The mansion never really slept.
Even when Bee dragged Max deeper into her wing of the estate and kicked the doors shut behind them, the pulse of Gluttony still throbbed through the walls — bass from distant parties, laughter echoing through endless halls, the hum of indulgence like a second heartbeat under reality.
The waterbed slowly stilled beneath them.
Bee lay half on top of him, chin resting on his chest, four arms loosely draped like heavy blankets. Her tail flicked lazily through the glowing liquid beneath the mattress, creating ripples of gold and crimson light that painted the ceiling.
For once, she wasn't talking.
That alone told Max she was tired.
He ran his fingers slowly through her hair. It smelled like sugar, smoke, and something electric — the scent of a thousand parties layered into her skin. Normally she radiated movement, hunger, noise.
Now she was quiet.
"You're thinking," he said softly.
Bee huffed. "You always know when I'm thinking. That's rude."
"You're the least subtle being in seven rings," Max replied. "When you go quiet, it's loud."
She smiled faintly at that.
For a while she just listened to his heartbeat. The regeneration inside him hummed steadily — a quiet engine of impossible biology. Every time she squeezed too hard or shifted her weight wrong, something cracked and healed again. He didn't even flinch anymore.
"You scare people," Bee murmured suddenly.
Max blinked. "That came out of nowhere."
"No it didn't." She traced a finger over his chest. "You walk into a room and the air changes. Even demons feel it. They don't know why. But they feel it."
He didn't deny it.
"I felt it the first time we met," she continued. "Thought you were another psycho Overlord trying to impress me. Then you… didn't."
She looked up at him.
"That's the scary part."
Max chuckled quietly. "Because I'm nice?"
"Because you're nice and you could ruin everyone here if you stopped being nice."
Her tone wasn't accusing. It was observational. Like she was describing weather.
He stared at the ceiling.
"That's the thing about power," he said after a moment. "It doesn't make you a monster. It just removes excuses."
Bee hummed, considering that.
"You don't want to be a monster," she said.
"No," Max answered simply.
"Good," she replied. "We have enough."
Silence settled again — comfortable this time.
Down below, somewhere in the mansion, a party erupted into cheers. A fountain exploded. Someone screamed in delight. The whole structure vibrated with celebration.
Bee smiled faintly.
"I built this place so no one in my ring would starve," she said quietly. "That was the idea. Feed them. Entertain them. Keep them too busy enjoying themselves to remember they're in Hell."
Max looked down at her.
"And does it work?"
She shrugged. "Most days."
Her voice dropped.
"But when the music stops… it gets quiet. And when it gets quiet…" She tapped his chest lightly. "…I remember I'm supposed to be a sin. Not a savior. Not a queen. A sin."
"You're both," Max said.
She snorted. "That's not how it works."
"That's exactly how it works," he countered. "You think God didn't know what He was doing when He made you? You're indulgence. Celebration. Appetite. You're the part of existence that says life is worth tasting."
Bee stared at him.
"You talk like you've seen the blueprint," she murmured.
Max's eyes flickered.
For half a second, he had.
Then the memory slipped away like oil through his fingers.
"…Maybe I did," he said quietly.
She didn't push.
Bee shifted, curling tighter against him, careful this time not to crush anything vital. Her breathing slowed. The glow in the room dimmed to a warm amber as the mansion responded to her mood.
"You're allowed to rest here," she whispered. "No one chases anything in my house. Not debts. Not wars. Not responsibilities. Just sleep."
Max let that sink in.
No one chased anything.
The timer on his hand flickered faintly.
He closed his fist.
For tonight, he ignored it.
He wrapped an arm around Bee and let the rhythm of Gluttony carry him — the laughter, the warmth, the endless abundance humming like a lullaby.
The End of All Things slept in the mansion of excess.
And for a few fragile hours, Hell felt gentle.