken, Master, this will be the ninety-eighth name you've given me. Or perhaps more. I've lost count."

Simma chuckled. "That's because you're always an annoying piece of ass."

The dragon raised a brow, grinning slyly,

"Well, would you blame me? I'm trying to be like my master," it retorted, sounding as annoying as always

"What!" Simma thundered, half laughing and half serious. He understood what the dragon was implying; that it learned how to be a piece of ass from him.

"So, you are trying to blame me for your assness?" Simma thundered.

As the dragon squinted aside. Well, it was totally faking to be sorry. Simma noticed, but now he was happy, and whenever they were happy, that's how they behaved.

Trust me, Simma has his serious days, and whenever he is serious, his dragon wouldn't mess with him.

Meanwhile his dragon went on.

"No, Master," his voice as slow as usual, and as ancient as Adam.

"I am to be blamed for my assy behaviour," he replied, pretending to bow its massive head.

"Good," Simma declared triumphantly. "Then your name is Goody."

The dragon blinked in mock horror; its mighty aura suddenly made ridiculous.

"Master has outdone himself. To call me… Goody?"

"Trust me," Simma said with a smirk, "I'm already thinking of changing it to Baddy."

He wouldn't, of course. His dragon was his constant, his laughter in darkness, his comfort when memories weighed him down. And right now, it had done exactly that.

Because beneath the jest, Simma was tired. The demon's lair still haunted his chest like a brand, the Umbrax's words echoing with cruel freshness, like bread pulled steaming from the oven. He was exhausted. Exhausted of this world.

He longed for eternal rest in the Realm of the Transmigrated. But that could not come. Not yet. Not until he ranked higher. Not until he redeemed himself. He wanted the cycle to end, wanted peace. But the curse he had laid upon himself still bound him. Until he fixed it, there would be no rest.

But for the meantime, he needed to meet Zolomon. He had some explanations to do, like lying about his ES. Maybe after Halloween, then they would have a thick chat.

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