A battle of three Super Demon Lord–level armored warriors: two newly ascended, one veteran.
Their clash erased even the great Dao—or at least, that's how it seemed on the scene.
The aftershocks stretched endlessly, devastation spanning hundreds of kilometers with no intact ground in sight.
"Enough, enough—! I surrender! I'm done fighting!"
The dignified golden-armored figure raised his hands in a most unseemly gesture.
He couldn't handle these kids.
Behind his mask, Azazel's face was twisted in discomfort.
Yes, he was an old-line Super Demon Lord, and yes, his opponents were newly minted ones. However, that didn't mean they were weak.
Compared against them, he had no overwhelming edge.
Zeroy and Patchouli both owed their current tier of strength to Longinuses. Yet their power wasn't merely borrowed.
Each had deep foundations to rely on.
Zeroy had the innate combat genius of a weapon of war, while Patchouli had her vast accumulation of knowledge.
Azazel found himself miserable.
Against either one alone, he couldn't guarantee victory; after a grueling battle, the outcome would be uncertain.
Facing both, he'd nearly become nothing but a sandbag, beaten again and again.
It was utterly humiliating, and if it went on, he really would lose.
The fight threw him back in memory to the ancient war of the Three Factions, when even as Governor of the Fallen Angels, he could easily have perished.
Ever since that war, Azazel had grown far more cautious, even somewhat weary of battle.
"That should be enough, right? You've had enough sparring, haven't you?" Azazel said helplessly.
"Even if not, I can't offer a stronger match. If we keep going, it'll turn into a real fight."
"Emmm... then can I at least burn you one last time?"
Since he wasn't truly an enemy, Zeroy couldn't force Azazel to continue if he truly didn't want to.
So she relented.
Even so, she wasn't satisfied. She could tell Patchouli felt the same.
Though Patchouli's Balance Breaker had clad her in armor too, hiding her face, Zeroy could sense her battle spirit.
"No way, no way!"
The moment Zeroy mentioned burning him, Azazel scrambled back as though facing a mortal nemesis.
"Please, little ancestor, if you keep burning me, I swear I'll turn back into an angel! Spare this old man!" he begged, face bitter.
The purifying Hellfire was dangerous indeed.
It caused him, Governor of the Fallen Angels, pain he couldn't endure, and even began to purify his very thoughts.
Already, after one burning, he was considering reforming the Fallen Angels.
He felt utterly cheated. Just a spar, and he'd ended up dragged in so deep.
Even so, he held no hostility. The desire to reform came from his heart, even though he knew it was due to Hellfire's purification.
If Zeroy or anyone else stopped him now, he might truly resent them.
That didn't mean he wanted more purification, though.
That feeling—of sensing your thoughts forcibly shifting, yet because they still felt like your own, unable to resist—was both terrifying and unbearable.
Azazel honestly feared that more burning would revert his mind to before he had fallen.
He would remain a Fallen Angel by race, but think like an angel again.
That was harder to accept than turning back into an angel outright.
Who wanted to be a boring angel again?
"Little ancestor, seriously..."
Zeroy was speechless. This Fallen Angel Governor really had no shame.
"Fine, then we'll stop here."
Since he had said so, and since she wasn't ready to launch a full Purge just yet, what else could Zeroy do?
"That said, I'd like you to help me with one last test, Mr. Azazel."
"W-what test?" Azazel's eyes were wary.
"It's about a mental intimidation ability. I normally use it in battle to spot openings, startling the opponent into a moment of distraction. However, I've never pushed it at full force, so I'd like to try."
"That... should be fine."
Azazel considered it. This wasn't much trouble to grant.
Just mental intimidation.
In any case, given that it came from this extraordinary, mysterious new Red Dragon Emperor, it would surely be anything but simple.
Still, he was Azazel, Governor of the Fallen Angels, one who had even faced the majesty of the God of the Bible himself.
He thought he wasn't underestimating Zeroy—though neither should he underestimate himself.
"Then I'll begin—"
Zeroy lifted her mask, letting Azazel meet her gaze.
The titles [Headhunter] and [Heaven-Dimming Demon] activated simultaneously.
It wasn't true she'd never used them at full force. When punishing pests, she had. In her fight with the Reincarnator who wielded the Boosted Gear, she had.
But the pests were too weak—she'd simply scared them to death.
And the Reincarnator—she had cut him down the instant he faltered under intimidation.
So she still didn't know what effect her title powers might have in a battle among equals.
Hence, the need for Azazel's cooperation.
"—!"
In that instant of eye contact, an invisible torrent flooded Azazel's soul.
The wails of countless lives, the karmic weight of billions slaughtered, crashed into his mind, dragging him into a pit of despair and ruin.
His vision warped. The shattered battlefield receded, replaced by an infernal world unknown.
A landscape of annihilation, a kingdom of death.
Death, ruin, despair, apocalypse—no word could capture its horror.
Mountains of corpses numbering in the tens of billions, seas of flesh and blood rolling under a crimson sky.
Human remains intertwined with unspeakable alien forms, rot and gore, weaving a suffocating mural of the end.
Every bone whispered despair, every drop of blood congealed with screams.
Flesh twisted into vast, grotesque wonders pointing skyward, toward the shadow that blotted out the world.
And beyond that shadow, an emerald eye filled the void, covering the heavens.
...
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