Omniscient POV
In a forest in Kyoto, unknown to the general populace, a battle of unimaginable scale was underway. Above the dense forest, under a cracked sky illuminated by holy light and demonic haze, a war had broken out.
Kouske's summoned familiars clashed fiercely with Satanael's airborne fallen angels, the sky trembling as sparks lit up larger sections of the forest with each collision.
Hawks, the young Wind Spirit, zipped through clouds with impossible speed. His small frame weaved between volleys of light spears, slicing through enemies by channeling blades of wind sharp enough to tear wings from bodies.
Noctis, a slime-shaped darkness elemental, expanded mid-air into a semi-liquid form, swallowing light attacks and releasing bursts of shadow to blind and disorient the fallen angels. Then, utilising Shadow Binds, he sliced through the enemies with countless Shadow Blades.
Basilisks coiled around enemies mid-flight, petrifying wings or limbs with their gaze before sending them plummeting to the forest below. The looks of shock and horror could be seen even as their bodies shattered into multiple pieces like a broken sculpture.
Phantom Nymphs, nearly invisible, struck with illusion and paralyzing touch, causing confusion within enemy ranks.
The Vorpal Viper Vines twisted around enemy legs, dragging fallen angels into swirls of poison and barbed death, hidden in clusters of clouds.
Ballboons, the ridiculous yet terrifying monkeys with balls of steel, leaped between enemies with unexpected speed, foresight guiding their every move.
With a flick of their tails, they launched explosive Nimbutts at tight enemy formations, blowing holes into squads that tried to regroup.
But most of all, those grotesque creatures tore into the degenerate fallens like never before. The eerie laughter of the monkeys echoed throughout the forest as they gleefully toyed with their new prey.
Even Baraqiel stood frozen, both revolted and awestruck, as the scene unfolded before his eyes. Despite having lived for countless centuries, he had never encountered such creatures—nor had he even heard of them.
For the first time, he felt pity for his traitorous brethren, being toyed with by such monstrosities.
But his thoughts didn't linger for long. As a veteran, he quickly snapped back into action, pushing himself to fight and trying to boost his subordinates' morale after witnessing such horrors unfold in front of them.
On the other hand, the Foliage Wisps floated amidst the chaos, projecting dazzling mirages, turning what seemed like allies into traps.
Entlings raised barriers mid-air by sprouting vines from fragments of cloud-mist, shielding allies or blocking charging foes.
Among them, Baraqiel's elite fought with grit. Fallen angels loyal to him moved in disciplined formations, striking with colorful swords and spears made of light. Their wings crackled with sparks, bolts tearing through enemy lines.
Baraqiel himself fought in the thick of it, divine lightning dancing in his fists. He tore through several of Satanael's elites, hurling them down like broken dolls. His presence bolstered morale.
High above, where the air was thinner and time seemed to stretch, Kouske clashed with Satanael.
They moved faster than sound, blades singing in the air. Arondight, the holy demonic blade, glowed in Kouske's grip with pale gold and dark purple light. Its edge carved trails of divine light and shadow through the sky.
Satanael, once a composed tactician, had grown monstrous after absorbing too many of Ophis's snakes. His power surged, but at the cost of control.
Crimson veins laced through his face, and his aura was wild and cracked. His light spears hummed with erratic energy, each swing like a desperate scream.
Kouske met him blade for blade. With each clash, Holy Demonic Light exploded, shaking the sky. He fought Satanael using the fallen angel's own (ex) sword and power against him.
Satanael roared, driving forward with brutal strikes, overwhelming speed, and strength that mirrored Kouske's. His power had already reached the peak of Satan class, while Kouske was still just an intermediate Satan Class at the moment.
Satanael roared like a madman, clearly enjoying the fight as he charged forward without his usual tactics, planning, or even a hint of defense.
His sole focus was offense—relentless, overwhelming offense—as he tried to push Kouske back and corner him. Kouske could feel the raw strength behind each of Satanael's strikes as he defended against them.
Though Satanael's overall power had increased, it came at the cost of his sanity and the precise control over light he had once mastered over countless centuries.
Kouske noticed that even the shapes of his light-forged swords and spears were unstable—poorly formed, and dispersing too easily. However, the sheer amount of mana being poured into them to force them into lethality was immense.
Satanael was like a rampaging beast. His physical power had reached the peak of Satan Class, and Kouske speculated he might even rival the raw strength of Tannin, a genuine Dragon King, at this point.
As the fight progressed, it initially seemed like an even match. Both were gravely injured—cuts bled, skin burned, and bones cracked. But Kouske didn't slow down.
His expression remained calm, calculating. Even when a light spear tore through his side, he didn't fall. His wounds stitched themselves shut almost instantly, the effect subtle, unnoticed by Satanael in his frenzied state.
"Have you fully lost your mind? You can't even form sentences anymore," said Kouske as he blocked Satanael's attack with his own blade.
All he could hear now were guttural growls—no coherent words, just rage. Kouske let out a sigh at the sight. Satanael had really bitten off more than he could chew.
"And I still don't understand why you all waste the potential of light," Kouske muttered, parrying a desperate thrust. "All this power, and all you guys can make are spears and swords."
Kouske was already bored with the fight. He just wanted to get it over with. At first, he had planned to taunt Satanael a bit before defeating him. That was why he'd let him take the snakes. Well, he'd also been curious about the effects of those snakes—even if he'd never use them himself, they could still prove useful for other things.
After all, they contained a portion of the power of infinity. But now, fighting an insane beast wasn't exactly appealing. He just wanted it to end.
Satanael screamed and swung again, this time with a blade of pure searing light. Kouske side-stepped, letting Arondight crash into it. The blade of holy demonic light devoured the light sword in a pulse of energy.
With a burst of mana, Kouske summoned several weapons in the sky around him—sabers, spears, and chakrams made of energy, all launched down toward the battlefield. They flew like meteors, tearing through the enemy's air force. Entire squads of Satanael's soldiers fell.
Baraqiel couldn't help but be amazed by the strength of the young devil.
Then, Kouske advanced.
Each blow became heavier. Each swing drove Satanael back, his balance breaking. Kouske's footwork stayed sharp, eyes locked on his enemy, his strikes guided by precision and overwhelming force.
Satanael tried to fly higher, to gain distance. But Kouske followed. With a flick of his wrist, a giant cage made of demonic light encased Satanael as Kouske closed in on him.
The cage began to shrink, slowly but relentlessly, trapping Satanael as he thrashed and roared with even more beastly fury.
He struggled violently, but now he couldn't even move his hands within the tightening prison.
"This ends now," Kouske whispered.
He twisted Arondight, the blade flaring bright, and with one final strike brought it down across Satanael's chest. Light and darkness exploded.
Satanael screamed.
He plummeted, crashing through layers of clouds, falling toward the ground like a meteor.
Below, the army of fallen angels, seeing their leader fall, began to break. Baraqiel shouted a command, and his forces surged. Kouske's familiars pressed forward, picking off the scattered remnants.
The sky that had once burned with battle slowly began to clear.
Kouske watched the clouds part, his blade still humming. The war wasn't over, but the tide had shifted.
They had won this battle. Even David Cerro and Freed Sellzen, who had been secretly watching the fight from afar, couldn't help but be amazed by the display of power.
Freed let out a laidback whistle, clearly impressed, while David wore a serious, almost fanatical expression as he stared intently at the sword in Kouske's hand—Arondight, the sword of Holy Demonic Light.
But just as everything seemed to have calmed down, and Kouske came down to the ground to finally finish off Satanael for good, time seemed to freeze for him. A sudden, overwhelming sense of dread washed over him, making his instincts scream. Without hesitation, Kouske leapt backwards, away from Satanael.
Because standing beside the unconscious fallen angel was a small, cute girl with long black hair flowing down to her hips and lifeless, dark hollow eyes. Her ears were pointed, unlike those of a normal human, though her hair mostly concealed them. Her dark grey eyes, with reptilian slitted pupils, gave away her nature.
Kouske didn't need an introduction. He already knew exactly who she was.
She was someone he stood no chance of defeating right now.
"Black one," the girl muttered softly, her voice echoing across the battlefield, confusing everyone by her sudden and eerie appearance.
*
*
*
While Kouske was fighting against Satanael in the skies above, the world below was far from still. In his absence, a wave of dark intentions struck the Sabnock territory.
The old devil faction had launched a coordinated attack. It was not a war—more like a desperate act of revenge.
But Sabnock's forces were well-prepared. The elites stationed throughout the cities, alongside the trained population and watchful familiars, reacted swiftly.
The battle was short-lived.
Most of the attackers were killed before they could inflict any real damage. The few who surrendered or were captured alive were thrown into the dungeons, where they would be thoroughly interrogated.
Their true intentions, allies, and masters—everything would be extracted, one way or another.
But that was not the only battlefield.
In the Dimensional Gap, a completely different war was underway. This was no defense—it was a purge.
Akatsuki had launched an all-out assault on the hidden bases of the Wizards of Oz. Sakuya Izayoi led the charge, the Perfect Maid moving like a phantom, executing her mission with precision.
Behind her, skilled magicians from the Grauzauberer moved under the guidance of Mephistopheles, the ancient devil.
Unlike the chaotic battle in Sabnock, this one was systematic—clean, and efficient. The Wizards of Oz, once feared for their mastery over forbidden black magic, were being rooted out and exterminated one stronghold at a time.
No casualties were reported on Akatsuki's side—Sakuya's tactics and power were flawless. She led as if conducting a ritual, every move calculated.
But not all enemies fell quietly.
Within one of the deeper strongholds, Mephistopheles stood face to face with someone from his past.
Draco Malfoy.
Once his student, now a leader of the Wizards of Oz, Draco had changed beyond recognition. His aura was unstable, tainted with dark magic that twisted the air around him.
His once refined appearance had become more monstrous—his half-devil heritage now apparent in his features, horns barely hidden under a veil of shadow, his eyes glowing an unnatural violet. Even his once beautiful white hair had lost its shine.
Mephistopheles stepped forward slowly, silently.
"So, it has come to this," he muttered.
Draco smirked. "Didn't think you'd be the one to show up. Still as dramatic as ever, Master."
"I should've killed you when I had the chance," Mephistopheles said without hesitation.
"You had talent. You were eager, curious—reminded me of myself in my youth. That was why I took you in all those years ago."
Draco's smirk twisted into a grin. "And yet, you let me rot while your other students surpassed me. I wasn't blind, old man. I knew I was falling behind. I was weak."
"You had the talent," Mephistopheles replied sharply. "But you were impatient. You hit a wall, and instead of breaking through, you gave in to shortcuts. You embraced the filth of forbidden arts. Draco, you broke the rules of both Grauzauberer and the underworld."
Draco's face darkened. "So what? They were just obstacles. I surpassed every one of them in the end. Isn't that what matters?"
"No," Mephistopheles said coldly. "Not at that cost."
The air crackled around them.
Mephistopheles' mana rose calmly, while Draco's surged like a storm, wild and tainted. Black glyphs burned around Draco, unstable and chaotic, signs of the forbidden rituals etched into his soul.
Mephistopheles stared at him, sorrow and regret buried beneath a mask of resolve.
"I didn't have the heart to kill you back then," he said quietly. "But I see it clearly now. You're not my disciple anymore. Just a broken man clinging to power that was never his."
"You can try," Draco sneered. "But I'm not the same boy you taught."
"No," Mephistopheles replied, raising his hand, where the air around him vibrated with intense demonic power. "I'm not the same man who let you go."
Their magic clashed violently, light and darkness exploding through the twisted realm of the Dimensional Gap as master and disciple began their final battle.
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