Marcos drew his black daggers fully, the blades seeming to drink in the green firelight.
Then he moved.
There was no warning, no gathering of power—only a blinding golden shockwave that erupted from him in a perfect circle, ripping through the throne hall like the wrath of a forgotten god.
The front half of the demon army simply ceased to exist.
Thousands of bodies collapsed in a thunderous, wet cascade—bisected, crushed, obliterated in the space of a heartbeat. Black blood painted the obsidian floor in wide, steaming rivers. Severed limbs and weapons clattered across the stone.
The pressure on the three sisters vanished as suddenly as it had come. Liza, Sara, and Eris gasped, scrambling to their feet, eyes wide in disbelief.
Marcos walked forward calmly through the carnage, his footsteps echoing in the stunned silence.
"Your army," he said, voice conversational, almost bored, "is disappointingly weak."
The Demon King's crimson eyes narrowed to burning slits.
"You are stronger than I anticipated. Who… are you?"
Marcos did not slow. "Why would I tell you?"
He vanished again.
A second golden shockwave—this one a vertical crescent of pure, devastating force—swept across the hall.
What remained of the demon army was erased in an instant. Gore sprayed the walls and ceiling. The vast chamber, moments ago filled with thousands of snarling warriors, now held only corpses and silence.
The air reeked of blood and scorched stone.
Liza stared, sword trembling in her grip. Sara's bow hung forgotten at her side. Eris covered her mouth, tears mixing with awe and terror.
He ended them… all of them… in two strikes.
The Demon King rose slowly from his throne. The temperature in the hall plummeted despite the surrounding rivers of lava, shadows writhing around him like living things.
One of the remaining Sinister Six—the Fifth Sinner, a hulking brute with skin like molten iron and an axe the size of a man—roared in fury and charged.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!"
Their blades met in a thunderclap that cracked the dais beneath them. Sparks exploded outward, lighting the blood-slick floor.
For a moment they strained, locked together—then Marcos nodded once, almost approvingly.
"You're strong. Better than the trash outside."
He twisted his wrist with impossible speed.
His dagger slid along the Sinner's massive axe—and continued, slicing cleanly through the demon's guard. The blade carved through flesh and bone as though they were parchment, severing the demon's arm at the shoulder in a fountain of black blood.
The Sinner howled, staggering back, clutching the stump.
Before he could recover or regenerate, Marcos spun low. His daggers crossed in a blur of black steel.
The demon's head struck the floor with a wet thud, body crumpling after it. Black blood pooled around the severed neck.
The remaining four Sinisters tensed, growling, but the Demon King raised one clawed hand.
"Enough."
Living darkness surged from him—tendrils of pure shadow lancing toward Marcos with blinding speed, fast enough to pierce the air itself.
Marcos shattered them mid-flight with a casual double slash, stepping forward unhindered.
But in that exact instant, golden light flared around his body.
Heavenly Restriction Chains materialized from thin air—glowing links of divine gold snapping into place around his torso, arms, and legs with a deafening metallic screech. They pulled tight, forcing him to freeze mid-stride.
Marcos's muscles bulged against the bindings, veins standing out on his scarred arms, but the chains held.
"What…?" he growled, genuine surprise flickering across his face for the first time.
The Demon King smiled—a terrible, fanged thing full of triumph.
"I suspected that one day, someone far beyond my power would come for my head. So I prepared accordingly."
He lifted one massive clawed hand. The chains tightened further, glowing brighter, humming with divine restraint.
"These are authentic Heavenly Restriction Chains," he said calmly, "forged in the fires of Arrayk itself. The very same the gods use to bind their most dangerous prisoners."
Marcos's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint igniting within them.
"How did a demon obtain divine relics?"
The Demon King threw his head back and laughed—deep, booming, victorious. The sound shook the throne hall, echoing off blood-soaked walls as the golden chains burned brighter and pulled inexorably tighter.
"Why would I tell you?"
His laughter rolled on, endless and terrible, as though the heart of Llahala itself rejoiced at the capture of its most deadly prey.