Chapter 75: The Sixth Heaven Demon King — Mara
"Very well then! If he's so desperate to absorb..."
"Let him absorb it all!"
"See if he can stomach the full force!"
Two of the Four Pillars refused to restrain their power. Instead, they unleashed their magic in a brutal torrent, their attacks converging on Beelzebub with world-shattering intensity. Their example ignited a cascade—half of the seventy-two demon gods joined in, hurling their fury together.
"Stop! Cease fire!"
One of the senior demon gods had seen Beelzebub's chilling smile and tried to halt the attack.
But it was far too late.
The fused, catastrophic onslaught engulfed Beelzebub and the monstrous swarm around him in an apocalyptic explosion. The sandbox world shrieked, its very structure fracturing under the strain. It felt as though it would collapse at any moment.
The spectators outside the arena reeled in panic. If the artifact couldn't contain the blast, the force might rupture the actual battleground.
A few nervous gods ducked and covered.
Even Heimdall, caught off guard by the sudden spike in power, was sent flying like a ragdoll, his body crashing into the ground and half-buried from impact.
Such terrifying force... Even a main deity might not survive a direct hit.
But what of the Fly King?
"Heheheheh…"
That deranged laughter echoed from Beelzebub's position. And from the confidence in his voice, it was clear—he remained unharmed.
Heimdall felt a wave of dread rise along his spine.
The darkness... it was suffocating. So deep, so pure that even divine souls quivered. It was a blackness that seemed absolute.
🌑 Hatching Horror
As the smoke dispersed, the battlefield lay ravaged—but what drew everyone's attention wasn't the devastation. It was the massive egg standing before Beelzebub.
Crack… Crack… Crack!
The shell split in jagged lines before exploding outward.
Whatever was inside had forced its way out—revealing a humanoid figure crowned with two twisted horns.
The entire arena held its breath.
Beelzebub rarely smiled. Yet now he cackled like a madman.
And this egg—what horror did it contain?
A haze of obsidian mist rolled out, darker than even the smoke, obscuring the creature within.
But soon, a form emerged from the gloom—a figure so drenched in shadow it made the mist look pale. It walked on two legs. Horned. Humanoid.
"What... is that?" murmured a mischievous god, the lollipop dropping from his open mouth.
"Shakyamuni...?"
A god nearby whispered the name with reverence. The Buddhist deity—one of the highest of the pantheon—stared in absolute alarm.
If he was shaken, then Beelzebub had truly summoned something unprecedented.
"That thing... is terrifying," Shakyamuni said, his voice grim.
His divine ability, Perfect Insight of Alaya Consciousness, allowed him to read the soul's intent—to glimpse the flicker of a will before action occurs. But this creature... radiated nothing.
Not even Zeus had a completely unreadable soul—his light was just muddled. But this thing lacked light entirely.
Was it a lifeless husk?
No—it clearly moved. It acted. It lived.
Then why could it not be sensed?
Its soul was pure darkness. Unfathomable. Void of light. Even the vilest demons retained at least a flicker.
But this... this entity was utterly black.
And as the fog cleared, they saw it clearly—a humanlike shape. Just barely.
Shakyamuni's pupils shrank. Cold sweat slid down his face.
Behind Beelzebub, a dozen more eggs began to crack—each one holding a matching abomination.
Thirteen in total.
Among many pantheons, thirteen was a cursed number.
"W-Who is that, sister?" Grey asked with a tremor in her voice.
The humanoid horned figures emerging from the shells filled her with dread.
"I don't know," Brünnhilde whispered, her gaze tense.
She could feel it—a darkness so complete, even sunlight recoiled.
Above them, the sky grew dense, as dark clouds blanketed heaven's realm.
A glance toward the principal gods revealed similarly grim expressions.
Even the Heavenly Hosts looked shaken. Especially the Vice Lord, whose face turned stormy.
"Is... is that a god?" Ares muttered.
Beelzebub, though feared, was still a recognized deity.
These figures? They were something else. Something outside divine categorization.
Not human.
Not demon.
Not of this world.
A primal fear stirred deep within Ares—a natural rejection of these creatures. They felt like enemies of all existence.
More than demons. Worse than devils.
"They've created something that should never exist…" Loki murmured. Even he, trickster among gods, felt uneasy.
What were they?
They weren't distorted monsters. They bore human-like faces.
Could they have existed before?
Had Beelzebub cloned them from something ancient?
Then—another voice entered the scene.
"That is the Berserker of the Netherworld."
Ares and Loki turned, startled.
Standing behind them was a regal young man—his aura chilled Ares to the bone.
Even more feared than Zeus, it was Lord Hades.
"H-Hades, sir...!"
Ares jumped to attention, offering his throne instantly.
"I was curious," Hades said, settling in and fixing his gaze on Beelzebub. He had once gifted the demon king that staff. He was one of the few who acknowledged Beelzebub's existence.
"That thing... is a Berserker of the Netherworld?" Loki asked.
"Yes," Hades replied solemnly. "According to ancient records, when pure white light meets absolute black shadow... the Horn of Hades shall awaken. And from it shall emerge the Eternal Darkness—its name: the Sixth Heaven Demon King, Mara."
Even Hades's voice grew heavy.
He had long known Beelzebub was researching forgotten relics—seeking something capable of slaying even himself.
He never expected him to unleash it here, on the stage of Ragnarok.
And not just one. Thirteen.
It was excessive.
What troubled Hades further was the question—where did Beelzebub get the resources to spawn this many demonic constructs?
Was someone backing him?
Odin perhaps?
Then—
A deafening roar shook the sandbox world.
A scene unfolded that would sear itself into every divine memory.
Chapter 76: Overwhelming—The Destruction of the Seventy-Two Demon Gods
Beelzebub, a solitary outcast with no allies, couldn't have manufactured such a massive army alone.
Someone had provided him the means.
That army was meant to be unleashed at a specific moment—reserved for a greater plan.
Yet Beelzebub had deployed it here. Prematurely. And worse—it had been wiped out by the seventy-two demon gods.
The sponsor must've been livid.
But fate played a cruel twist.
The monsters weren't the real weapon.
They were feedstock.
Beelzebub had used them to nourish something far more dangerous.
Just thirteen figures.
But their presence dwarfed everything the demon army could offer.
The balance had shifted—and Ragnarok would never be the same.