Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1240: Semi Arcane Domain

Victor hovered in the dark void of space, his crimson aura crackling like storm clouds brewing before a tempest.

Ahead of him, the horde of demons grew closer, their monstrous forms filling the horizon. The air—if there had been any—would have been thick with malice and bloodlust.

At the forefront of the horde was Belakor, and his hulking figure twice the size of any other demon. His skin was an ashen black, veins of molten red glowing beneath it like lava.

Six glowing eyes, set in two uneven rows, tracked Victor’s rapid approach. He chuckled, a deep, guttural sound that echoed among his followers.

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"This is your champion?" Belakor mocked, his voice like grinding stone. "One pathetic little insect, rushing headlong to its own death?"

Victor’s speed didn’t falter. His obsidian claws shimmered in the starlight, and his eyes burned with a determined fire. "One insect?" Victor called out, his voice sharp as a blade. "You should’ve brought a bigger swarm!"

Belakor’s grin faltered. A ripple of unease ran through the horde as Victor’s aura became a blazing inferno.

"Fire!" Belakor bellowed.

Dark energy blasts erupted from the demons, each one a swirling mass of chaos aimed directly at Victor.

The space between them became a hellish light show of destruction. But Victor was relentless. He darted through the barrage with impossible precision, twisting and turning, his claws deflecting what he couldn’t evade.

"Is that all you’ve got?" Victor snarled, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.

Before they could fire again, Victor barreled straight into their center. His claws dug into the massive chest of a towering hell beast, and with a burst of raw power, he exploded out through its back. The beast let out a gurgling roar before its remains splattered across nearby demons.

Victor didn’t stop. His claws slashed in wide arcs, severing limbs and torsos. He moved with brutal efficiency, a whirlwind of death and destruction. Blood and viscera floated in the vacuum of space as he tore through the horde, his attacks unrelenting.

"Pathetic!" Belakor roared, his six eyes narrowing. "Is this the best the spawn of your pathetic plane can do? You think you can defeat ME?!"

Victor paused, his blood-soaked form hovering in the midst of the horde. He turned to face Belakor, his lips curling into a feral grin.

"Think?" Victor said, his voice dripping with defiance. "I KNOW I can."

Then, Victor stretched his arms wide, his claws gleaming with fresh blood. He closed his eyes, his voice a whisper that carried across the battlefield, impossibly clear.

"Semi Arcane Domain: Blood House."

A pulse of crimson light erupted from Victor’s body, and from him, blood tendrils shot outward in every direction. They moved like living entities, twisting and writhing, latching onto every demon within range. The tendrils pierced through the horde, binding and tearing, reducing even the strongest demons to shreds.

Enel, far away on the city, turned at the sound of those words. His hands froze mid-command, his eyes wide with recognition and pride. "He’s…done it," Enel murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. "He’s truly reached the heights of my lenny family’s legacy."

From his position, Enel watched as Victor’s domain expanded. The tendrils glistened in the faint starlight, moving with a life of their own, their reach unstoppable. Demonic screams echoed silently in the vacuum of space as Victor’s power obliterated everything it touched.

On the city, Tomato leaned against Vandora’s scales, her smirk fading into something more solemn. "The idiot’s actually doing it," she muttered. "Guess I’ll hold off on punching him again—for now."

As the city’s propulsion system roared to life, its massive crab-like legs pushed it further away. Enel watched until Victor was nothing more than a crimson star in the distance, his tendrils still weaving destruction.

For the briefest moment, the light of Victor’s domain burned brighter, illuminating the empty void like a dying sun. And then, the city slipped into the dark expanse of space, leaving behind the battle that raged on.

....

In the vast expanse of Hell, where rivers of molten blood carved their paths across endless landscapes of despair, stood a castle unlike any other. It was not built of stone or bone but of blood itself—pulsing, alive, and ever-shifting. Towers of crimson stretched into the sulfurous skies, their grotesque forms twisting as if they had minds of their own. Deep within this sanguine fortress sat Athena, the Regent of Hell, on her throne—a grotesque masterpiece sculpted entirely from blood that ebbed and flowed as though it breathed.

Athena was a vision to behold. Her skin, pale as moonlight, contrasted sharply with the fiery glow of her sightless eyes.

Though her gaze held no pupils, they burned with an intensity that pierced through any who dared to meet it. Her hair cascaded down her back like a blazing phoenix, fiery tendrils shifting between hues of red and gold. Her attire was regal and otherworldly, adorned with intricate feathers that seemed to smolder at their edges, giving her the appearance of a phoenix reborn from its own ashes.

Yet, beneath her beauty lay her scars—thin, jagged lines riddling her arms, shoulders, and even her face. To the casual observer, she was flawless, but those scars told a story of battles fought and victories earned. They were a testament to her resilience, a physical record of the regent’s sacrifices in service to Hell’s queen, Lilith.

Floating beside her was Virgil, the soul entity. His form was immaculate and ghostly, his alabaster skin so pure it seemed to glow. His expression was one of calm indifference, his eyes half-lidded as though eternity had dulled his sense of wonder. Though his presence was unassuming, the aura he exuded spoke of unimaginable wisdom and power. He hovered silently, his hands clasped behind his back, observing all with a quiet, knowing gaze.

Before Athena, bowing low with its twisted form pressed against the blood-soaked floor, was a Devil. Its appearance was grotesque, its body a fusion of serpentine scales and jagged bone. Four horns curled from its head, and its leathery wings folded tightly against its hunched back. Despite its fearsome visage, it trembled in Athena’s presence, its voice a raspy whisper as it delivered its report.

"Regent Athena," it began, daring not to lift its gaze from the ground. "I bring news from the surface world—the werewolf city, nestled on the edges of mortal and infernal planes, that dared to meddle in affairs that concern the Royal Demon Families... its plane has ended."

Athena’s expression did not change, but the flicker of her fiery eyes betrayed her interest. Her voice, rich and commanding, echoed across the chamber. "Speak clearly, worm. What is this End you speak of?"

The Devil swallowed hard, its claws digging into the bloodied floor. "After the city killed spies from the Royal Demon Families, and ours as well, the fallen of heaven came for it. I reckon they, like us also had a spy within their ranks and came to harvest the treasures.

"But it will seem like their defiance not without fruit, even against the horde that attacked them. Evidently, the Demon Royal family are getting desperate. Especially after the fall of Gluttony’s primary plane. It is a sign. I believe we might even have a shot at it after all these years."

Athena leaned forward, her glowing eyes narrowing. "A city of werewolves… defying the order of the Royal demon families and slaying even my operatives?" Her voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of an impending storm. "And what of these whispers? Do they mention Victor...?"

The Devil hesitated, its serpentine tail coiling nervously. "Yes, Regent. The whispers speak his name. It is said he led them, that he had defied the balance by engaging with the angels and their consuming weapon."

And then it stammered more as if it had more to say but still had to hold its tongue...