Dmitri stretched lazily on his throne, shifting his weight from one side to the other with a grunt. His mind, as slow and meandering as ever, wandered to the topic that had been on everyone else's minds for weeks now: Tel-Nu. The others were fussing, training relentlessly, preparing for a war they believed would be the battle of a lifetime. Junna, Cusi, Kira, and Cormac—all of them were fretting over how they would stand against Tel-Nu.
"All this fuss," Dmitri muttered, his voice heavy with boredom. "Over something so trivial."
He propped his feet up on a small stool and folded his arms behind his head, his gaze wandering to the ceiling of his chambers. The dark shadows that flickered along the walls barely caught his attention anymore, so accustomed was he to the gloom and lethargy that surrounded him.
It wasn't that he didn't understand the threat Tel-Nu posed. He knew, just like the others, that Tel-Nu was a powerful being. Perhaps even the strongest they had ever encountered. But that didn't concern him. In fact, the whole idea of the coming battle didn't concern him at all.
Let the others worry about it. He had done enough worrying in his life, pretending to care about the 5th Ring, pretending to be diligent. Now, with his true nature revealed, he had no intention of putting in any more effort than necessary.
"Honestly," he muttered, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "even if Tel-Nu makes it this far… he'll have to go through the others first."
Dmitri wasn't foolish enough to believe that Tel-Nu would fall easily. But he also knew that the rest of the Sinister 7 were no pushovers. Junna with her twisted version of Lust, Cusi and his insatiable Greed, Kira's relentless Envy, and Cormac's endless Gluttony—they were all strong. Strong enough to put up a fight. And if they weren't enough to stop Tel-Nu, they would at least wear him down.
"And once he's weak," Dmitri mused, "I won't even have to lift a finger."
He chuckled to himself at the thought. If Tel-Nu somehow managed to make it past the others, he would be too weak to be a real threat by the time he reached Dmitri. The other Sinister 7 would soften him up, and when the time came, Dmitri's minions—his slow-moving, sluggish shades—could easily finish the job.
"Why worry about it?" he thought, shaking his head. "Everyone's so worked up over this fight… as if it's the end of the world."
He shifted his weight again, sinking further into his chair. His mind wandered to the others. He could picture them, training relentlessly, honing their new powers, each of them obsessed with becoming stronger. But what was the point? They had already reached god-like levels of power. They were the Sinister 7 now, no longer bound by the limitations of their old selves. What more did they need to prove?
"They need to relax," he muttered, almost laughing. "They don't have to pretend anymore. None of us do."
That was the beauty of it. The masks were off. They were allowed to be themselves again, to indulge in their true natures. Junna didn't have to hide her twisted desires, and Cusi didn't have to pretend to be generous. Kira could wallow in her envy, and Cormac could gorge himself to his heart's content. And Dmitri? He could finally be what he had always been: lazy, indifferent, and unconcerned with the world around him.
The battle with Tel-Nu? Let the others handle it. He wasn't worried. Not even a little bit.
"If they lose," Dmitri thought, "then they weren't strong enough to begin with. But they won't lose. No way."
In his mind, the scenario played out perfectly. Tel-Nu would fight the others, and even if he somehow managed to defeat them, it wouldn't be without consequence. The battle would wear him down, drain his power, and by the time he reached Dmitri, there would be nothing left of the great enemy but a weakened husk.
And in that moment, Dmitri wouldn't even have to do much. His minions, as slow and lethargic as they were, would easily overwhelm Tel-Nu in his weakened state. The battle would be over before it even began.
"All this fuss," Dmitri muttered again, closing his eyes. "For nothing."
He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. The others could train, could prepare for battle, but Dmitri had already made up his mind. He wasn't going to waste his energy on something as insignificant as a fight with Tel-Nu. They were gods now, the rulers of Corintopia, and nothing could take that from them. Not even Tel-Nu.
Let the others fret. Let them train and worry about the coming battle. Dmitri had no interest in any of it. In his mind, it was already over.
"And when this is all done," he mused, "I'll still be right here. Unbothered. Unstoppable."
With a final, lazy grin, Dmitri settled back into his throne, his eyes growing heavy once more. There was nothing left to do but wait. Wait for the others to weaken Tel-Nu, wait for the inevitable victory. Wait… and rest.
"Maybe tomorrow," he muttered, as sleep took him again. "Maybe the day after that."
Dmitri allowed his thoughts to fade into the background, the soft, repetitive rhythm of his breathing lulling him deeper into the comfort of his throne. The concerns of the others—Junna's relentless training, Cusi's obsession with power, and even Kira's envy—meant nothing to him. They could all fight and fret, but Dmitri? He would let the world unfold as it would. After all, it always did, with or without his effort.
As his eyelids drooped, the dim light of the chamber flickered over his face, casting long shadows across the floor. The weight of sloth pulled him deeper into the cushion of his throne, his body sinking further into the plush seat. His limbs grew heavier, his mind foggier, and soon, even the thought of Tel-Nu became a distant memory—no more than a wisp of smoke drifting away.
"Let the others handle it," he mumbled one last time, his voice trailing off as sleep overtook him.
Completely unbothered by the world around him, completely indifferent to the approaching storm, Dmitri surrendered himself to the one thing he truly valued—rest.
And as he drifted into slumber, the twisted, darkened realm of Corintopia continued to stir. The other Sinister 7 prepared for the coming war, their ambitions, greed, lust, and envy driving them forward. But Dmitri, the embodiment of Sloth, remained at peace, completely unperturbed by the chaos unfolding around him.
"Maybe tomorrow," he whispered again in his sleep.
And with that, Dmitri fell silent, his body motionless as he slept deeply, oblivious to the fate looming on the horizon.