Michael's cloak drifted as the subspace of Hell screamed louder.
The giant demon assistant stepped forward.
"I am Dero," he roared.
"I will fight you, Michael, for my lord Azmodan!"
His massive sword collided with Michael's glowing blade. The impact shook the endless subspace. Michael's forearm was revealed through the torn dark sleeve he wore, veins standing out clearly as power surged through him.
With a single swing, Michael sent Dero flying.
The subspace of Hell had no ground. There was no up or down, only endless void where beings floated freely. Michael moved instantly, while Dero launched himself forward, swinging his enormous sword.
Despite his size, Dero moved faster than light.
Still, it was not enough.
Michael was far faster.
Michael kicked Dero directly in the face, sending him flying across the endless subspace of Hell.
The surrounding demons stared in disbelief at Michael's overwhelming strength.
Azmodan watched with a smirk, relaxed upon his throne. He observed as Dero struggled to regain control.
Fury burned within Dero. He attacked again. His sword swung three times, each strike heavy and clear rather than fast. Michael's sword glowed brighter, releasing a destructive slash that struck Dero's torso, tearing through flesh and drawing dark blood.
Dero regenerated quickly and countered with a crushing punch.
Michael was sent flying through subspace Hell, but he planted his bare hand against space itself, forcibly stopping his momentum. With a burst of speed, he returned to attack, sending another wave of sword slashes. Dero blocked them with his burning blade.
"Heheheh," Dero snarled.
"You damn bastard! I'll cut you into pieces!"
Dero released a shockwave that rippled through the groundless subspace itself.
Six swings followed.
Michael dodged every one.
They moved like lightning, clashing and vanishing, reappearing again and again.
Yet, to Azmodan, the fight looked almost slow.
As a Giant Demon Lord of Sin, his reaction speed surpassed comprehension.
Azmodan watched closely and reached his conclusion.
Dero was losing.
Michael was not even serious.
Dero opened his mouth and unleashed a burning blast.
Michael punched straight through it.
The explosion tore through subspace Hell, killing countless demons instantly.
Azmodan did not care. He remained seated, watching with interest.
"Damn Tenth Sentinel," Azmodan muttered.
"You are strong. My inner war burns like lust. I want to kill you. But I will let you play with Dero for now."
Dero attacked again but failed to land a single hit.
Michael's bandage-wrapped hands released a massive wave of force that collided with Dero's glowing sword. The destructive power split the blade cleanly in half.
Dero regenerated his weapon instantly and clashed again. Michael's cloak fluttered violently, his dark blond hair floating freely, his dark blue eyes calm and unwavering.
Dero activated another ability.
A manipulation of the battlefield itself.
It was the power to separate alternatives, forcing reality to favor the one who was losing.
But it failed.
Michael countered with something far stranger.
A manipulation that recreated possibilities themselves, turning the impossible into something that must occur, regardless of outcome.
Dero froze in shock.
Azmodan was not surprised. In fact, he seemed pleased.
"Dero," Azmodan said calmly,
"You are losing. You should stop. Hehehe."
Dero's pride shattered. His ultimate ability had failed.
"Impossible!" Dero screamed.
"How did this happen! Damn it! I am Dero, the assistant of Lord Azmodan!"
He attacked desperately.
Michael raised one hand and severed Dero's sword with ease.
In an instant, Michael appeared before him and slashed deeply into his shoulder. A second slash followed, cleanly cutting off Dero's head.
Michael leaped back and released a burning magic wave. Dero's body screamed as it disintegrated, turning into dust.
The demons swarmed Michael.
One movement like irrelevant lightning.
Countless demons were cut in half.
Second slash.
More than a hundred thousand giant demons fell.
Third slash.
Thousands of flying demons were erased.
Fourth slash.
Bat demons screamed before being wiped out.
Final slash.
A massive explosion engulfed the battlefield, destroying the majority of the endless demon horde.
When the flames faded, Michael stood alone.
His expression was calm. His cloak and hair drifted silently.
Azmodan laughed loudly.
"Hahaha!"
"You bastard. You are not easy to deal with!"
Michael vanished into a space time portal.
Aldervain Kingdom
Michael stood beside Baldrick, explaining what had happened. The demon numbers had decreased, but Azmodan's obsession with war meant they would soon rise again.
"I killed his assistant," Michael said.
"He was on the level of Vorthak."
Baldrick clenched his fists.
"This cannot be delayed. Everything must move faster now. Another bloody war is coming. People will lose their lives again."
Michael looked up at the sky, calm as ever.
"This is nothing new," he said.
"They must be prepared. Results are results. Truth is truth. Demons cannot accept that."
He paused.
"If the outcome is not in our favor, then all we can do is entrust ourselves to the Highest Being. Even if I am the Tenth Sentinel, destined to destroy demons, there is still a chance that another Demon Lord could kill me."
Baldrick fell silent.
At that moment, he truly understood.
Michael was right.
Power alone could not guarantee victory. No matter how prepared they were, no matter how strong the Sentinels stood, results were a separate matter entirely. War did not always reward justice or righteousness. It favored outcomes, not intentions.
That was why they could never lower their guard. Why they had to keep their eyes open, their minds sharp, and their resolve unbroken. Because once a result was decided, it could not be undone.
Baldrick silently prayed that the Highest Being would guide the outcome toward their side. Not for glory, not for conquest, but so the demons would not claim another era in blood.
It was coming now.
Very near.
Another war.
Another wave of loss.