Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 278: Azazel?

"Get some sleep, Isabelle," Damien whispered to the girl dozing on his shoulder. "Tomorrow, we have a long day ahead of us."

The night passed in a tense, suffocating silence. The air of the Iron-Blood territory didn’t cool down when the black sun set; it just grew heavier, the metallic taste of ozone and rust settling deep in their lungs.

When the bruise-purple dawn finally broke over the mountains of scrap metal, they moved out.

They entered the Industrial Maze a twisting canyon formed not by rock, but by the rusted ribs of ancient, city-sized machines and towering smokestacks that belched grey ash into the sky.

Visibility was low. The mana density here was erratic, spiking and dropping like a faulty heartbeat.

"Keep your eyes up," Captain Vesper whispered to his remaining Blood Knights. His hand never left the hilt of his rapier.

"This terrain is a butcher’s block. Perfect for an ambush."

Damien walked in the center of the formation, his [Sensory Intent] expanded to its limit. He ignored the physical obstacles and focused on the intent.

Hunger. Rage. Fanaticism.

It was everywhere. It was seeping out of the walls of scrap metal around them.

"Stop," Damien said sharply.

"Baron?" Vesper paused. "Did you find another mine?"

"No," Damien turned his head, his porcelain mask reflecting the grey light. "No I found aomething much worse."

BOOM.

The mountains of scrap metal on either side of the canyon exploded outward.

It was a coordinated breach. From the clouds of rust and dust, shapes emerged.

Hundreds of them.

They were Orcs of the Iron-Blood Clan, clad in heavy, riveted plate armor that hissed with steam.

But they weren’t roaring they moved with a terrifying, silent synchronization.

And their eyes... their eyes were glowing with a violent, blinding Crimson Light.

"Ambush!" Vesper screamed. "Shield Wall!"

The five Vane Knights formed a circle around Elian and Damien, their blood shields flaring.

It was useless.

The Orcs descended like a landslide. The first wave hit the shields not with weapons, but with their bodies.

They threw themselves onto the crimson barriers, their armor superheating, exploding in bursts of suicidal energy.

CRASH.

The shields shattered instantly.

"Damn are they crazy! they’re... they’re burning their own lifeforce!" Vesper yelled, skewering an Orc through the throat.

However the Orc didn’t die, It didn’t even flinch instead it grabbed Vesper’s sword blade with a bare hand, ignoring the blood magic burning its skin, and swung a chain-axe at Vesper’s head.

Vesper barely ducked, losing his helmet to the strike.

"Isabelle!" Damien ordered. "Clear them!"

"On it!"

Isabelle stepped forward, her eyes flashing red.

[Gravity Magic: Event Horizon.]

She clapped her hands. A purple sphere of crushing gravity expanded, slamming fifty attacking Orcs into the dirt.

Usually, this would turn them to paste. But today, the Red Aura coating their skin flared. It acted like a chaotic buffer, resisting the crushing weight.

The Orcs groaned, their bones cracking, but they crawled forward, dragging their broken limbs.

"They don’t stop!" Isabelle gasped, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Master, their strength... it’s not normal! Each one of them is at least 6th Order!"

"Hundreds of 6th Orders?" Damien muttered, kicking an Orc away and decapitating it with a single, clean stroke of his sword.

"That’s impossible. I know this is the abyss but isn’t this outrageous."

He looked at the Red Aura steaming off the corpses. It wasn’t mana. It was something else. Something older. Something hateful.

The fight dragged on.

The Vane Knights were overwhelmed. Two were dragged into the scrap piles and butchered.

Vesper was fighting back-to-back with Elian, who was frantically casting weak mana bolts from a wand Damien had lent him.

"We’re going to die here!" Elian shrieked.

Then, the sky grew heavy.

And this wasn’t a figure of speech. The atmospheric pressure in the canyon suddenly multiplied. The ash in the air froze. The Orcs stopped fighting instantly, dropping to their knees in the mud, heads bowed.

THUD.

A massive shape landed on top of a pile of crushed cars overlooking the canyon. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

He stood fifteen feet tall. He didn’t wear armor; his skin was the armor living, shifting Abyss Steel that rippled like mercury.

In his hand, he held a greataxe the size of a carriage.

Emperor Thraka. The 8th Order Warlord.

He looked down at them with eyes that burned like twin dying stars.

"Did you think you could sneak past me?" Thraka’s voice was a tectonic rumble that shook the teeth in Damien’s skull.

He jumped down.

BOOM.

The impact created a shockwave that knocked Isabelle and Vesper off their feet. Thraka stood up, towering over them.

"In my domain," Thraka growled, "I see every heartbeat. I sense every drop of fear."

He looked at the dead Orcs, then at the struggling Vane soldiers. He laughed, a sound like grinding gears.

"House Vane... blood-sucking rats. Do you know you only live because My Lord ordered patience. He told us to wait. To build and prepare for a greater war."

Thraka raised his axe, the blade glowing with that same, terrifying Red Aura.

"But the time for patience is over. This entire Layer will be a sacrifice to His return!"

Damien froze.

He stared at the Red Aura flaring around Thraka. Some a thought began to go through his mind.

It felt familiar.

Not from his life as Damien Voss. But from the Book. From the descriptions of the End Times.

The Army of Destruction did not fear death, for they carried the breath of the Heavenly Demon in their veins. A red light that burned the soul to fuel the body.

"That red light..." Damien whispered, his mind racing. "I hope it’s not that, or this whole thing just got much more complicated."

He looked at the fanaticism in Thraka’s eyes.

"This isn’t just a Civil War Damn it! we shouldn’t have come here!"

"Isabelle, get back," Damien ordered quietly.

"Master?"

"He’s not working alone."

Damien stepped forward. He deactivated the voice distortion on his mask. He needed his voice to be clear. He needed to be heard.

"Your Lord," Damien shouted over the wind.

Thraka paused, his axe halfway to a swing that would have bisected Vesper. He looked down at the tiny human.

"What did you say, and?"

"Your Lord," Damien repeated, his voice steady despite the crushing 8th Order pressure pushing against his [King’s Mantle].

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Does Azazel know his subordinates are wasting his blessing on a skirmish?"

The silence was absolute.

The name hit the battlefield like a silence spell. The kneeling Orcs flinched as if physically struck. The wind seemed to stop blowing.

Azazel.

The Heavenly Demon Lord. The Future World Breaker. The one entity that killed the Dragon Ancestors in the future.

Thraka’s eyes went wide. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a terrifying, lethal focus.

WHOOSH.

Thraka moved. He crossed the distance instantly, ignoring space, and landed directly in front of Damien.

The heat radiating from his steel body was enough to singe Damien’s coat.

The Emperor leaned down, his massive metal face inches from Damien’s mask. His breath smelled of molten iron and old blood.

"A human..." Thraka whispered, his voice dangerous and confused.

"Speaking the True Name of my Lord?"

The axe blade hovered inches from Damien’s neck.

"Who are you?" Thraka growled. "And how do you know that name?"