"I'm not your match," Blackheart said with a faint, self-assured smile, "but if I want to leave, I believe you won't be able to stop me."
His tone was calm, almost mocking.
Wanda said nothing. She simply gazed at him in silence.
The smugness on Blackheart's face faded almost instantly. His body flickered, blurring at the edges as if trying to vanish—yet the next moment, he snapped back into place.
Before he could react, a beam of golden light flared before him. A figure appeared, extending a hand that clamped firmly around his neck.
Blackheart's expression changed drastically. Instinct screamed, and he unleashed every ounce of his demonic power.
A torrent of black energy exploded outward, a storm of destruction that twisted the very air.
But within that storm, a blinding golden flash—like a bolt of divine lightning—cut through the darkness. It struck Blackheart squarely in the chest, sending him hurtling backward like a cannonball. He smashed through mountain after mountain, leaving a trail of devastation before finally crashing into the plains below, carving deep trenches into the earth as he skidded to a stop.
When the dust settled, he lay in the crater, his purple suit scorched, dark purple blood seeping through cracks in his chest. He had been severely wounded by that single strike.
Were he not a demon lord, his body would have been utterly destroyed.
That arrogant grin he'd worn earlier had only been an act—while he spoke, he'd secretly tried to teleport away using black magic, hoping to distract Wanda long enough to escape.
But all of it had been in vain. She had seen right through him.
Pain surged through his body. He coughed up dark blood, his demonic energy flickering weakly. He had managed to raise an energy shield at the last instant—otherwise, his entire body might have been shattered beyond repair.
Even so, the sheer destructive power of that golden attack terrified him.
The strength of a demon lord was far beyond mortal understanding. Even so, facing such overwhelming force, he realized with dread that Wanda's every strike could cause him real harm. If she continued attacking, she could completely annihilate him.
Blackheart's existence was unique—ordinary methods couldn't kill him. Even Mephisto himself could not destroy him completely. His self-healing ability bordered on the divine.
But even he could sense it now—death.
Not only from her attacks, but from her. That woman possessed a power that could truly end him.
That was why he had tried to run.
But he had failed.
Rumble—!
Thunder shook the heavens. Black clouds rolled overhead as countless bolts of golden lightning descended like a divine punishment.
Each bolt traveled faster than light, tearing through the sky in blinding streaks.
Blackheart's face contorted as he blurred into motion, leaving behind a dozen afterimages. He darted through the downpour of lightning at incredible speed, but even then, he could barely keep up.
Each strike forced him back, each flash of light making him gasp for breath.
In the chaos, a golden figure appeared—not running, not rushing, but walking calmly forward.
Her every step distorted time itself. She seemed both leisurely and impossibly fast, a contradiction that made the air twist around her presence.
Blackheart gritted his teeth. A moment of hesitation—and one of the lightning bolts struck him head-on.
He raised both hands, summoning an ocean of black magic. Endless waves of darkness surged upward, forming a vortex like a black hole that devoured the golden lightning.
The two powers clashed violently—light and darkness, godly and infernal.
But the longer the storm raged, the more panicked Blackheart became.
The lightning never stopped. It poured endlessly from the heavens.
He dared not withdraw his magic for even a second—if he did, he would be annihilated in an instant.
Though it looked like lightning, the truth was far more terrifying.
Each bolt was a punch——a blow at the speed of light, capable of pulverizing a star.
And there were billions of them.
Blackheart could barely comprehend such power. He looked toward the golden figure walking through the storm and cursed silently.
This Gold Saint is a monster. A monster that shouldn't exist in this universe.
Even the might of his father, Mephisto, the King of Hell, couldn't compare to this devastating strength.
It was absolute domination.
Wanda advanced through the lightning, her expression calm. Her crimson eyes flashed once—and the black hole vanished.
Blackheart's pupils dilated in shock.
It was his final thought.
The moment his magic was gone, the full storm of golden lightning engulfed him.
He screamed—a sound that split the heavens. His body was shattered again and again, regenerating only to be destroyed once more, trapped in an endless cycle of pain and rebirth.
Each second felt like an eternity of torment.
Wanda stood less than five meters away, her cloak fluttering in the roaring wind. The golden lightning swirled around her, yet under her control, not a single strike touched anything but its target.
Every bolt fell precisely upon Blackheart.
Every second, hundreds of thousands—millions—of star-crushing blows rained down upon him.
It was torture beyond comprehension.
Yet, amid the chaos, Wanda's expression remained serene. Her red hair and cloak whipped in the storm, and a faint smile played upon her lips.
Demons, she thought, were such amusing toys.
Pain for them—pleasure for her.
But the amusement faded quickly. She had no patience to waste on a fool like him.
With a thought, she dispersed the lightning.
The golden storm vanished, leaving only drifting dust and silence.
What remained of the demon's body was no longer human—it was smoke, shadow, and ruin. His essence had been torn apart down to the atomic level, his soul fragmented and barely holding together.
And yet, with a low, guttural roar, he began to reconstitute himself.
Black mist surged upward, reforming into his true demonic form—towering over two meters tall, eyes burning crimson, hair and skin black as pitch, long dreadlocks whipping behind him, and a muscular tail curling like a serpent.
He looked down at Wanda—yet inwardly, he dared not move.
He remembered the agony of being reduced to atoms.
To run was to die.
He swallowed. "You… don't intend to kill me?"
He couldn't understand. The woman before him had the power to erase him utterly, and yet she had not.
"Congratulations," Wanda said softly, a faint smile on her lips. "The Sanctuary has decided—it needs you."
"Needs me?" he asked warily. "For what?"
"Hmm…" She tilted her head playfully. "Maybe as a target."
Blackheart's eyes went wide.
At that moment, the night sky erupted.
Across the world, beneath the stars, countless Saints moved as one—young men and women clad in sacred armor, their cosmos flaring like constellations brought to life.
Without hesitation, they unleashed their divine blows.
Punches faster than sound and light rained upon the demons that had spilled from Hell, turning them to ashes in a single instant.
To the watching world, it was a vision of gods descending—youths of every race, bound by one belief, wielding the light of the God King himself.
Humanity witnessed a miracle.
The demons that had threatened to end civilization were obliterated like dust before a storm. The stars shone brighter than ever, illuminating the heavens with holy light.
In that radiance, a majestic, sacred realm shimmered faintly—the Sanctuary itself.
Atop its star-lit hill stood a towering figure, serene and divine.
With gentle eyes, the God King looked upon the corrupted earth. His power reversed the erosion of Hell's flames—time flowed backward. The scorched lands healed, and flowers bloomed once more.
All who witnessed this miracle fell to their knees, tears in their eyes, hearts trembling with devotion.
"The great God King has saved us once again.""Your glory shines upon the world!""We will pray to you forever, O Lord of Light!"
In their despair, humanity had seen salvation.
Their weapons had failed, their armies had been useless. But in their darkest hour, a divine light had risen.
Not from Heaven. Not from any god they had worshiped in vain.
From him. From Leon—the living God King, and his Saints.
And thus, faith was born anew.
Compared to the distant, silent gods of old, Leon was real, merciful, and near. A god who acted, who protected.
The contrast was undeniable.
The catastrophe that had swept across the world ended as swiftly as it began—crushed beneath the power of the Sanctuary.
Demons and undead were real, the myths had proven true—but humanity also now knew that the Sanctuary, the Saints, and the God King stood watch over them.
And so, fear turned into faith.
Under Leon's protection, no demon dared set foot upon the earth again. Humanity was safe.
And across the world, millions of believers prayed in unison—hearts lifted to their new God King.
End of Chapter)
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