DMAW Chapter 91: The Kings in Sin, Part 1 (Patreon)

Across the open plain, enormous transportation formations illuminated one after another with little more than a low thrum of displaced magic.

Violet light spread through the grass in perfectly measured circles, the elaborate arrays expanding across predetermined receiving zones before depositing entire companies of soldiers into the Underworld.

As soon as one formation completed its passage, its radiance dimmed and another awakened farther along the plain, allowing the teleportation station captured in Malebolge to disgorge an army with smooth, relentless efficiency.

Shalba Beelzebub arrived amid the foremost command formation.

The brief sensation of weightlessness receded as solid earth returned beneath his boots, and he strode from the circle without waiting for the residual light to fade from his robes. Officers and servants followed closely behind him, spreading outward to oversee the arriving formations while the ranks nearest to their master dropped to one knee.

He paid them no attention, instead, his gaze was settled on that city ridiculously named New Lilith. He sneered at the very sight of the usurper’s capital.

The megalopolis rose several dozen miles beyond the plain, so immense that distance did little to diminish its dominance over the horizon. Countless towers climbed toward the bruised heavens, their surfaces gleaming beneath infernal daylight, while elevated roadways and channels of transportation magic wound between them like luminous veins. Great defensive spires encircled the city at measured intervals, and above everything shimmered the faint curvature of a barrier vast enough to encompass millions of lives.

A delighted savagery bubbled through Shalba’s chest as more transportation circles awakened behind him. The fools remained blind to the blade already poised above their throats, and every passing second allowed another division to cross from Malebolge. By the time the city understood what had happened, the armies would be knocking through its gates, and the slaughter would begin in full!

Oh, he could already see the delectable carnage playing out in his mind!

He imagined the alarms beginning in the outer districts and spreading inward, transforming the megalopolis’ peaceful rhythm into convulsions of panic. Parents would seize their children. Merchants would abandon their shops. The broad avenues would become clogged with citizens desperate to reach shelters that offered only the illusion of safety.

And all of it, all of it, would be lost in fire!

His fire!

And no, it wouldn’t be enough to just conquer the lands! No, he needed to break them, and the very people who lived there!

He would teach them to associate defiance with bereavement, resistance with agony, and hope with the unbearable certainty of punishment. When he was finished, no citizen would dare lift their gaze toward their betters without remembering the day New Lilith screamed. Their children would inherit that terror, and generations yet unborn would learn to lower their heads whenever a descendant of the original Satans passed.

The thought stirred an aroused shiver through him.

He could already see cages lining the grand avenues. Bureaucrats, generals, governors, and Pillar Lords would hang within them while the families they had failed knelt below. Statues of the five usurpers would be pulled from their foundations and shattered across the roads, leaving the rabble to walk over the broken faces of the false gods who had promised to protect them.

Each and every one of the five!

He would make of Sirzechs’ bones a footstool! He would see that all of Ajuka’s abominations burned alongside him! He would ensure Falbium and his precious strategies and tactics would be forgotten by history, and that the human trash Ichigo’s profane kingdom would be razed to the ground!

As for Serafall…

Heh, he would cripple her magic and have her serve as his concubine for the rest of her miserable life! At the very least, her pure-blood body could birth the future generations of House Beelzebub!

A commander approached through the gathering ranks, the man’s armor reflecting the violet-hued radiance of the transportation arrays. He stopped several paces away and dropped onto one knee, bowing his head until his horns nearly brushed the grass.

“My Lord Beelzebub, the first and second deployment zones have been secured. The central formations are crossing ahead of schedule, and the Malebolge station remains fully stable. We have detected no enemy response.”

Shalba looked down at his servant and sneered. “Of course you haven’t, you fool.”

The commander remained bowed. “My lord?”

“They still believe themselves safe.” Shalba lifted his chin as another formation appeared behind him, depositing hundreds of soldiers and three towering siege beasts into the world. “The idiotic pretenders have filled their heads with promises of security and order. They cannot imagine an enemy standing this close to their capital because they have forgotten what it means to fear their masters.”

He spread his arms, welcoming the sight of his army flowing across the plain. Standards rose above the gathering ranks, bearing the sigils of the Old Houses and the vassals that had clung to the true order through centuries of exile. The rumble of marching feet spread outward as newly arrived divisions moved into their assigned positions, gradually transforming the empty land into an immense and orderly sea of war.

“Maintain the transportation schedule and the mass-invisibility spells,” Shalba commanded. “No one advances until every formation has arrived. I want the city surrounded within the hour!”

“Yes, Lord Beelzebub.”

The commander struck one fist against his breastplate before rising and hurrying away.

Shalba remained where he stood, savoring the distant city’s peaceful ignorance. Somewhere within those towers, millions continued working, eating, laughing, and embracing their loved ones without knowing that their future had already crossed the threshold into their world.

Soon they would look upon him and understand that the pretend Empire had never protected them.

Soon they would learn despair.

Shalba smiled toward his future kingdom as the invasion continued unfolding soundlessly behind him.

=======

He wanted to be in bed.

He really, really wanted to be in bed.

But no; instead, Falbium Asmodeus stared across a rocky plain at Creuserey and the tens of thousands of Devils assembled behind him. His heavy-lidded eyes passed over columns of armored infantry, hovering artillery platforms, and magical constructs and golems made out of enchanted metal.

The sight filled him with an immense well of frustration.

For several months now, Falbium had been forced to maneuver the Empire’s Legions across numerous fronts: organizing offenses, anticipating counterattacks, reinforcing vulnerable territories, and directing troop movement against a rebellion whose leaders possessed more wealth than sense. Which, tragically, tended to be the norm for the Devil species.

Luckily for him, the enemy had managed to prod Ichigo’s temper just enough that the youngest Crown Prince began tearing through enemy strongholds with the subtlety of a minotaur in an antique store. Which was awfully kind of his unsibling – if it weren’t for the fact he couldn’t be bothered, he would have sent Ichigo flowers as thanks.

Nevertheless, the Second Civil War was but one of his wretched responsibilities.

Curse the day Sirzechs and the others convinced him to head the military! The war is over, there’s nothing left to do, they had said. Duplicitous gits the lot of them!

The Summit and its subsequent treaty might have formally ended hostilities with the Fallen Angels, but none of the Crown Princes were stupid enough to leave their ancient border unguarded. Falbium still had to monitor their troop movements, maintain the defensive formations separating their territories, and account for the possibility that some ambitious cadre within the Fallen hierarchy might decide that civil war presented an irresistible opportunity. And beyond the Underworld, garrisons had to be maintained throughout the Empire’s numerous dimensional holdings. Not to mention planning for the protection of logistical routes across hostile realities, and the countless reports from commanders stationed in entirely separate space-time continuums that had to be temporally calibrated.

Falbium was a very, very busy Demon Lord.

Creuserey’s and Shalba’s continued existence was therefore profoundly inconvenient.

Rather thoughtless of them, really.

A lazy flex of Falbium’s will passed through the surrounding landscape, and the pocket dimensions concealed across the horizon quietly unfolded. Tens of thousands of Imperial Devils emerged upon the ridges behind Creuserey’s army, their formations already established and their artillery prepared to fire. More appeared along the flanks, sealing every route through the rocky plains, while spatial anchors awakened beneath the ground and closed around the rebel forces like the bars of an invisible cage.

The reaction passed through Creuserey’s army immediately as officers twisted their wings and cast their eyes across the wasteland. The numerous soldiers raised their weapons in uncertainty, and the enormous magical constructs… well, they just stood there thoughtlessly, without a care in the world. Honestly, he somewhat envied them.

His own troops remained unbothered and motionless, save for the sorcerers who ensured that localized space had been sealed tight. Loathe as he was to be here, there would be no escape for their enemies.

Creuserey, for his part, merely sneered in distaste, as if unbothered by the fact he was now surrounded. Which, really, should have been cause for alarm as any baboon would have put together the surprise invasion was not really a surprise anymore. But then, no one ever accused the Old Satan Faction of being intelligent.

No, the Asmodeus scion floated there unbothered, dressed in ornate armor decorated with the sigil of his family. He looked every inch the aristocratic warlord he imagined himself to be, from the immaculate arrangement of his clothing to the disdainful curl of his lips. Falbium supposed the costume might have impressed someone who cared about such things.

Unfortunately for Creuserey, the only thing Falbium currently cared about was how easily he could use the rock not two meters from his feet as a pillow. A simple transmutation spell would do the trick…

Creuserey fanned his twelve wings, his magical aura rising sharply and blanketing the wasteland around them.

“The false Asmodeus!” he spat. “Today I will finally cleanse my family name of your shameful existence! Today is the day the rightful rulers - ”

“Oh, sod off,” Falbium exclaimed with an exasperated sigh. “Let’s not do the old song and dance, eh? You’re a shadow of your mother and father and I killed them all the same; so forget the posturing and just give me your bloody neck already.”

Silence fell across the plains.

And Creuserey’s mouth remained open for several seconds after the interruption, his prepared proclamation dying soundlessly upon his tongue. His expression then rapidly shifted through disbelief and outrage before settling into a vicious snarl, while veins began protruding along his neck and temples.

Falbium let out another sigh as he felt the Devil’s magic quiver with rage.

Passionate people were the most troubling kind. Just look at Sera and Sirzechs, always going on and on about their precious little sisters and yelling and screaming at every moment they could. Ichigo was also a passionate fellow, but at least the lad had the good sense to leave his emotions at home. It was the same with Ajuka - though most would think the Sin of Greed a cold and emotionless slab of stone – he was actually deeply passionate about whatever latest obsession had consumed his mind.

Really, he was the only sensible Sin amongst the Crown Princes.

But Falbium was rudely pulled from his musings as Creuserey’s magic finally exploded.

The rocky plains groaned beneath his magical weight as a crushing wave of demonic power swept outward, pulverizing loose stone and grinding entire outcroppings into clouds of dust. Ah… there went the rock he was eyeing as a potential pillow. How tragic.

In response, the nearest Imperial soldiers reinforced their defensive formations, though the Legions remained firmly in position as dark energy rolled over their barriers.

At the same time, around Creuserey’s body, something vast and serpentine stirred.

And Falbium’s eyes narrowed by the smallest degree. A shadow resembling a colossal black serpent coiled through the rebel’s aura, its indistinct scales drinking in the light while its empty gaze seemed to look upon everything and nothing simultaneously.

He gave another tired sigh; that would be Ophis’ blessing then. Troublesome eldritch monstrosity that it was. Why couldn’t it have interfered with some other corner of reality? Surely there was something more appealing to do, say, in the Andromeda galaxy than there was here?

“You DARE?” Creuserey bellowed, his voice carrying across the plain beneath the pressure of his magic. “I will rip your heart out and—”

Falbium released his own power and demonic blight exploded through reality.

Color fled from the world beneath an immense tide of Sloth, leaving the plains, armies, and distant sky drained into shades of lifeless grey. The Underworld shook as the Crown Prince’s presence descended upon it, and the laws holding the surrounding region together sagged beneath an influence that demanded everything become still.

Creuserey’s crushing aura that had been pulverizing the landscape was instantly torn apart as Falbium’s power passed through it, scattering its remnants like dust before the tempest gale.

Across the rebel army, thousands of Devils buckled. Some dropped onto their knees, while others collapsed face-first against the stone, their limbs refusing to answer them as Sloth seeped into flesh, magic, and thought. Thousands more dropped dead, their hearts losing the will to beat, their minds refusing to produce any thought – the Sin of Sloth quelled the very desire for life to flourish.

Siege constructs ground to a halt in the middle of raising their weapons, and artillery platforms sank from the air as the magicks sustaining them became too lethargic to continue functioning.

All the while, Falbium had not moved a muscle.

He continued standing in the same slouched posture, his hands tucked into his pockets and annoyance weighing more heavily upon his expression than the apocalyptic power pouring from him.

“Didn’t I say no posturing, you gormless tit?” Falbium asked with irritation. “Ugh, you passionate types. Bloody well in love with the sound of your own voices.”

Creuserey stared at him with naked hatred, but the emotion no longer stood alone. A sheen of perspiration had appeared across his brow, his breaths had become shallow, and behind the fury burning in his eyes lay the unmistakable glimmer of terror.

At least the fool possessed enough instinct to understand the situation now.

Falbium sighed once more, his shoulders sinking with the realization that once this was all done, this would require even more reports. Casualty assessments would need to be reviewed, captured officers interrogated, damaged constructs catalogued, and the surviving rebels processed through the military tribunals. And of course, someone would inevitably request that he attend a strategic conference to discuss the consequences of a victory he had planned for weeks ago.

Not for the first time did Falbium long for the good ‘ole days, when he could commit mass murder without having to worry about the pencil-pushing nonsense that came after it. Damn Sirzechs and his blasted bureaucracy! 

Wait… he was forgetting something. He blinked slowly and took in the sight of the trembling Underworld and the amassed armies.

Oh, yes…

Falbium stared up at Creuserey and said, “Right, be a good lad and just die.”

=======

Serafall Leviathan stood alone upon the highest peak of a sprawling mountain range, her long black hair and pink-trimmed dress fluttering within the frigid winds that raced between the jagged crags.

And before her, the Underworld sky had disappeared behind an army brimming with hostile energies and faces.

Tens of thousands of Devils hovered above the surrounding mountains, their wings spread into a dark canopy that stretched from one horizon to the other. Enchanted armor gleamed across their bodies, dense formations of magical soldiers held weapons at the ready, and countless sigils burned through the air as their sorcerers prepared spells powerful enough to easily reduce the entire mountain range and what lay beyond into rubble. Not that it meant anything to her, other than to make for a grand, visual spectacle.

But she recognized the assorted Devils before her. Not personally, no, but she recognized the weight they carried in their gazes. They were old hands of war, powerful Devils who had spent years raiding through dimensions, slaughtering and conquering everything in their way, and assuring one another that they were in the right to do so. She imagined many of them were even older than her, veterans of the Great War even. And as she looked at each and every one of their bloodthirsty gazes, Serafall couldn’t help but smile imperceptibly.

How wicked!

How nefarious!

How wonderfully suited for today’s episode!

Serafall planted one hand firmly upon her hip, thrust the other toward the assembled army, and pointed at them with enough theatrical indignation to make her entire body tremble.

“Foul trespassers!” she cried, her voice carrying effortlessly across the mountain range. “Magical Girl Levia-tan will see to your downfall today! You will not harm the proud people of our noble Empire!”

Her declaration echoed between the distant peaks, though the rebels answered with cold silence.

She maintained her heroic pose, although she allowed the smallest pout to touch her lips. Really, where was the appreciation? She had projected magnificently, chosen a visually striking battlefield, and even adjusted her stance to ensure the wind caught her hair from the correct angle. The least they could offer was a suitably outraged denunciation.

Bah! This is why she never worked with amateurs! No appreciation for the fine arts!

But then, a sudden burst of white electricity erupted through the air between her and the army, crashing and searing the peaks around her, and Serafall’s pout vanished immediately.

The lightning converged several hundred feet before her, drawing three brilliant lines through the sky until they formed an enormous triangle. Hundreds of smaller sigils ignited within its boundaries, their arrangement combining into a complex family crest Serafall had not seen displayed openly since the First Civil War.

Very slowly, an eyebrow crept up as old memories from centuries past came rushing back: House Orobas, the Fifty-Fifth Pillar. A House whose main line was decidedly extinct.

Yet, despite her surprise, Serafall kept one finger pointed toward the enemy army, her smile remaining wide even as her eyes sharpened.

All the white lightning collapsed inward into the House Sigil as a bright radiance gathered at each point of the triangular formation, and suddenly three tall women emerged simultaneously from the light.

And they were perfectly identical.

Each possessed impossibly pale skin and long white hair that fell in straight curtains nearly to her waist. Their slender bodies were wrapped in fitted white garments traced with elaborate green patterns, while their expressions held the same unnerving absence of emotion. Even the angles at which they carried their heads appeared identical, as though one woman had been reflected twice across the surface of reality.

And Serafall recognized them immediately - Drei, Sechs, and Neun -  the triplet daughters of the Demon Orobas.

They were much older than her, having been born in the early generations of Devilkind, and they were even veterans of the apocalyptic Great War. But they were supposed to be dead. When she, Sirzechs, Ajuka and Falbium had launched their rebellion, the triplets had led the House Orobas to side with the Old Lords. And, from what she recalled, they were slain by the combined power of the current Duke Vassago and the previous Marquis Phenex.

Allegedly slain though, given the obvious evidence to the contrary.

However, it was not their survival that held Serafall’s attention: mistaken proclamations of death or even resurrections weren’t that uncommon in the supernatural, after all. No, what truly held her attention were the fully bloomed white flowers growing from the sisters’ right eyes.

A pale rose emerged from Drei’s eye socket, its petals layered in immaculate spirals. A white lily rested upon Sechs’ face, its long petals curving across her brow and cheek. And Neun possessed a white carnation whose ruffled bloom concealed the entire right side of her gaze. Thin green roots disappeared beneath their skin, though none of the sisters displayed the slightest discomfort.

She stared in quiet thought, the Orobas bloodline had always possessed formidable authority over plant life, but Serafall had never encountered any record of flowers growing directly from their bodies.

She silently brought magic into her eyes.

The world deepened around her as her sight penetrated flesh, spirit, and spellwork, yet the instant she attempted to examine the sisters, a black serpentine haze slithered across their forms. It filled every layer of her perception with an impossible absence, leaving her unable to distinguish anything beyond their physical appearances.

She resisted the urge to let out an unwomanly groan. She should have known that the triplets were being enhanced by the Infinite Ouroboros. Three Ultimate-class Devils empowered further by the might of a Divine Dragon meant that even a Satan like her would have to work for a victory.

“Theatrical,” Drei said tonelessly.

“Whimsical,” Sechs followed, just as emotionless in her words.

“You are as treacherous as ever, Scion of Sitri,” Neun concluded, and she was the sister who floated above the others at the peak of their triangle.

She stared for half a second, recognizing a gestalt mind when she saw one – which meant she would be dealing with psionic abilities along with the Orobas’ gift of chloromancy. Serafall lowered her pointing arm and swept it gracefully across her body before bending into a melodramatic bow.

“Yes, I am!” she declared brightly. “We all have our vices, the chains in our minds we can’t bear to undo! Mine just happen to be a bit more noticeable than others!”

“Understandable,” Drei said.

“Misleading,” Sechs corrected.

“Your vices have captured and dulled the hearts of so many of our kin,” Neun said with their shared flat voice. “What were once conquerors and secretive plotters have now become beggars and addicts, crying for scraps of your attention.”

For less than a heartbeat her eyes flashed, and their familiar violet disappeared beneath a searing pink radiance. The mountain beneath her feet groaned as pressure descended into its ancient stone and local reality flickered in violent hues of pink. The flowers growing from the sisters’ eyes twitched, and their petals moved in mesmerizing patterns.

But just as quickly as it came, Serafall’s magic vanished back inside of her.

She straightened from her bow with an enormous smile and threw both arms wide, offering herself to the entire world around her.

“Now that’s just disingenuous! My people love me, and I love them! When I smile, their hearts smile with me! When I laugh, their voices laugh with me! When I move, they move their eyes with me!” She pressed both hands lovingly against her chest and tilted her head, allowing her hair to tumble across one shoulder. “Magical Girl Levia-tan has given them the comfort of a mother, the guidance of an older sister, and the soft affection of a lover! I am all these things and more to my children!”

And every word was true.

Serafall loved the people of the Empire. She loved the way their faces brightened when she appeared before them, the excited screams that followed her through crowded streets, and the little hands that reached toward her during parades. She loved listening to their troubles, soothing their fears, celebrating their successes, and reminding them that one of the mightiest beings in creation knew they existed.

She was their radiant star in the Underworld sky, their source of joy and wonder. Hundreds of millions watched her, followed her, adored her.

Serafall was their font of inspiration and happiness.

“Delusions,” Drei said.

“Entrapments,” Sechs added.

“You have sown your lies so thoroughly that you have begun to believe them yourself,” Neun continued. “It matters not. We shall free the Devil race from your ensnarement and return them to their true nature from which you have led them astray.”

Serafall’s shoulders slumped and her lower lip began to tremble, and she brought one hand against her forehead as though the Orobas sisters had struck her with a mortal wound. She staggered backward across the narrow summit before looking upon them with enormous, glistening eyes.

“How could you say such hurtful things, daughters of Orobas?” she asked, her voice cracking beneath a sorrow so exaggerated that it could not possibly be mistaken for genuine distress. “Our people are happy! They are thriving! They have all that they need and more within the comfort we have given them!”

“Propaganda,” Drei answered.

“Illusions,” Sechs said.

“You have given them naught but lies,” Neun declared. “Alliances with their ancient enemies? A human reborn seated upon the throne of a Sin? Their heritage has been plundered by you, even as their very hearts have been stolen.”

Serafall’s false tears immediately disappeared.

And a certain coldness made its way to her face.

The rebels always spoke of heritage as though it were a treasure kept behind glass, never to be touched, questioned, or changed. They remembered the ancient wars, the endless conspiracies, the blood feuds, and the brutal contests for authority with such reverence that one might have believed suffering itself was the height of existence.

But did they ever look to the future? Did they ever look towards what would and could be? No, they were so lost in the trappings of the past that they could never see what was right under their noses. It was ironic, so very, very ironic, that the Old Lords held their ways reverent and sacred.

Such were the trappings of power – she and the others were labeled iconoclasts, heretics, and creatures blaspheming against the bloodlines of the Seven Deadly Sins. They forgot themselves; they forgot what it meant to be sinful. To be profane.

Why else would the Sins find her and her unsiblings worthy?

Because they did what was natural for their kind, rule by power, not by ideology. No one was owed loyalty, no one deserved to be obeyed. It must be taken by force, with sheer, unadulterated power.

The only reality for Demons was power, all else was vulgar fiction.

But they knew that – they knew that they would be found wanting before Hell itself, before the Sins it had gifted onto Lucifer and his ilk. But – ah! These were ancient arguments, old words. She no longer cared for them. She had power and now was the time to exercise it!

“Well, hopefully we can change your minds.” She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward playfully. “Isn’t that right, my lovely fan club?”

And the sky shattered.

Across the horizon, the empty air split into thousands of luminous fractures as the walls of the concealed pocket dimensions collapsed. Mountains that had appeared barren became covered in Imperial weaponry, defensive formations, and tightly ordered ranks of soldiers. Tens of thousands of loyal Devils emerged into the sky behind the rebel army, then tens of thousands more appeared along both flanks until the entire mountain range lay enclosed within a vast sphere of wings, armor, and demonic power.

The Orobas sisters looked around mechanically, and, for the first time, their identical expressions changed. Drei’s lips parted slightly, Sechs narrowed her visible eye, and the white carnation growing from Neun’s face pulled its petals closer together.

Serafall’s soldiers raised their weapons and their voices erupted as one.

“LEVIA-TAN!”

The mountains shook and sent boulders crashing into valleys far below.

“LEVIA-TAN!”

Avalanches thundered down the surrounding slopes as ancient sheets of snow and stone tore free.

“LEVIA-TAN!”

Several distant peaks fractured beneath the chant, their upper ridges collapsing into clouds of ice and pulverized rock. The sound rolled across the range like the adoration of a single colossal organism, tens of thousands of hearts offering their devotion without hesitation or command.

And the Demon Lord spread its wings, twelve pinions of the blackest night casting shadows over numerous planes of existence. Slowly she rose into the sky, the sheer weight of her presence causing the magic of the Underworld to bulge and bleed onto the physical world.

And though her smile remained, all the childish warmth and theater drained from her glossed lips. Feral pink light danced mad in her eyes, casting monstrous insanity across her face as reality around her became heavy with a bestial desire that was vast, dark, and impossibly ravenous.

“Come,” the Sin of Lust whispered, its voice reaching into every soul throughout the region. “Give in to my love, daughters of Orobas. Give in to Leviathan’s embrace.”

=======

Sirzechs walked across the open plain with his hands clasped loosely behind his back and a polite smile resting upon his face. It was always a good day when he could indulge in a little cheerful slaughter.

Ahead of him, the invading army had fallen into dead silence and perfect stillness. Not that he had done anything, but there were very, very few beings in existence that wouldn’t be robbed of will when the Devil set a predatory gaze on them. And Shalba and his pathetic band of nobodies certainly didn’t count among them. Really, how deluded was the Beelzebub descendant that he genuinely believed that he had entered his Empire utterly unnoticed?

But then, he supposed, it was the prerogative of the incompetent to believe everyone else to be the same as them.

His green eyes quickly found Shalba himself at the center of his forces.

The self-proclaimed ‘True Satan’ floated perfectly still, wrapped in some ostentatious robes he had selected for his arrival. Sirzechs had to stop himself from chuckling; not only was he a complete idiot, Shalba also had no dress sense! Which was unsurprising, given he had lived in exile for the last several centuries.

His expression had frozen somewhere between outrage and disbelief, while his extended wings twitched behind him as though uncertain whether they should carry him forward in challenge or backward in retreat.

Not that it would make much of a difference.

“Shalba,” he greeted warmly. “You may be the single most profound idiot ever spawned by the Devil race. And given the extraordinary competition you’ve faced throughout our history, that is a remarkable achievement in and of itself.”

A strangled noise escaped Shalba’s throat.

He lifted one trembling hand and pointed at Sirzechs, his finger shaking violently enough to undermine whatever authority the gesture might otherwise have possessed.

“You-you…how?” Shalba stammered. “How did you find us?”

Sirzechs stopped several paces away and stared at him.

For a moment, he wondered whether Shalba was genuinely that stupid. Surely, he must have realized that it was a trap by now? Perhaps Ophis’ blessing had some unintended side effects, like adversely affecting portions of his brain.

Then again, that would imply those portions had functioned beforehand.

“Shalba…,” he said with tired patience. “The outpost in Malebolge was a trap, you idiot. We allowed you to capture it, allowed you to seize the teleportation station, and then fed you the destination you believed would carry your army within striking distance of New Lilith.” He tilted his head slightly, studying the dawning comprehension upon Shalba’s face. “As if I would be stupid enough to build a teleportation array that led to the heartlands of my Empire in Fallen Angel territory.”

“You lie!” Shalba shouted, though the sudden shrillness in his voice betrayed him. “Our agents verified the transportation coordinates! The city is there!”

“Yes, I’m sure they did.” Sirzechs glanced toward the immense skyline rising upon the distant horizon. “But they saw and heard what we wanted them to. In the future – well, not that you have a future – you should ensure your scouts are trained to resist mind manipulations and illusions.”

Shalba’s face twisted with hatred and demonic power began rising from his body, stirring the grass around his boots and sending cracks through the earth beneath him. Yet Sirzechs could feel uncertainty poisoning the display, a river of fear coloring his aura. The fool of a Devil might possess incredible strength inherited from his ancestor, further bolstered by the blessing Ophis had wound through his soul, but he still lacked any true sense of mastery.

He was just an overgrown child throwing a tantrum when compared to Sirzechs.

“Bluster all you want,” Sirzechs said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But even as we speak, the other Sins have mobilized with our armies and are meeting your invasion forces head on. By the end of the day, you all will be wiped out and your feeble little rebellion put down for good.”

The polite smile remained upon Sirzechs’ face, though it was cold and bereft of any empathy, as he watched realization creep through Shalba’s army. They all could clearly hear him as he projected his voice. Humorously, those nearest began exchanging frightened looks, while several sorcerers quietly attempted to open transportation circles beneath their formations.

Not that anything happened.

Sirzechs had spatially locked the entire region – nothing short of divine intervention would allow Shalba to survive this day. Even then, Sirzechs would hound that True Immortal to the end of time to finally be rid of the Old Satan Faction once and for all.

“You planned this,” Shalba said, his eyes wide with outrage.

“Yes…” Sirzechs answered slowly. “That is generally how traps work.”

“You-you treacherous bastard!”

He withheld a sigh; this really was going nowhere. Ah well, there was no point in continuing this farce. Best to put things to a final end and be on his merry way back to his cozy office.

Sirzechs gave him a mildly incredulous look. “Shalba Beelzebub, disgrace that you are to that name, it is time for us to end things. No more will our people be led into pointless wars and slaughter – we will rise to new heights, to new glories, and transcend beyond the purpose we were fashioned for.”

Shalba’s face contorted hatefully in response to his words, and his aura surged higher, a violent haze of demonic power rolling from him as his rage attempted to smother his fear. He glared at Sirzechs with all the loathing accumulated through generations of exile, but his body continued betraying him. His wings had drawn closer to his back, his shoulders had become rigid, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened across his brow.

For all Shalba’s conceit and delusions, Sirzechs was well aware that those things paled in comparison to the fear and terror he inspired in the little Lord pretending to be a King.

Very few beings beneath the Divine could face the Crimson Lucifer in the fullness of his might. Fewer still could do so while maintaining any credible belief in their survival.

With an iota, with a lone mote of his power, space folded at Sirzechs’ right.

And Grayfia stepped from the distortion first, silver hair flowing behind her as her own tremendous demonic power spread across the plain. His beautiful bride, as murderous and powerful as ever. Raw magic bled from beneath her heels and raced outward in branching patterns, covering the ground between the opposing armies while the air became painfully cold. She came to a halt beside her King, her expression poised and dispassionate as her usual silver eyes now burned crimson.

The sky ignited in fire overhead, sending cascading waves that resembled an infernal ocean.

Surtr Second then descended within a pillar of apocalyptic flame, his arrival turning the clouds overhead into a blazing furnace. The heat of his presence collided with Grayfia’s magic and sent storms of steam rolling across the battlefield, and instantly the surrounding region was warped into a volcanic wasteland by the giant’s sheer presence.

Another distortion opened, and Souji emerged with one hand resting upon his sword. He offered the enemy army a pleasant smile, though the weapon at his side vibrated with such concentrated killing intent that the Devils nearest Shalba instinctively recoiled, a few even passed out on the spot.

Enku followed through the same fracture in space, his presence descending across the smoldering land, calming the burns in gentle dappled light, and the earth healed and gave rise to budding trees and greenery. Beowulf appeared upon the opposite flank, sword drawn and resting on his shoulder, and his usually unassuming Pawn was clad in a baleful, violent aura that sheared the ground around him.

Hundreds of sorcerous formations then unfolded across the scalded skies.

MacGregor Mathers stepped from their center, surrounded by revolving circles of arcane scripture whose radiance painted the world in impossible colors. Each formed spell carried enough compressed sorcery to obliterate entire divisions within seconds, yet they continued multiplying behind him until the sky resembled a clockwork wall of magical gears.

And his final Piece’s arrival required no portal.

Bahamut was heralded by the horizon being colored umbral dark, and a deep wail reverberated through the Underworld.

Something vast moved beyond Mathers’s seals, and the air itself shook with a tremor as a massive black beast the size of an island dipped from the cloud-line. His other Rook had a gargantuan whale-like head but a serpentine body, and its numerous fins were covered in white tufts of feathers. In opposition to Surtr, this Rook darkened the clouds and filled the air with humidity, bringing with it the abyssal sea.

The combined presence of Sirzechs’ peerage settled upon reality, and it nearly broke.

Across the entirety of the Underworld and its adjacent dimensions, seas recoiled from their shores and mountains crumbled to the ground. The fabric of the realm stretched around them, struggling to contain their concentrated mythic weight.

Sirzechs had to suppress a smirk; to think, they weren’t even actively using their powers. Just their shared existence was enough to unravel the immediate reality. Ah, but how much worse would it have been if the brat were still part of his peerage as well?

And as Sirzechs returned his amused gaze to Shalba’s army, he saw them falter and break beneath their combined presence.

Thousands of Devils immolated on the spot, too weak to exist before Lucifer and his peerage. Thousands more fell to the ground, crushed under the weight of their existence. And all of their magical weaves and engines of war crumpled, torn asunder by the fierce waves of power crashing into them. Shalba’s army was essentially undone, defeated before the first shot had even been fired.

“As you can see,” Sirzechs said gently, “I can’t exactly bring my entire peerage together as I please – I’m actively having to keep time and space from being torn apart with my magic even as we speak. But that is no matter. You have walked into my Empire of your own volition, now you will die by mine.”

Shalba made some sort of strangled noise, but otherwise, he said nothing else.

“Ah, one last thing.” Sirzechs raised one hand and deftly snapped his fingers, and the entirety of New Lilith shattered like glass, falling away in rainbow pieces that melted away into nothing. “As if I would ever let you anywhere near my capital. It was only ever an illusion – just like your ambitions.”

“…No,” Shalba said in a small voice. “I… it… can’t be. I-I am Beelzebub. I am Beelzebub! My name is writ in legends! I-I am the rightful King over all Devils and the Underworld! I-It’s my destiny!”

“You poor thing,” Sirzechs said scathingly. “Your only destiny is to die by my hand. Farewell, Shalba. Enjoy your eternity in Hell.”

The Crimson Lucifer raised a hand, a lone bead of Destruction forming in his palm and he –

!&^%$#

Ah.

Here we are. The climax upon this act. But fret not, the finale is yet to come. And look! Mine own self in enmity? How novel.

But cometh again the chilled age of Thu’ban.

My children returned, my children avenged. Know this Red Thing - I shall have what is mine. And though the Wheel turneth, what comes ‘round need not be a thing of old. I am welcoming of the new.

I shall create the new.

From the dying embers of the old.

I am OPHIS

I am hidden behind the names

Of the first person thou loved

And the last person thou hurt

Now bear witness

This grand, intoxicating theater.

&^$!#!

For the first time in his life, Sirzechs actually faltered. And even as he willfully dismissed his power, a sudden sound of a crack rolled over the plains.

And from behind the Old Satan faction’s army, he could clearly see a fissure growing in the air – no, in spacetime itself. Slowly it crumbled inward, fragments of reality collapsing into the infinite blackness beyond. The fracture widened with the abrupt force of a vacuum, dragging the entire army, along with giant chunks of stone into the air. Shalba’s outrage became terror as he and tens of thousands of Devils were pulled toward the Void, their screams merging into a single, deafening chorus.

And something answered them from within the Abyss.

The sound tore through Shalba’s army and atomized every Devil in an instant. Bodies, armor, and magic vanished beneath its force, leaving nothing behind as the surrounding mountains trembled.

Sirzechs’ mouth set grim as his eyes bled a furious crimson, his full demonic majesty beginning to break through the facsimile of flesh he put over his true self.

And from within the endless dark, two gargantuan draconic silhouettes moved within the shadows. Their immense forms remained obscured by the Void, though the power rolling from them was unmistakable. Both of them far more powerful than that of a Satan-class being, and one of them possessed an aura vast enough to rival Sirzechs himself.

His peerage gathered behind him, their attention fixed upon the figures slowly emerging from the Abyss.

“Sirzechs…” Grayfia called, a touch of worry coloring her lovely voice.

Sirzechs remained silent for a moment, his crimson eyes narrowing as one of the dragons drew closer to the fracture.

“Yeah…” he said distractedly. “This complicates things.”

=======

Ichigo emerged from beyond the pocket dimension, and with him marched the Legions assigned to him by Falbium. Gremory, Humbaba, and Saviġuk followed closely at his back, each of them sending out waves of monstrous power through the realm.

A ripple of alarm passed through the rebels when they recognized him. Despite his preference for privacy – and he acknowledged the irony of him being the stereotypical Dark Lord holed up in his dark tower – Ichigo’s several forays into the numerous battlefields these last several weeks had made his face rather publicly known by the Old Satan Faction. It also didn’t help that Sera and her Department of Propaganda plastered his face everywhere in the news to raise public morale and support for the war.

But he returned his attention to the rebel army across from him, and the crimson gaze he cast across their ranks stripped away whatever courage they had mustered by stepping into the Empire’s lands.

He allowed an iota of his power to escape from him.

And reality groaned beneath its weight. The valley sank several inches into the earth as the air thickened around the rebel army, forcing thousands of Devils to buckle beneath the pressure. Cracks spread across the mountainsides, while the sky above them warped a burning red.

Ichigo watched them struggle for several moments before speaking, his voice carrying effortlessly across the valley.

“Surrender, and you’ll be spared. Refuse, and I’ll kill every last one of you and send your souls directly to Hell.” His crimson eyes moved slowly across the ranks, ensuring that none could mistake the offer for negotiation. “Choose.”

Slowly, Ichigo watched the defiance in their eyes collapse as his presence reached beyond their bodies and pressed against their souls. Whatever convictions had carried them into the Underworld withered beneath the instinctive terror of a Crown Prince of Hell, an authority their Devil minds recognized more readily than whatever promises and delusions the leaders of the Old Satan Faction offered them.

And with a lone twist of his Sin, seeping into their minds and whispering fear and terror, Ichigo deftly ensnared their minds, one by one.

However, in that moment, a vast Holy aura suddenly descended across the valley and severed the tendrils of his power reaching out. And the Sin in his soul howled in fury as if it were burned.

The same sacred light washed against his own Legions and provoked an immediate wave of unease behind him, and Ichigo scowled as he pressed back with his demonic energy, forced to protect his own troops from the sudden Holy assault.

From behind him, Gremory stirred, and there was something that flickered in her aura… recognition? Did she know the origin of this sudden Holy power?

And as if to answer his thought, four figures dropped from the sky and landed between the opposing armies.

Ichigo’s eyes instantly fell upon a dark-haired young man at their forefront; he held a long silver spear whose blade shone with immaculate, sacred light; every pulse of its radiance carrying an authority that caused his Mantle of Satan to scream with unadulterated hatred.  Though he ruthlessly crushed his mythic role’s resonance with the True Longinus, Ichigo had no desire to allow some dead memory to influence his thoughts or emotions.

As he returned his attention to the humans before him, he recalled the numerous intelligence reports that Sera had gathered – that was unmistakably the True Longinus – the strongest Sacred Gear in existence. Which meant that this was Cao Cao, the leader of the so-called Hero Faction of the Khaos Brigade.

Ichigo’s eyes then fell on the others with him. To Cao Cao’s left was a young woman who wore golden and royal-blue armor, her long blonde hair falling freely behind her as a Holy presence emanated from her soul. It possessed nothing approaching the oppressive sanctity of the True Longinus, though it remained strong enough for him to deduce it must be another Holy-type Sacred Gear. Beside her stood a broad bear of a man with long hair and classical Mediterranean features. And to Cao Cao’s right stood the final member of the quartet, a tall and lean man, with whitish hair framing a composed face.

Huh… a trace of demonic energy clung to the last man. And not just that, there was some odd familiarity with him. Not in his physical presence, but in the way that his soul sat within his body. It vaguely reminded him of Kon, his old mod soul during his Substitute Shinigami days. Which raised quite a few questions about the white-haired man.

Was he some sort of homunculus, perhaps?

But he was broken from his thoughts as Cao Cao hit the ground with the butt of the Spear of Destiny, sending a pulse of energy that crashed against Ichigo’s own firm will anchored in reality.

“I am Cao Cao, descendant of the same Hero who bore the name and cemented his legend in the era of the Three Kingdoms,” he announced. He then indicated each of his companions in turn. “This is Jeanne, mortal incarnation of the legendary Joan of Arc. Heracles, who carries the blood of the legendary Greek hero, and Siegfried, who descends from Sigurd, greatest of the Germanic dragon slayers.”

Ichigo blinked twice before bluntly saying, “Yeah, I don’t give a shit who you are. You’re between me and that army,” he pointed over their shoulders for emphasis, “which I was about to beat into the ground. So, with all due respect, fuck off.”

Cao Cao balked at Ichigo’s response, whatever dignified reply he had prepared momentarily deserting him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his grip upon the True Longinus, visibly attempting to recover the solemn composure Ichigo had apparently ruined.

“I can see that the rumors of your temper are not exaggerated.”

“And I can see that you clearly don’t understand the words coming out of my mouth,” Ichigo replied, his annoyance deepening. The rebels had been seconds away from surrendering before these idiots dropped into the valley, and now their leader wanted to exchange introductions and cryptic remarks? “Seriously, get lost.”

Jeanne bristled, outrage flashing across her face as her Sacred Gear glittered dangerously in her soul. “Who the Hell do you think you are to talk like that to us?!”

Ichigo stared at her. Had she somehow missed the crimson eyes, burning demonic aura and literal army of Devils behind him?

“Uh, are you lost? Hell is exactly who I am. Sin of Wrath, Satan – I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I’d be lying.” He gestured toward the two armies surrounding them. “Also kind of in the middle of a war, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Heracles struck one fist into his open palm, producing a crack that rolled across the valley. “Can we just get to the part where I smash his mouth already?”

“I concur,” Siegfried said as he reached over his shoulder and drew a massive sword from its sheath. “Let’s just get on with this.”

Ichigo’s attention snapped toward the weapon as its corruptive presence spilled into the air. He knew that sword, having studied the famous Demonic weapons of history with Grayfia-nee. Gram – the legendary Dragon-slaying blade of the Hero Sigurd… and it was supposed to be sealed within the catacombs beneath Vatican City, buried behind enough wards and Holy protections to ensure that no one would ever again fall victim to its demonic influence.

Either the Catholic Church had suffered another embarrassing theft, or someone inside had decided to hand one of human history’s most dangerous Demon Swords to a terrorist…

Before either Siegfried or Heracles could advance, Cao Cao raised his free hand and brought them both to a halt. The gesture was calm, but the glare he fixed upon Ichigo was anything but. Anger burned within the Longinus wielder’s eyes alongside something far more personal - a depth of resentment that made no sense whatsoever.

Ichigo frowned as he searched his memory. He had never met Cao Cao before today, had never even fought anyone close to him, and he had certainly never done anything that should have inspired this kind of hatred. Unless the man held an unusually strong grudge against gingers, Ichigo had no idea what his problem was.

“Why did you do it?” Cao Cao asked.

Ichigo gave him a puzzled look. “Why did I do what?”

Cao Cao’s jaw tightened. “Why did you betray humanity?”

What the Hell was this asshole talking about?

“What the Hell are you talking about?”

Cao Cao stood straighter beneath Ichigo’s stare, defiance hardening his expression as he pointed the True Longinus toward him. “You, Ichigo Kurosaki, the man who stopped the rogue Soul Reaper from destroying the balance of life and death, the man who saved the world, why on earth did you sell your soul and become a Devil? Worse, not merely a Devil, but Satan himself, the Adversary. You turned your back on humanity and betrayed us all, you who were a true Hero!”

Ichigo fell silent at Cao Cao’s declaration.

And not because he felt guilty or ashamed in any way… but because of the sheer disbelief Ichigo felt in that moment. There was no possible way this man took the major points of his battle with Aizen and suddenly constructed his whole life around that one conflict. As if those seven months as a Substitute Shinigami defined his entire life, his entire personality. Or even that he was some static monolith that was incapable of change and kept the same thoughts as his sixteen-year-old self.

“…You’re missing a lot of context there,” Ichigo told him, unable to keep the strange look from his face.

“What context?” Cao Cao challenged. “I see a Demon before me! A vile, wretched monster that is an aberration to all existence! What could possibly justify your choice?”

“Justify?” Ichigo repeated, indignation cutting through his confusion. “Okay, first off, asshole, I don’t need to justify anything. Secondly, my life choices are literally none of your business.”

Cao Cao’s expression tightened, but Ichigo had already lost what little patience he possessed for this conversation. He wasn’t about to be judged by some random douchebag who was siding with Ophis of all people.

“Who the fuck do you think you are to come into my turf and tell me what I’ve betrayed and what I haven’t when we’ve known each other for a grand total of less than five minutes!”

“I’m a Hero who fights on behalf of humanity, we all are,” Cao Cao said angrily. “Just like you were! But you gave up your humanity! You turned into a literal evil being! You saved the world, but instead of living on, happily ever after, you threw it all away and became this… this abomination!”

Happily ever after…? What was he, six years old?

But then, something else struck a chord with Ichigo, and as he sensed the waves of anger from the young man’s soul, beneath it – he felt something else. Distress, a profound and deep distress. Cao Cao wasn’t just angry that Ichigo became Satan, he was highly disturbed, as if it challenged everything he knew about the world. But why? Why did it bother him so much? And on top of that…

Ichigo fixed him with a quizzical look. “What makes you think I threw away happily ever after? What makes you think I was happy then, and that I’m not now?”

Cao Cao flinched, as if Ichigo had struck him. And he clearly felt the jolt from the young man’s soul, an intensely deep confusion and sense of wrongness.

“How could you possibly be happy?” he said anxiously. “You are Satan, the embodiment of evil and unrestrained anger.”

Ichigo continued to look at the young man strangely, a sneaking suspicion entering his mind. “It’s not that hard. When I’m not doing the Dark Lord bit – which isn’t that often really -  I play video games, go on dates with beautiful women, and eat lots of tasty food. You know, normal stuff.”

Cao Cao looked at him as if he had said something utterly absurd. “That’s not what Demon Lords do.”

Ichigo gave him a pointed look. “What do you know about Demon Lords?”

“I know everything!” Cao Cao yelled – almost childishly, Ichigo noted – as his composure began to fray under Ichigo’s intense scrutiny. He drew the True Longinus closer to his body, and its sacred radiance brightened with his conviction. “I have read all the histories! I know the atrocities committed by the Sins against humanity over the millennia! The nations they destroyed, the wars they provoked, and the countless lives sacrificed to satisfy their perversions! You cannot possibly deny the records of the past!”

Ichigo raised a single eyebrow in response. “How many of those records mention me?”

And Cao Cao went rigid, as if he had been doused with ice water.

“I-I,” he stammered, but Ichigo could see his thoughts grind to a halt. He had not foreseen the obvious hole in his logic. Which only cemented further Ichigo’s suspicions about the reasons for Cao Cao’s black-and-white worldview, one without nuance and finer detail.

Jeanne noticed his hesitation as well. “Don’t listen to him, Cao Cao,” she said quickly, stepping forward before Ichigo could press the point. “It does not matter whether his name has appeared in the histories yet. He may not be the Satan of old, but he is still Satan nonetheless. It’s only a matter of time before he turns his power against humanity and inflicts the same suffering as his predecessor.”

Ichigo tilted his head to the side and gave a small nod; it was a fair assessment to make. He was a Demon; he was Satan himself - there was nothing kind about his role in the grand cosmic narrative. But, at the same time, Ichigo knew something they didn’t – he wasn’t bound to Satan, it was the other way around. He was the stronger of the two, the more powerful. And in time, like Set and Ddraig both told him, his own name would outstrip the consequences of his predecessor’s title.

Ichigo Kurosaki would never be bound to the shades of the past – just like Old Man Zangetsu taught him: he had to keep moving forward.

On the subject of Demons and Satan, Ichigo suddenly felt an impish sense of amusement as he stared at the four self-proclaimed Heroes.

“Speaking of history, what’s yours?” Ichigo asked, allowing a trace of amusement into his voice. “Surely illustrious, self-styled Heroes such as yourselves have saved the world plenty of times before?”

The question earned him four hostile glares and no answer. Cao Cao’s fingers tightened around the True Longinus, Jeanne’s lips pressed into a narrow line, and even Siegfried’s cold expression hardened.

He smirked. “No? No grand adventures, no cosmic threats thwarted? Actually – now that I’ve mentioned cosmic threats, are you really Heroes since Khaos Brigade is essentially a cult for those worshipping the Infinite Ouroboros and seeking its blessings? Doesn’t that make you all anti-Heroes?”

All four of their auras instantly exploded and pressed forward, racing to clash against his own. However, Gremory merely lifted her chin, and an iron wall of magic stopped their combined auras in place.

 “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Ichigo said whimsically. “The army behind me is attempting to create a long-standing peace. Meanwhile, the army behind you wants to restart the Great War and actively bring back the days when entire human villages were wiped out in demonic sacrifice. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve killed more Devils, Fiends and Undead than all four of you put together. My body count has to be in the several millions by now.”

And as they all stared with hateful venom, Ichigo allowed his Sin to rise invisibly into the world around them. The Spear of Destiny might have been protecting them from his influence, but if they themselves invited him in with all their anger and hatred, there’s not much the sacred superweapon could do to stop him.

He then reached into the darkness within his soul and summoned Zangetsu into his hand with a lone thought. And instantly demonic pressure surged from him several times stronger than before, devouring the space between the armies and forcing the Hero Faction to brace against its weight. Cao Cao planted the True Longinus into the ground to shield himself and his allies from the monstrous weight Ichigo allowed to descend into the Underworld. The valley groaned as the local fabric of the Underworld twisted around Satan, mountains bending at impossible angles while fractures spread through the sky overhead. On top of that, he could feel the other Sins doing the same, reaching into their own reserves of near-endless demonic might.

He gave Gremory a mental push, commanding her to put up barriers all around and spatially lock the adjacent reality. Otherwise, if his power synced with the other Sins, they could risk destroying the entire Underworld and all the Planes of Existence attached to it.

Ichigo absently twirled Zangetsu in his hand and fixed the four humans with a pitiless stare.

“I’m giving you one chance. Leave the Underworld and stay out of Devil business from now on.” His power continued tightening around them, making the consequences of refusal perfectly clear. “If I see any of you here again, I will kill you.”

Cao Cao sneered in response. “Look at what you’ve become. A walking horror whose power deforms the world around him, a monster who has chosen to stand against humanity! What would your human family say if they knew?”

And whatever tender mercies Ichigo may have offered instantly vanished. He had one bottom line, one, and that was his family. Especially Yuzu and Karin. Tiamat, Yasaka and his father could take care of themselves, but his human sisters were beyond off limits. He would pour Hell onto Earth before he ever let anything happen to them.

Without subtlety this time, his Sin rose to the surface and his presence grew significantly stronger – the ground began to boil in molten sludge and the mountains collapsed from the sheer heat of his presence.

“My family is rather open and accepting,” Ichigo said coldly, and while his sisters didn’t know the full truth – he had decided to shelve that conversation after introducing Yasaka to them – he knew them well enough that, at best, they would just smack his arms for getting caught up in weird stuff again. His father had come around to accepting the ordeal after a healthy conversation coupled with some booze.

Cao Cao stared at him, genuine shock briefly displacing his hostility. “They know?”

“Part of family dynamics is respecting each other’s boundaries while knowing when to have those awkward and difficult conversations.” Ichigo’s voice then turned scathing as he aimed Zangetsu directly at Cao Cao’s chest. “I doubt you’d know anything about that though, asshole.”

His aura continued to rise and colors in the sky began melting into a primal ooze – and were it not for Gremory’s magic isolating them, an entire continent of the Underworld would have been lost from Ichigo’s sheer presence.

“This is my final warning, leave. You may have a Longinus, but you have no chance against me and my peerage,” Ichigo said severely.

And even as he finished speaking the words, a sudden cold settled across the valley, smothering even the immense demonic heat radiating from Ichigo. His eyes widened as darkness brushed against his mind and phantom scales slithered across his neck. He knew that alien sensation… he had just finished having tea with it.

But before he could react, it vanished.

And just as quickly, a sudden crack split the molten sky, and it collapsed upward around it until a jagged wound opened directly into the Void. Like some fell beast, the torn wound in reality gave a cold breath, pressing down and robbing the surrounding Underworld of its natural energies and ambient magic.

Ichigo glared as he sensed something race through the endless dark, and swiftly, a black meteor fell from the Void and slammed into the burning earth, throwing lava, ash, and superheated dust all across the valley. Nevertheless, with a flicker of his will, Ichigo forced the eruption back down and cleared the air.

And into his sight stepped a massive bipedal dragon from the crater. Midnight scales covered its body, while yellow eyes burning with insanity swept across the gathered armies. For a single, silent second it glared hatefully, and then it threw back its head and unleashed a hideous roar, washing the valley in draconic power equal to that of a Satan-class being.

But then a second roar answered from above.

Ichigo’s gaze snapped back to the wound as a far larger, serpentine dragon descended from the Void. Dark-blue scales armored its length, broken by numerous fins and small wings that shifted as it coiled through the air. Its power surpassed even that of the black dragon, and Ichigo tightened his grip upon Zangetsu.

Gremory hissed animalistically from beside him, even as Saviġuk gave a fierce snarl.

“I recognize the black one,” Gremory said fiercely. “Grendel the Berserking Sin Dragon. One of the Great Wyrms of the Emperors’ War, slain by the mortal Hero Beowulf.”

“And interred by the Æsir beneath the River Ván,” Ichigo finished grimly. So, it was true then, Ophis had resurrected all the dragons that had been slain during the Emperors’ War and sealed away.

As for the other…

Tiamat stirred within his mind, and he could feel her immense concern wash over him. ‘Lotan the Coiling Devourer.’

Recognition lit Ichigo’s eyes and he responded back, ‘Wait, isn’t Lotan the one that – ’

‘Yes,’ she replied instantly, not letting him finish the thought. Not that he needed to, he could sense her ancient anguish come rushing back.

‘Tiamat,’ he thought softly, reaching out to comfort her.

But she responded with resolute iron. ‘No, beloved. Now is not the time for tears. You must remain vigilant. Grendel boasts the hardest of scales amongst wyrmkind. Even the Welsh Emperor, at the height of his power, struggled to pierce his hide.’ 

‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘It is not,’ she said gravely. ‘And Lotan is a sea serpent of the ancient world, nearly as old as myself. He is the son of Yam, my brother Primordial. In the Old Days, Lotan was filled with naught but hunger and rage. He is an ancient wyrm, beloved, one of the very same whom Set spoke to you of.’

One of those who embodied Thu’ban’s reign over the earth then, Ichigo thought with narrowed eyes. He had told himself he would put matters of Ophis and the Oldest Myth aside and focus on the Civil War for now – naturally Ichigo’s list of immediate priorities went right out the window when he was about to end things.

My life in a nutshell.

But Cao Cao looked at the dragons and then at Ichigo, and he smirked and said, “It seems your servants will be otherwise occupied, Demon Lord.”

Ichigo really wanted to wipe that look off of that asshole’s smug face.

=======

A/N: All the Sins are now on the battlefield, but Ajuka will be highlighted in the next chapter. On top of that, the Sins will be pushed with a real challenge. Not the puffed up peacocks of the Old Satan Faction, but ancient Dragons with enough strength to make them go all out.

Shoutout to Drakengard 3, big inspiration for this chapter.

On an unrelated note - my wisdom teeth removal has been rescheduled to this Monday. So, luckily, this week's chapter was not impacted at all. Praying for no complications next week.

Have a lovely weekend!