His lip curls, his pride wounded too deeply to back down now. "You think you can best me in hand-to-hand?" He scoffs. "You'll see what a real high-class devil can do."
I quirk an eyebrow, holding in my amusement. Legally being allowed to beat up a pureblood devil is a ~treat.
The fact he's too arrogant to understand what my display of power and my casualness means, just makes this hit the sweet spot for me - I'll enjoy his looks of disbelief as I crush him.
I let out a slow breath. My body hums with energy, my blood thrumming in my veins. The rage that has been my constant companion for four centuries pools in my core, feeding my Ki.
Touki ignites around me, a thin red haze crackling to life over my skin, power radiating outward in a violent, seething aura.
Then I move.
I close the distance in an instant, faster than his eyes could track. My fist slams into his stomach, the impact sending shockwaves through the air as he's tossed back spitting blood. I follow him, my wings flaring as I fly forward, and he barely manages to raise his arms to block my follow-up, a downward strike that rattles his very bones.
I'm sure I actually fractured something there, a wild bloodthirsty grin on my face as I meet his pained eyes.
He retaliates, throwing a powerful right hook aimed for my jaw. So slow! I tilt my head, letting it graze past, then drive my knee into his ribs. The breath leaves his lungs in a sharp gasp.
I don't give him time to recover. I flow like water, each movement smooth, calculated. I duck under a wild swing, step into his guard, slam my elbow into his solar plexus. He staggers. I pivot behind him, driving my heel into the back of his knee, forcing him down.
His movements grow desperate, his strikes fueled by fear rather than precision. I see the exact moment he realizes he's in over his head, his eyes almost popping out in disbelief and rage, the split-second before my fist finds his jaw in a brutal uppercut that sends him into the air.
I follow him into the air, my wings coming into play again, and casual as can be, somersault in the air to bring the heel of my foot into his stomach, shooting him back down into the stony ground like a meteor, the stone chamber exploding around him, a stone chip flying by my cheek the closest I've gotten to being hurt this entire fight.
He lays on the ground in a crater, groaning, dazed. Bones broken, the wet sounds of a punctured lung audible.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders, then casually brush the stone dust from my suit.
"I expected… More." I say, staring down at the proctor with a disappointed half lidded gaze, even as I let my Touki dissipate.
I got excited for nothing, it seems.
This was High-Class?
Perhaps I could have done this fifty years ago. I click my tongue, annoyed at myself.
Moments later, I lean over the crater and smile a closed eye smile down at the pale and panting proctor, "So, if you die from this, do I get an A+? I'm not sure how this exam business works, being only a lowly servant?"
I returned to the waiting area, seeing as the proctor for some reason was disinclined to give me any further information.
From the look in his eyes, he'd have preferred I killed him rather than once again pointing out how a lowly servant dominated him in every way.
Don't worry friend… Killing you will come one day.
Shortly thereafter an attendant approaches me, his expression neutral, but the stiffness in his posture betrays his discomfort. His gaze flickers briefly to my bloodied heel and the footprints left on the marble floor, my heel still coated in blood from where I broke the proctor.
"Your appointment with Lord Sirzechs has been accepted," He says, his tone carefully measured. "Follow me."
Some of the tension in me relaxes at that. Knowing that I still have a chance now. It worked… Now to bring it home…
Becoming High-Class in itself did not help me, as I was still tied to my master. I needed more.
Killing him and going stray just wasn't a good solution. There were too many people in this world stronger than me that would just enslave me differently.
I glance around at the noble brats who had waited with me in the hall before. Some whisper among themselves, throwing glances my way, as if they can't decide whether to be impressed or disgusted with someone of my standing meeting the Lucifer. One or two scowl outright, their fragile egos wounded by my mere presence.
I don't spare them a second thought after I give them all a mocking wave.
If I ever see them again, it will hopefully be as I rip the Underworld apart from underneath them.
I follow the attendant through the grand corridors of the capital's palace. I pay no attention to the splendor, my mind on this meeting. The moment of truth.
I'll either get the power to one day crush all of devilkind, or I'll die by my own hand before the day is over rather than return to slavery.
We stop before a massive set of obsidian doors. The air itself is heavier here, saturated with the presence of the being who waits beyond.
The doors open on their own.
I step inside.
Sirzechs Lucifer sits behind a simple mahogany desk, clad in his ridiculous shoulder focused armor, cooly assessing me, one hand stroking his chin contemplatively. His red hair hanging loosely, and looking far too similar to my own shade for my liking.
Behind him, to his right, standing with the rigid perfection of a true maid fetishist, is Grafiya. Her silver eyes lock onto me the moment I enter, a silent promise of violence if I so much as twitch wrong.
I force myself to bow.
It takes everything in me not to sneer as I do.
I hate this man, all of the New Satans, in fact. For creating the system that brings so much suffering, and doing nothing to watch over it and manage it.
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