Dmitri lay sprawled out on a massive stone throne, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the lazily decorated room. His armor, once gleaming and polished in the days when he had to pretend to be the diligent warrior, was now tarnished and draped haphazardly over the armrests of the throne. The room around him was sparse, not out of simplicity but because he couldn't be bothered to fill it with anything more than what was absolutely necessary.
His head lolled to the side as his heavy eyelids drooped. The Sloth in him had always craved this—an end to the ceaseless charade. For years, he had been forced to work hard, to be seen as the embodiment of Diligence by the masses. He had to project the image of a tireless warrior who would do anything to ensure the safety and prosperity of Corintopia. It was exhausting—pretending to care, pretending to push himself when every fiber of his being screamed for him to stop.
Now, though, there was no need for pretense. No need to maintain that lie. He was free.
He stretched his legs out, yawning lazily as his eyes scanned the room. The shades of his soldiers—now twisted, slow-moving beings, draped in ragged armor—stood motionless around the chamber. Their sluggish movements mirrored their master's nature, barely doing anything unless explicitly ordered, and even then, they took their sweet time.
"Ahhh," Dmitri groaned, his voice thick with boredom. "This is the life. No more waking up at dawn to train. No more pretending to care about the duties of the 5th Ring. No more pretending to lead those idiots."
He scratched his unshaven chin, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He had always hated that about being Dmitri the Diligent, always having to be the model soldier, the perfect warrior. It was all an act, and now the mask had finally fallen.
"For years I had to show them how 'diligent' I was," he muttered, the smirk widening into a grin. "What a joke. They never suspected a thing. All I had to do was bark some orders and push some of them to do the hard work for me. What did they expect? That I actually wanted to lead them?"
His eyes fluttered closed again, the weight of nothingness settling comfortably on his body. He could feel the lethargy in his bones, like a warm blanket wrapped around his mind. There was nothing to worry about anymore—no responsibilities, no need for action. Everything around him moved at the same slow pace, just the way he liked it.
"I hate effort," he muttered, almost too lazily to be heard, his words slurred from the relaxation that consumed him. "Always did. Pretending to care, pretending to fight with everything I had... it was torture. But now, I can finally rest."
His mind drifted back to the early days, when the Core 7 had first been formed. How irritating it had been to maintain the charade. Even in those days, he had hated being around the others, with their ambition and their constant push for more power. They had all been so determined, so driven to make Corintopia into a thriving utopia.
Diligence had been a mask he wore with distaste. The mere thought of the effort it had taken to keep up appearances made him tired now. Forcing himself to train every day, to maintain the façade of the ever-dedicated warrior—it had been grueling, even more so than the battles he had fought. Those battles were nothing compared to the true battle of hiding his real nature.
And now, at last, the mask was gone.
"No more orders," Dmitri sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions of his throne. "No more pretending. Just… rest."
His eyes opened lazily, just enough to glance at the sluggish shades that surrounded him. He was their commander, their leader, but the truth was he couldn't care less about them. They could rot for all he cared. They were as slow and useless as he wanted them to be, the perfect reflection of his own slothful nature.
"Send out some patrols," he mumbled to one of the shades, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "Or don't. Whatever. Just… keep an eye out for Tel-Nu or whatever."
The shade shifted slightly, its twisted, sluggish form barely responding to the order. Dmitri didn't even care enough to watch if it followed through. His eyelids fluttered closed again, and he drifted back into the warm haze of laziness that enveloped him.
"Why do they even bother with all this effort?" he muttered to himself. "Training. Preparing. Like any of that matters in the end. We're gods now. What's Tel-Nu going to do? Fight us all by himself? As if."
A chuckle escaped his lips, though it was half-hearted, a reflection of his complete disinterest in the looming war. The others were probably out there, preparing for battle, training their powers, doing all the things they were supposed to do as the Sinister 7. But Dmitri? He didn't see the point. He had power, and that was enough. If a fight came, so be it, but why waste energy now?
"Let the others do the hard work," he said to no one in particular, his words slurred with fatigue. "They always do."
In his mind, Dmitri was untouchable. His power had reached god-like levels, just like the rest of them. And now that he didn't have to pretend to be diligent, he was exactly where he had always wanted to be: idle, without responsibility, without worry. If Tel-Nu came, he'd deal with it. Eventually. But not now.
"Maybe tomorrow," he muttered, his voice trailing off as he drifted toward sleep again. "Or the day after that…"
As his mind floated into the abyss of laziness, Dmitri could feel the satisfaction of finally being true to himself. There was no longer any need to keep up appearances. No more battles to fight, no more duties to perform.
For the first time in his life, he was free to do nothing.
And for Dmitri, that was all he had ever wanted.