The second the Demon of War took even a single step toward the figure, the world around us simply shut off.

  The darkness was absolute. Not the kind you get used to in a basement. I couldn't even see my own hands, and the space beyond a single step turned into an infinite nothingness.

  Then the whispers began.

  Voices poured in from all sides, seeping directly into my skull. At first, they were cautious, "poking" at my psyche, trying to find a single painful hook to figure out where to strike.

  — "Death... death... death..." a voice droned from the left.

  I stayed silent. The thought of death frightened me far less than the thought of running out of my candy stash.

  — "I will kill you... I will destroy everyone close to you..." a voice hissed from the right.

  Again, I didn't answer. "Close to me"? Let him try; I’d pay to see that show.

  — "You signify nothing compared to me!" a voice shrieked from somewhere near my feet. "You are dust! An empty space in history!"

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  I yawned. Just another manipulator playing at being a grand psychologist. His threats flew past me like annoying flies, unable to find a single anchor in my Void. For fear to work, there has to be something inside to grab onto.

  The darkness suddenly burst, fluttering away in black tatters.

  Light hit my eyes. The first thing I saw was Mira, swinging her massive hammer. With one short, devastating blow, she literally pulverized the Demon of Loneliness. His remains, turned into grey scraps, scattered across the entire village, settling on the rooftops.

  However, not everyone handled the whispers as easily as I did.

  The Demons of Poverty and War had evidently caught their "triggers." In a fit of madness, they had already managed to level a couple of nearby huts and were now happily pummeling each other.

  I teleported into the thick of it.

  The demoness had just grabbed Poverty by the belt, intending to use him as a projectile, and she hurled him toward me with all her might.

  I didn’t bother dodging. I simply caught the flying demon with both hands and, before he could realize what was happening, chucked him right back at War. Only twice as hard.

  They collided with a dull thud, tumbled over their heads, and went still.

  A minute later, both stood up, rubbing the back of their bruised heads and looking around gloomily.

  — "Why you little..." War hissed, popping a dislocated shoulder back into place.

  — "Scumbag... weakling..." Poverty echoed, spitting out dust.

  I never quite figured out who those compliments were intended for—me or the late Demon of Loneliness.