The heavens trembled.
The land quaked beneath the sheer weight of the abyssal presence that now ruled the battlefield.
Lucian stood at the center of the devastation, his abyssal aura expanding, devouring all remnants of the Crimson Executioner's existence. The shattered remains of the demon's power faded into nothingness, as if the world itself rejected his legacy.
The first battle was won.
But the war was far from over.
Above him, the remaining Demon Kings descended.
Their combined presence distorted reality, the very fabric of existence struggling to contain their immense power.
Lucian's golden-black eyes flickered toward them—unfazed, unshaken.
Azazel, Belial, Haizel, and the others hovered in the sky, their expressions varying from rage to dark amusement.
"You are a fool, Lucian," Azazel sneered, his obsidian wings unfurling behind him. "You think the abyss makes you invincible?"
Lucian remained silent.
"That power will devour you just as it devoured Zerath," Belial added, his voice cold, his towering form looming like a god of death.
Lucian exhaled slowly.
"Enough."
His voice was calm. Absolute.
The abyss answered his call.
BOOM.
A tidal wave of abyssal energy exploded outward, surging toward the gathered Demon Kings with the force of an all-consuming void.
Azazel's eyes narrowed as he extended a clawed hand, summoning a barrier of Pandemonium flames. The abyssal wave clashed against it, consuming the infernal fire instantly.
Belial, unfazed, raised a single finger—a pulse of divine darkness pierced through the abyssal storm, parting it before it could reach him.
Haizel, however, grinned.
"Beautiful… absolutely beautiful."
He let the abyss wash over him, his shadowy form twisting and contorting, feeding on the very darkness meant to consume him.
Lucian's gaze sharpened.
"Enough games."
He raised his hand—summoning the abyss in its purest form.
The sky itself shattered.
The final battle had begun.
The Fall of the Demon Kings1. Azazel – The Lord of Pandemonium
Azazel struck first.
His crimson-black wings flared, sending out waves of apocalyptic flames that burned even the void itself.
"Fall into oblivion, abyssal wretch!"
Lucian snapped his fingers.
The flames froze in midair—then collapsed inward, devoured by his abyss.
Azazel's eyes widened.
Before he could react—
Lucian moved.
In a flash of black lightning, he appeared before Azazel, his abyssal blade descending.
Azazel barely raised his arms to block—
SLASH.
His right arm was severed.
Azazel roared in agony, his severed limb disintegrating into nothingness.
Lucian didn't stop.
His fist crashed into Azazel's chest, sending him hurtling toward the ground.
Before the Demon King could recover, abyssal chains erupted from below, wrapping around his form—dragging him into the abyss.
"Submit."
Azazel struggled—but the abyss did not yield.
The flames of Pandemonium snuffed out.
And with a final, defiant glare—
Azazel bowed.
2. Belial – The Silent Tyrant
Belial watched in grim silence.
Lucian turned to him.
"Your turn."
Belial closed his eyes.
When they opened—a tidal wave of divine darkness surged forward, twisting reality itself.
Lucian met it head-on.
The two forces clashed, the abyss and divine darkness colliding in an earth-shattering storm.
Lucian stepped forward.
Belial's darkness engulfed him completely.
For a moment—everything was silent.
Then—
BOOM.
The abyss pierced through.
Belial's divine darkness crumbled, breaking apart like fragile glass.
Lucian emerged—unharmed.
He raised his hand—and the abyssal chains surged forward.
"Kneel."
Belial's form shuddered—his body resisting—his mind screaming—
But the abyss accepted no defiance.
The Silent Tyrant knelt.
3. Haizel – The Abyssal Nightmare
A slow, mocking applause echoed.
"Brilliant. Simply… exquisite."
Lucian turned to face Haizel, the most twisted of the Demon Kings.
"I see it now," Haizel whispered, his crimson pupils dilating. "The abyss has chosen you."
Lucian said nothing.
"Come, then. Show me…" Haizel spread his arms. "Show me the abyss' true will."
Lucian obliged.
The abyss devoured Haizel in an instant.
There was no battle.
No struggle.
Only silence.
Then—Haizel laughed.
"Beautiful… absolutely beautiful."
When the abyss receded—Haizel remained.
Not broken.
Not consumed.
Submissive.
"I kneel, Abyssal Sovereign."
And with that—the last of the Demon Kings fell.
The Coronation of the Abyssal Sovereign
The battlefield had fallen silent.
Where once the nine Demon Kings ruled with absolute authority, now they knelt before a single figure—Lucian, the Abyssal Sovereign.
His presence was overwhelming, his very existence now an undeniable law within Nyzareth. The war had ended not with negotiation, but with absolute dominion.
Azrath stood beside him, a satisfied smirk on his face. "It is done, my Lord. Nyzareth is yours."
Lucian's gaze swept over the Demon Kings. **Haizel, Xavros, Lilith, Malakar, Orthon, Sylvaris, Zareth, Vornis, and Kaelthar—**each one bore the scars of battle, their pride shattered beneath his might.
Yet, there was no hesitation in their submission. For they knew resisting Lucian meant annihilation.
Lucian turned his eyes toward the distant horizon, where the sky burned gold.
The Holy Kingdom.
The final piece of The Eternal Shackles of Darkness lay beyond those sacred lands, hidden within the seat of divine power.
Lucian's voice rang across the battlefield, commanding and absolute.
"The war is not over. The Holy Kingdom holds what is rightfully mine."
A dark aura surged around him as he raised his hand, the air itself trembling under his power.
"Demon Kings of Nyzareth! Prepare your legions."
"We march for Zenith."
The Demon Kings rose as one, their eyes burning with newfound purpose.
And thus, the Abyss turned its gaze upon the Divine.
The next war had begun.
The Great Grand Hall of the Holy Kingdom Zenithia
Inside the magnificent Great Grand Hall of Zenithia, golden chandeliers cast their divine light upon the polished marble floors, while towering stained-glass windows reflected the radiance of the Holy Kingdom's might. At the center of the hall, seated upon an elevated throne of sacred gold and engraved scripture, sat Pope Valerian Aurelion, The Divine Voice of Zenith—the supreme ruler of the Holy Kingdom, revered as the messenger of the gods.
Surrounding him were the greatest warriors and strategists of the kingdom—High Paladin Darius Godfrey, Lord Marshal Cedric Valkenheim, Grand Inquisitor Solomon Varkas, Swordmaster Gabriel Leonhardt, and Saintess Sylvia Evernielle. Noblemen, priests, and military commanders filled the hall, their presence exuding authority and divine righteousness.
A heavy silence hung in the air, the tension palpable, until the Pope finally spoke.
"Nowadays, Nyzareth is at peace."
His voice was calm but carried weight. The assembled leaders nodded in agreement.
"It appears our seed of betrayal has been disposed of," Darius Godfrey, the High Paladin, remarked. "But this does not end here. Someone is moving behind the shadows. There must be a mastermind orchestrating this."
"Then we should be ready for war," Lord Marshal Cedric Valkenheim said grimly, his eyes sharp as a blade. "If they dare rise against Zenithia, we will strike them down with divine wrath."
Saintess Sylvia Evernielle, draped in a robe of pure white embroidered with celestial runes, took a step forward. Her golden hair gleamed under the holy light, her sapphire eyes burning with righteous fury.
"This time, we shall not falter!" she declared. "This war has been waged for generations, but I swear upon the name of the gods—we shall end it! In the name of divinity, we shall cleanse the land of demons, rid it of filth, and eradicate every last vestige of darkness! The heavens stand with us, and under their light, Zenithia will reign supreme!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from the assembled nobles, warriors, and priests. The hall shook with their unified resolve.
And then—
A sudden laugh broke through the triumphant atmosphere.
A deep, mocking laughter that echoed across the hall, growing louder, filled with nothing but scorn and amusement.
"In the name of gods?"
"Hahahahahahahaha!"
The hall fell into a stunned silence.
At the end of the long golden table, one man sat with a smirk on his face.
Lucian.
The Calm Before the Storm
The nobles and priests present turned toward him with disbelief. A noble of Zenith—laughing at the gods?
The Saintess' expression darkened, her radiant beauty now masked by anger.
"How dare you mock the gods?" she demanded, her voice carrying an almost unnatural weight.
Before anyone could react, two figures moved.
Swordmaster Gabriel Leonhardt and Lord Marshal Cedric Valkenheim—two of the most powerful warriors in Zenithia—unsheathed their swords in an instant, the sound of steel ringing through the hall as they aimed for Lucian's neck.
But before their blades could reach him—
A sudden clash of metal erupted.
A lone swordsman had stepped between them, parrying their blades with ease.
Baek Mu-Sang.
The grandmaster of the Abyssal Shadow Sword, his stance was relaxed, yet his blade was firm as it held back two of Zenithia's mightiest warriors.
Gasps filled the hall.
"You...!" Gabriel Leonhardt's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
Lucian, unfazed, rose from his seat.
With a single motion, the entire hall was consumed by darkness.
Shadows crawled across the floor.
The priests, nobles, paladins, and even the Pope himself found themselves paralyzed, their bodies restrained by their own shadows.
Lucian's golden eyes gleamed in the dim light.
"Saintess Sylvia," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "Can you tell me… what do you understand by the term 'God'?"
Sylvia, despite being bound by shadows, held her head high.
"God is a being above all of us! He is someone who guides humanity with his divine miracles!" she declared.
Lucian let out a chuckle.
"Thomas, do you hear this?" he said, glancing toward the side. "They don't even know what a god truly is."
A chilling silence filled the hall.
Lucian turned his gaze back to the Saintess.
"Sylvia, the word 'God' is not synonymous with righteousness or kindness. It is merely a title—a label given to those who stand above others. It does not mean they are just. It does not mean they are merciful. It only means that they are powerful."
His words shattered the faith of some priests in an instant.
Pope Valerian Aurelion clenched his fists.
"Why should we believe you?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Lucian smiled.
"Tell me, Valerian—why do thousands die every year in war? If your so-called 'God' is a being of love and miracles, why does he allow such suffering?"
The Pope had no answer.
Lucian continued.
"And tell me—why were demons even born into this world?"
"Because there are rules," Sylvia argued. "Rules that even the gods cannot break."
Lucian's expression darkened.
"What rules could possibly stop a god from intervening in his own territory, Sylvia?"
A sharp silence.
"Do you want to know the real answer?"
Lucian's voice lowered, sending chills down their spines.
"Entertainment."
The word hung in the air like a death sentence.
"The gods love to see war. They love watching humans struggle. They love your pain. Your suffering amuses them."
Lucian sighed.
"And their cruelty is in you as well, Sylvia. Every year, you send a thousand peasants to war in the name of 'God'. You take taxes from them under the promise of protection, and then throw them into the depths of despair. Hahaha."
Grand Inquisitor Solomon Varkas—a man known for his brutality—spoke, his voice laced with fury.
"No matter what you say, you demon—we will never fall!"
Lucian's smile widened.
"A demon, am I?"
The hall shook.
"I never told you to surrender. If I wanted, I would have destroyed your kingdom already, Valerian."
A deafening roar filled the air.
Outside the grand palace—millions upon millions of demons had surrounded Zenithia.
Lucian turned his gaze to Thomas, who emerged from the shadows.
"My Lord, the final piece of the Eternal Shackles of Darkness was hidden within the church. We have it now."
Sylvia's eyes widened in horror.
"What? He defeated High Priest Alistair Veyron that easily?!"
Lucian stepped forward.
"I was prepared to destroy the Holy Kingdom from the beginning. But before that, I want to show you… what your so-called 'God' truly looks like."
With a single motion, Lucian raised his hand.
And then—
The sky cracked.
The heavens split apart like shattered glass.
A blinding light descended.
From within the broken sky, a colossal figure emerged, wreathed in golden lightning.
Pope Valerian's eyes trembled.
"T-The sky… is breaking?!"
Silence.
A presence unlike anything they had ever felt descended upon the land.
And from the golden storm—
A being of absolute light emerged.
The Candidate of the God of Light.