The rise of the God of Death
Chapter 13: Wrath of God
Daimon stood calmly in the center of tens of soldiers, their faces pale with fear. Despite their dread, they readied themselves—survival was their only option. The hero of the north raised his hand sharply, halting the soldiers' advance. His voice trembling slightly, he asked Daimon, "Who are you?"
Without a hint of emotion, Daimon's cold voice echoed, "I am a person who kills people for a hobby." The words sent a chill through everyone present.
At his signal, the soldiers lunged forward, unleashing their full strength in a desperate attack. But the air suddenly shifted—their strikes seemed weak, futile. Daimon smirked, amusement flickering in his eyes, and said, "Child's play."
Raising his hand slowly, a crushing force erupted from him, slamming every soldier around him against the ground and walls with bone-crushing power.
The hero's voice cracked in fear, "W-what is this??"
Daimon's aura flared, cold and overwhelming. "This is aura releasing... something far beyond you, kid."
Gathering every ounce of his strength, the hero charged, unleashing his strongest skill. But just as the attack neared, Daimon vanished without a trace. The hero floated mid-air, confused and vulnerable as his attack sailed harmlessly by.
Before anyone could react, Daimon reappeared behind him, voice dripping with disdain, "How disappointing."
With deadly precision, Daimon sliced the hero three times, sending him crashing to the ground, defeated. The remaining soldiers crumpled under the devastating release of Daimon's aura.
Turning to Nil, Daimon's expression hardened. "You're free to go... but if word of this reaches the outside... make sure to say your farewells."