Lord of Entertainment

Chapter 298 - Rap Battle

(3rd Person POV)

Festival-goers wandered through the vibrant avenues of the Sky Festival, passing food stalls, music booths, and prayer tents. Among them, a short, chubby man with a scruffy beard and mustache, Jackie, walked with his taller, thinner companion, Larry, who'd been coming to this festival for years.

Jackie frowned as they passed the packed demon section. "This doesn't make any sense. Demons don't even have a proper deity like we do. Humans have Solarus, elves have the Moon Goddess, dwarves worship the Smith King. But demons? Nothing. And yet this section is the loudest, liveliest, and most crowded. How's that possible?"

Larry chuckled, sipping from a cold drink. "Used to be empty, trust me. But things changed when Hellfire Studio showed up. Their movies, music, and shows gave demons something to rally around. It's not a god, sure—but Hellfire gave them identity, pride. Now even non-demons hang out here. You're looking at culture in the making."

Jackie folded his arms, clearly unconvinced. "Tch. Demons worshipping a movie studio? Sounds like blasphemy to me."

Then he spotted a crowd gathering near one corner of the demon district and pointed. "Hey, something's going on over there. A commotion?"

Larry squinted. "Are they... fighting? That's gotta be illegal during a festival, right?"

Jackie scoffed. "They're demons. Chaos is in their blood."

They pushed through the gathering, bracing for a fight. But to their surprise, no punches were thrown. Instead, two human men stood opposite each other in the center of the circle.

One of them had a scar across his cheek, dressed in a baggy white shirt and oversized shorts. The other was bald, wearing a plain white tee, jeans, and a towel tied around his head like a bandana. Between them stood a younger man in a simple shirt holding what looked like a microphone.

The young man raised his voice confidently. "I'm Joshua Tree, host of tonight's showdown. We flipped a coin—Mikey won. Mikey, you wanna go first or second?"

Jackie leaned in and whispered to Larry, "Wait, why's he asking who goes first? Isn't it a fight?"

Larry shrugged. "I... don't think this is a normal fight."

Mikey pointed at the bald man. "Pipe goes first."

Joshua nodded, grinning. "Alright then—Pipe, you're up."

He handed the mic to Pipe.

Jackie blinked. "A mic? What is this?"

Larry frowned. "Whatever it is, I've never seen it before..."

Pipe stepped forward, holding the mic like a weapon, and cleared his throat.

Then, to their surprise, he began speaking in rhythm:

"Mikey, oh Mikey, you let me go first—

Proves deep down, you're scared of the worst. Oversized shirt, but your courage's small,

I'll break your pride in front of them all."

He paused, then pointed at Mikey with the mic, his voice sharpening:

"You strut like a thug, but you ain't that slick, just a washed-up punk with a limp d*.

Talk big game with your scarred-up face, but I've seen toddlers walk with more grace."

"Act tough in shorts two sizes too wide—

Bet your mama still wipes your tears when you cry!"

The last line hit hard. Mikey flinched, his jaw tightening as a ripple of "OHHH!" rolled through the crowd.

The cheers exploded.

"DAYUM!" someone yelled.

"...What the hell was that?" Jackie asked, stunned.

"I... I think they're battling with words?" Larry said slowly, eyes wide with disbelief.

Jackie and Larry looked around, gradually realizing something odd—the crowd didn't seem shocked by the insults. In fact, they were into it. Laughing, shouting, hyping the performers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"These people... they're used to this?" Larry muttered.

Unbeknownst to them, most of the crowd belonged to the Corleone Gang.

Joshua, the organizer of the so-called battle, had intentionally chosen the Sky Festival—a gathering usually centered on the Three Known Gods—to showcase something new, something disruptive. Something divine in its own twisted way.

His goal? To recruit. To lure the curious with rhythm, rebellion, and raw performance—then slowly guide them deeper into the Corleone Cult.

From where he stood, Joshua observed the battle between Mikey and Pipe with quiet satisfaction. Both were loyal members of the cult. Both had been blessed with the Divine Revelry, a gift that allowed them to see their "status" and unlock the new profession of Rapper.

It wasn't a widely accepted path. In fact, Joshua often lamented how underappreciated it was.

"Too few missions," he murmured once. "Too little respect. But if done right... rappers can move crowds like prophets."

Pipe and Mikey had embraced the role anyway, driven not by glory but by curiosity—and passion. They rose to become the Corleone Gang's top performers, their lyrical duels now legendary among gang members.

That's why they were chosen for this festival stage—to draw eyes, stir interest, and turn heads.

And it worked.

More people gathered by the minute. Newcomers. Locals. Curious onlookers. What began as a circle of gang members was now a swelling crowd.

"Ohhh, this verbal battle is great! I wanna see more!" one teen yelled.

"Haha! Hit him harder, Mikey!" another added, laughter echoing in the air.

The excitement was contagious. Cheers rose in waves as the lyrical blows kept landing. But the volume of the crowd triggered concern from patrolling officers stationed nearby.

"Hey! Who's fighting over here!?" one officer barked as he and his partner pushed through the crowd, expecting a brawl to have broken out in the demon corner of the festival.

Instead, they found two men facing off on a makeshift stage—spitting rhymes and insults, not fists.

"Huh... it's just a performance?" the officer blinked, confused.

"It's... a rhyme battle," a nearby festival-goer explained, grinning. "No fists. Just words."

Realizing the misunderstanding, the officers relaxed, and within minutes, they were laughing along with the rest of the crowd—shouting reactions and even throwing playful curses like seasoned fans.

At the edge of the commotion, a tall figure stood still, arms folded. Anus Hades, underboss of the Leviathan mob family, observed the scene with sharp, calculating eyes.

'A verbal battle that draws this much energy... this kind of hype...' he stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'This isn't just a show. This could be televised.'

Anus wasn't just a mob underboss—he was also a powerful producer at one of Apple City's largest television networks. And what he saw here? It had potential.

The rap battle stretched on for nearly half an hour, ending in an eruption of cheers as Joshua declared it a draw. There was no need for overtime—this wasn't about winning or losing. It was about energy, fun, and getting noticed.

As the crowd began to disperse with lingering laughter and chatter, a sharply dressed demon approached Joshua. He had slicked-back hair, glowing red eyes, and a confident gait.

"Hey," the demon said, offering a hand. "Name's Anus Hades. I'd like a word... about this little rap event you've got going on."

Joshua blinked. 'Anus?' He nearly laughed, but held it in like a true professional. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and offered a polite nod. "Oh? You're interested in the rap battle?"

A small smirk tugged at his lips. "You're not the first today, but I've got time."

---

Meanwhile, back in his sleek office high above Horn City, Arthur watched the projection of the Sky Festival with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Joshua actually pulled off a rap battle during the Sky Festival," Arthur said with a chuckle, sipping from a crystal glass. "In the middle of a holy event filled with priests and fanatics... bold move. But I like it."

His smile widened, his gaze sharp.

Every time someone new watched the battle, cheered, laughed—or even debated it on Hellbook—Divine Points trickled into Arthur's system.

With over 170,000 followers and counting, he was raking in tens of thousands of DP a day.

Faith through entertainment.

Power through performance.

He tapped open his system interface, preparing to invest even more into his Divine Power and expand his ever-growing Divine Realm..