Chapter 4.1. The King is Born continued

  The flames dissipated, leaving the arena in a haze of smoke and scorched earth. Lucifer remained perfectly still, his dark red eyes calmly tracking the queens as they hurtled toward him.

  Suddenly, swords materialized in their hands out of thin air. Mid-air, they swung in a coordinated assault, striking from different angles with lethal precision—but Lucifer moved like liquid shadow, effortlessly evading each strike.

  As they fought, the queens—Astarte and Ammit—used their natural allure, their movements laced with almost imperceptible gestures meant to unsettle and tempt. A flicker of a smile, a sway in their posture, whispers of mockery that tried to reach his mind—but Lucifer remained untouched, immune to every mental ploy.

  The queens pressed on, a relentless flurry of slashes raining down upon him, yet not a single blow connected. With every miss, their frustration mounted, the tension in their movements growing sharper, more desperate. Still, Lucifer stood unshaken, his movements fluid, each dodge almost mocking in its ease.

  This deadly dance continued, a battle of skill and patience, as the queens realized—despite all their seductive attempts and power—they had yet to land a single hit.

  They coated their swords with magic, each swing sending small shockwaves rippling across the stadium. Yet, no matter how precise or powerful their attacks were, not a single strike landed on him. Lucifer’s reflexes were near superhuman, dodging every assault in split-second timing.

  Then, without warning, he struck. Simultaneously, his fists punched them both squarely in the stomach, knocking them back several meters. They staggered but managed to land on their feet. The shock and disbelief on their faces said it all—they had just been overwhelmed by a single, devastatingly simple attack.

  The queens, Astarte and Ammit, instinctively tried to regain their composure, their eyes flashing with both frustration and a fleeting, flirtatious glimmer as if attempting to distract him with a subtle seduction. Lucifer, unfazed, didn’t flinch or waver.

  This time, he took the initiative. In an instant, he appeared before them again, his movements too fast to track. Another simultaneous punch to the stomach sent them hurtling into the wall with bone-jarring force. Dust and magic sparkles filled the air, but the queens remained defiant, their frustration mounting as they realized their allure and magic were meaningless against him.

  Lucifer went after Astarte first, appearing right in front of her in the blink of an eye. He threw a punch, but Astarte blocked it by summoning a Demonic spirit with high defense. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, intrigued—this was the first time he had encountered spirit magic.

  Suddenly, Ammit appeared behind him, attempting an attack, but he effortlessly evaded it. Without hesitation, Lucifer grabbed her face and slammed it into the summoned spirit. The impact shattered the spirit, sending Ammit flying straight into Astarte. Both crashed out of the crater in the wall and landed hard on the floor.

  Lucifer saw no movement from them, and he had no inclination to check if they were alive. He simply turned and began walking away, confident that he had won this exchange.

  But then, a surge of magical energy erupted from behind him. As he turned, he realized he was immobilized—Ammit had activated her most powerful skill: Soul Devour. She advanced toward him, her eyes glowing red with hunger. She placed both hands on his face and kissed him, attempting to feed on his soul and overwhelm him with seduction.

  In an instant, the world around them twisted. Ammit found herself standing in the middle of a dark, misty wasteland, the remnants of her attack failing against Lucifer’s impenetrable will.

  There was only one pathway, and she followed it. As she reached the end, she looked down—and what she saw was horrific. Mountains of corpses stretched across the vast field. Not just any corpses, but the remains of millions of demonic creatures. A river of blood flowed between them like a scarlet sea.

  Her eyes found him. Lucifer sat atop the mound of corpses, calm and composed, staring at the horizon where a crimson sun hung low. When he turned his gaze toward her, it was piercing—cold, calculated, terrifying.

  “You made a mistake trying to touch my soul,” he said, calm but heavy with authority. Then he looked up.

  Ammit followed his gaze—and froze. Millions of eyes appeared in the sky, opening simultaneously. Each pupil fixed on her, unblinking, unrelenting.

  The aura radiating from the eyes was overwhelming. Her very being quaked. She realized then that the true danger was not just Lucifer himself, but the monstrous force within him.

  He was the pure definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing—a demonic monster cloaked in human form.

  The eyes gazed at her with an intensity that crushed her very being. She could feel the pressure pressing down on her, as if her soul itself was about to be devoured.

  She looked down—and a massive mouth appeared beneath her. Razor-sharp teeth glistened, ready to consume her.

  She tried to run, but it was useless. The mouth closed around her, swallowing her whole. Darkness enveloped her.

  Suddenly, Ammit woke up in the real world. Her heart raced as she looked up. Lucifer’s red eyes were fixed on hers, unflinching and piercing.

  The fear she had felt inside his soul moments ago returned in full force. Her body shook uncontrollably.

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  Overwhelmed, she collapsed, landing on Lucifer’s chest. He regarded her silently for a moment, then carefully laid her down on the ground.

  Kane announced, “Next opponent, step forward.”

  Apollyn strode forward, bowing slightly. He congratulated Lucifer on defeating the Demon Queens but warned, “I won’t be so easy.”

  In an instant, he drew his twin swords, which glowed with crackling magical energy. With a swift swing, two razor-sharp arcs of blue energy shot toward Lucifer.

  Lucifer lifted a single finger. The arcs shattered before making contact.

  Apollyn leapt into the air, spinning his swords at blinding speed. Dozens of magical slashes erupted, slicing the air in spiraling patterns aimed from all angles.

  Lucifer casually shifted his stance. Each slash dissolved upon nearing him, as if meeting an invisible wall.

  Apollyn’s eyes flared red. He charged, his swords leaving trails of energy so fast they cut through the air with whistling sounds. A massive, curved slash of concentrated magic surged toward Lucifer.

  With a simple flick of his finger, Lucifer split it clean in half. The pieces scattered harmlessly across the stadium.

  The battle raged on. Apollyn combined rapid sword slashes with sudden bursts of magical blades, each more precise than the last.

  Lucifer dodged, parried, and countered effortlessly. Each clash sent sparks and waves of magical energy through the arena, yet neither combatant showed fatigue.

  Apollyn had had enough of their back-and-forth and decided to play his trump card.

  He leapt high into the sky, spinning his twin swords rapidly. Blue and crimson energy erupted from the blades, fusing together to form a massive orb of crackling, molten stone and searing energy.

  Lucifer watched calmly as Apollyn hurled the orb directly at him.

  For a few seconds, Lucifer stood still. Then, a single flame-like arrow formed at the tip of his finger. With precision, he fired it straight at the incoming orb.

  Apollyn laughed arrogantly, certain that such a tiny streak of energy could never rival his colossal attack—oh, how wrong he was.

  The flame entered the boulder and, just as Apollyn opened his mouth to gloat, the massive attack became engulfed in Lucifer’s flames.

  The flaming boulder struck Lucifer and exploded violently.

  Apollyn laughed, certain he had finally defeated him. But his excitement was short-lived.

  Mephistopheles shouted from the sidelines, “It’s not over yet!”

  The flames began to simmer down. Through the smoke, Apollyn saw Lucifer standing upright, completely unharmed. Only his clothes had been reduced to ashes.

  Lucifer glanced at the remnants and, with a wave of his hand, formed pants from the stone around him.

  Apollyn’s eyes widened.

  Lucifer raised his finger. The flames swirled and gathered at its tip, forming a sharp, blazing arrow. Without hesitation, he fired it directly at Apollyn.

  Apollyn had no time to evade. He took the flames head-on.

  The heat enveloped him completely. It burned him from the outside, but it was worse inside. The flames forced a nightmare upon him—a fear unlike anything he had ever faced.

  He struggled. The more he resisted, the fiercer the flames roared.

  “Stop! Please!” he begged. But the fire would not relent.

  Then, with a snap of Lucifer’s fingers, the flames vanished.

  Apollyn collapsed. Unconscious.

  Mephistopheles laughed. Pride dripped from every line of his face as he praised Lucifer’s display of dominance.

  Lucifer turned to him. That pride… it was too perfect. He decided, in that moment, to shatter it completely.

  Mephistopheles drew his greatsword.

  Lucifer responded. He created a blade from the ground itself. It looked like an ordinary sword.

  “Think it’s just a normal sword?” Lucifer said. “You’re right. It is… just a simple sword.”

  Mephistopheles laughed, his voice echoing across the stadium. “Do you really think a mere sword like that can stand against a Demon Lord’s blade?”

  Lucifer’s gaze shifted between his simple, earthen sword and Mephistopheles’ massive, aura-infused greatsword. Calmly, he said, “It will manage.”

  Without hesitation, Mephistopheles surged forward. His Demonic aura pulsed violently as he swung his greatsword in a crushing downward slash.

  Lucifer met the attack head-on. His sword held firm, absorbing the force without bending. Shockwaves rippled across the stadium.

  Each of Lucifer’s movements was precise, reflecting a swordsman’s skill even though he was a magician at heart. Mephistopheles’ eyes widened. This was no ordinary opponent.

  Mephistopheles’ eyes widened in disbelief. He quickly regained his stance and charged again, repeating the same overhead slash.

  Lucifer raised his sword to guard, anticipating the attack, then shifted seamlessly, blocking the swing aimed at his side.

  Mephistopheles leapt back, astonished. “How… how did you know I was faking the overhead?”

  Lucifer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You are not the only one skilled with a sword.”

  They charged again, blades colliding midair with a thunderous clash. The force threw them apart, but in an instant, they faced each other, eyes locked, neither showing fear nor hesitation.

  They leapt back, charging at each other again. Blades clashed repeatedly, echoing through the stadium like thunder.

  The two combatants pushed each other back to the ground, their swords scraping against the dirt.

  Lucifer glanced at his weapon—its edge was beginning to wear under the corrosive pressure of Mephistopheles’ demonic sword. He infused it with magic, preparing for one final strike.

  Mephistopheles saw the change and lunged with a fierce overhead slash, hoping to end the duel.

  But Lucifer didn’t block. He evaded with precision and swung his now-enchanted blade toward Mephistopheles’ midsection. The sword made contact… and shattered.

  The impact of Lucifer’s broken sword still carried enough force to slam Mephistopheles into the stadium wall.

  Lucifer tossed the shattered weapon aside, opting for hand-to-hand combat.

  Mephistopheles rose from the wall, noticing the discarded sword. A confident grin spread across his face—he believed the upper hand had finally shifted to him.

  Lucifer met his gaze, stance ready, muscles coiled for the next exchange.

  Mephistopheles declared that their fight had reached its climax and that it was time to end things.

  Lucifer smirked, shaking his head. “End things? I’m just getting started. The real fight begins now.”

  Mephistopheles charged forward, that same cocky grin on his face, swinging his greatsword at Lucifer’s head.

  Lucifer didn’t flinch; he blocked the attack effortlessly with his bare arm.

  The grin vanished. Mephistopheles stared at him in disbelief.

  Lucifer’s eyes locked onto his, and before Mephistopheles could react, a powerful right hook struck his midsection, sending him flying back several meters.

  He landed on his feet, but the impact forced him to one knee.

  Confused, Mephistopheles looked up at Lucifer, who calmly said, “I don’t need a weapon to fight… I am the weapon.”

  Mephistopheles struggled to regain his balance, the dark aura around his sword pulsating with every heartbeat.

  Lucifer’s right hook had thrown him off entirely, and he realized that brute strength alone wouldn’t win this fight.

  He tightened his grip on the sword, the magic-infused blade crackling ominously.

  Lucifer smirked, unarmed yet confident. His movements were fluid, precise—every punch a calculated strike.

  Mephistopheles charged again, swinging with ferocity, but Lucifer ducked and countered with another right hook to the midsection.

  The impact sent Mephistopheles sprawling back several meters, leaving scorch marks on the ground where he had landed.

  Even infused with magic, the demon lord was starting to understand that Lucifer’s strength wasn’t just in his magic—it was in his body, his instincts, his precision.