Chapter Two
The two devils could only stare in horror as the starved-eyed man tore through their ranks.
He killed with ruthless precision. Every strike was deliberate. Every movement was final. His entire body was soaked in blood, and though the manic frenzy had faded, the grin never left his face. It was as if this slaughter was the most special thing that had happened to him in a very long time.
Some devils cried.
Some screamed.
Some begged for their lives.
It all ended the same way.
They were cut down. No one was spared.
It was brutal. It was horrifying. And within moments, the chaotic battlefield fell eerily silent. Every remaining devil lay dead, slain without effort. The lunatic of a man still stood there, grinning from ear to ear.
The two devils who had teleported closer to the battlefield felt something far worse than fear.
Their eyes widened in pure horror.
What terrified them was not death.
It was the pain that came before it.
They had seen it. Every single one of their kind had suffered before dying. Devils who barely understood fear had begged. Devils higher in the hierarchy had pleaded for mercy, only to be butchered while their souls wailed in agony.
This monster wearing human skin had broken them all.
Just as their fear reached its peak, the man tilted his head slightly.
One glowing blue eye locked onto them.
Instantly, alarms screamed through their entire beings.
They made their decision.
The duo gathered all their remaining energy. Condensed waves of hellfire erupted around them, rising violently before consuming their bodies. Flesh burned away. Bones turned to ash. Souls shattered.
They chose death.
As disgraceful as it was for devils, they welcomed it.
Anything was better than what he would do to them.
The man said nothing.
He walked toward the drifting ashes.
They were dead. Their souls had been banished completely.
And yet he smiled.
Not a warm smile.
The kind of smile that sent shivers down the spine of death itself.
How young.
How naive.
Did they really think death would save them from him?
He raised a single hand.
A subtle motion.
Energy swirled in his palm, glowing blue and terrifyingly calm. With that simple gesture, the energy surged forward. A glowing sphere shot into the dissipating ashes.
Something impossible happened.
The ashes were pulled back.
Dragged inward.
The sphere split into two forms and took on humanoid shapes. Horns emerged. One body bore a single horn and a tail. The other had two horns and wings.
The blue energy dissipated.
The two devils stood there again.
Alive.
They had committed suicide moments ago.
It meant nothing.
The man flashed them a devilish smile.
"You are next."
They stared at him in absolute horror.
They had destroyed their own souls, erased themselves completely, and still they could not escape him. Worse, he had revived them only so he could kill them himself.
Slowly, he raised his hand.
The blade compressed and formed from black fire, blazing with death and destruction. It promised pain that would last forever.
The two devils screamed as one.
"You you you are a devil."
The man chuckled.
There was nothing human about it.
His eyes were dead cold as he laughed.
"Well," he said calmly, "that is ironic. Coming from devils like yourselves."
He turned away slightly.
"I have more things to do."
He struck.
Fast. Ruthless. Absolute.
Their agonized wails echoed across Reticon as they were cut down once more.
Then silence.
The plane of Reticon was filled with devils.
None of them were alive.
Only the man remained.
He moved forward, crossing a landscape that stretched like eternity itself in the blink of an eye. He stopped before a glowing red door.
The devils of Reticon were dead.
Now only one thing remained.
The keeper of Reticon.
"This should be fun," he thought.
And stepped into the red portal.
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As he left, strange things happened.
All the devils he had slain vanished into thin air. The land itself seemed to repair, reshaping and knitting itself back together. The process of revival and rebirth had been triggered.
The man walked into a vast chamber. Some might have called it magnificent, if not for the suffocating dread that hung in the air like smoke. Pillars of fire rose from every angle, glowing in shifting colors, casting eerie reflections across the walls. It was beautiful. Terrifying. The admiration it inspired quickly twisted into fear.
At the center sat a throne, black and red, seemingly formed from wailing souls. And on it rested another devil, but this one radiated a power unlike anything the man had faced. Even the high overlords of Reticon paled in comparison. This was one of the progenitors of the devil race, one of the most powerful beings in existence before his fall. Known by many names, most called him Lucifer.
Lucifer's gaze landed on the intruder. Unlike his kin, he appeared entirely human. Too perfect to be human, though. His beauty was inhuman, flawless, and the aura of dread he exuded was enough to send chills crawling down the spine of anyone who dared meet his eyes.
Yet the stranger did not flinch. Did not blink. Did not even shift. He merely stared back.
Then Lucifer noticed it.... the small burning sigil on the man's neck.
It all clicked.
One of those fools. One of the mortals who dared take the trial, willing to be reincarnated before their appointed time. They were all fools. Most ended up dying, their souls bound to his throne of wailing souls. And yet… this one had destroyed all of his minions who ruled Reticon's outer planes, and he hadn't even flinched.
Lucifer sent a wave of dread crashing toward him, engulfing the man completely.
This should have been enough.
But then something strange happened. The wave dissipated. The man continued walking. Calm. Small grin on his face.
"You will have to do far more than that to cause me discomfort," he said.
Lucifer's eyes flashed with disappointment. He increased the pressure, amplifying waves of fear so intense that even the air seemed to choke the man.
Still, the stranger did not stop. Not for a moment. His steps were firm. Calculated.
This should not be happening, Lucifer thought.
He should be terrified by now.
Curious, he probed the man's existence.
And what he saw shook him to his core.
There were no lines. No boundaries. No measure. Only endless abyss.
In that abyss, there was no fear.
None.
Lucifer's face widened in disbelief as every sense he possessed screamed. He had never seen anything like this. Not gods. Not eternals. Even the mightiest beings had some trace of fear. Even the smallest hint.
This man had none.
No fear.
Lucifer had no way of knowing that the figure before him had long forgotten the meaning of fear. That the concept itself no longer applied.
Got it, Ultra. Raw, brutal, intense, character-centric, cliffhanger-ready. I polished it for flow and readability without losing the chaos, horror, or your voice. No em dashes.
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Seeing that his fear manipulation had failed, and that no other emotion could be sensed, Lucifer realized one thing: all he could detect from the man was finality.
Finality meant death if he didn't fight with everything he had.
It had been a very long time since anyone had made him feel like this. A thrill, a surge of danger he could not ignore—but he would not live in desire. Not now. He would wield it.
In an instant, the handsome man before him became a monstrous figure.
Lucifer's battle form emerged. Grotesque. Monstrous. Strangely alluring. The body was coated in slick, scaly armor that was at once impossibly hard and eerily ethereal. Long claws stretched for several meters from his hands and back, thick, jagged, and glinting with an unnatural sheen. His limbs seemed longer than they should be, bending at impossible angles, muscle and sinew twitching with barely contained energy. Horns sprouted irregularly from his skull, curving backward and outward, tipped with faintly glowing runes. Faint wisps of shadow clung to his skin, writhing like living things. Every step he took left a trace of smoke and heat, as if reality itself recoiled from his presence.
The transformation completed, Lucifer did not hesitate. Without waiting for the human to react, he launched his attack.
The entire chamber shook. Pillars of fire flickered and warped. The air cracked. Reality tore as his assault ripped through it, bending space and energy alike.
The attack barreled straight for the man.
He looked… unfazed.
Slowly, he raised the Blade of Oblivion. One single slash.
The resulting gulf of energy was absolute. It tore through the devil's attack as if it had never existed. The force slammed directly into Lucifer, obliterating the chamber's floor, walls, and everything in between.
The battle had barely begun—and yet it was already over.
Lucifer screamed.
His body disintegrated, turning into ashes. For the first time, his soul was subjected to true agony.
The figure walked forward, eyes cold, devoid of warmth. Killing him with a single strike had been nothing more than a casual act, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You… you… you…" Lucifer forced the words from his fading energy, trembling as his soul began to unravel.
The man snorted, unconcerned, and continued walking.
He was not a nobody.
He was strong.
A usurper.
That revelation brought a chilling question to mind: how could the most powerful usurper end up in hell?
How could someone of such strength have been killed in the first place?
It happened a couple of ages ago… in the Eighth Realm.
In the open expanse of Teryan, a massive arena had gathered the strongest beings in all existence. Primordials, Eternals, Armogons, even the Monarchs..... they had all come to witness a spectacle.
In the center of the arena stood a newcomer. A mortal who had ascended to the Eighth Realm only a few years ago… though in truth, it had been thousands of years.
That alone was not the shocking part.
The shocking part was this: he dared to challenge Magnuor.
Magnuor. The True Eternal of Death. Master of the Eternal Conquest. The one destined to sit on the throne of Death and Finality.
This mortal, this puny Hetalgon, had the audacity to rise against him.
A lunatic, indeed.
Appearing as if he were seated in the endless void, Magnuor was cloaked in black, his form entirely hidden, his presence suffocating. He was the most powerful true Eternal in existence, manipulating the very laws of existence. He controlled death. He controlled creation. He controlled the absolute.
And yet… this mortal challenged him.
To refuse would be a blemish on his perfect name.
So he did what a being like him must do.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Two white flames burned where his pupils should have been.
And then he spoke, his voice shaking the very fabric of the world.
"I accept your challenge."
To be continued…....