Episode-794
Chapter : 1587
It happened in a blink. Armor crumpled like paper. Bones snapped with the sound of dry twigs breaking. Bodies were pressed down into the stone pavement with such force that they became indistinguishable from the ground. There was no blood spray, no screams of pain. Just a wet, crunching sound, and then fifty piles of red paste where fifty brave men had stood a second ago.
The Captain, who had been a few steps behind the charge, skid to a halt, his face pale, his eyes bulging. He looked at the remains of his squad. They hadn't even touched him. The Devil King hadn't even lifted a finger. He had just... existed at them. And they had died.
Lucifer stepped onto the red-stained stones, not caring that he was walking on the remains of the defenders. His white boots remained spotless.
"Messy," Lucifer commented, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Humans are so full of fluids. It is inefficient."
He looked at the Captain, who was now frozen in shock, his sword hanging limp in his hand.
"You," Lucifer said. "You seem to have a loud voice. Perhaps you can be useful."
The Captain couldn't speak. His throat had closed up. He was staring at death, and death was beautiful and bored.
"I called for the master of this house," Lucifer said, his tone conversational. "But he seems to be hiding. Perhaps he is shy? Or perhaps he is smarter than his servants and knows what is coming."
Lucifer looked up at the main keep, his amethyst eyes boring through the stone walls.
"I do not like waiting," the Devil King said. "Waiting is for servants. Waiting is for mortals. I am neither."
He raised his right hand for the first time. He pointed a single, manicured finger at the massive, reinforced iron gates of the inner sanctum—gates that had withstood siege engines and battering rams for three hundred years.
"Open," Lucifer commanded.
He didn't cast a spell. He didn't throw a fireball. He just spoke his will, and reality obeyed. The massive iron gates didn't swing open. They imploded. The metal groaned, twisted, and then crumpled inward as if a giant invisible fist had punched through them. Shards of iron the size of dinner plates flew into the hall beyond, embedding themselves in the stone pillars.
The dust settled. The way was open. But Lucifer didn't enter. He stood in the center of the carnage, bathed in the sickly purple light of the sky, and took a deep breath.
"ROY FERRUM!"
The name boomed like thunder. It shook the foundations of the castle. Tiles slid off the roof. Glass shattered in the village a mile away. It wasn't just a shout; it was a summons. It was a command from a god to a mortal.
"Come out!" Lucifer roared, his voice filled with a terrible, joyful malice. "Come out and die like a king, or stay inside and die like a rat! The Seventh Circle has sent its regards. We are tired of your family's existence. We are tired of your defiance. Today, the shield of the North breaks. Today, the Lion is skinned."
The echo of his voice rolled over the estate, silencing everything. The surviving guards dropped their weapons, falling to their knees, their spirits broken by the sheer scale of the power in front of them. There was no fighting this. You don't fight a natural disaster. You just pray it passes you by.
Lucifer lowered his hand. He smoothed his cape. He waited. He knew Roy would come. Men like Roy Ferrum, men who built their lives on pride and honor, could not ignore a challenge. That was the weakness of humans. They cared about things. And Lucifer was going to use that care to destroy them.
The silence stretched out for ten seconds. Then twenty. The dust from the destroyed gate swirled in the heavy air.
And then, from the darkness of the shattered doorway, a sound emerged. It was the heavy, rhythmic clank of metal on stone. Step by step. Slow. Deliberate. Angry.
Lucifer’s smile widened. His eyes lit up with predatory delight.
"Finally," he whispered. "The main event."
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Chapter : 1588
The dust billowing from the shattered gateway parted, not by the wind, but by the sheer force of a man's presence. Arch Duke Roy Ferrum stepped out into the purple light. He was not wearing his ceremonial robes. He was clad in his full battle plate—black adamantine armor that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. His cape was gone. His helmet was off, revealing a face carved from granite, eyes burning with a cold, absolute fury that matched the devil’s arrogance.
Roy didn't look at the red paste that used to be his guards. He didn't look at the terrified survivors. He locked eyes with Lucifer, and the air between them began to distort, the clash of their spiritual pressures creating visible sparks of static electricity.
"You have made a mistake," Roy said. His voice was low, a rumble of tectonic plates grinding together. It wasn't a shout, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. "You have come into my home. You have killed my men. And you have interrupted my tea."
Lucifer laughed. It was a bright, musical sound that felt entirely out of place in the slaughterhouse of the courtyard. "Tea? How charmingly rustic. I offer you extinction, and you complain about beverages. You humans are endlessly entertaining in your smallness."
"Smallness?" Roy took another step. The ground shook. "I am the wall that the North breaks against. I am the iron in the blood of this land. And you are just a trespasser."
Roy threw his arms wide. "COME TO ME, GOG! MAGOG!"
The summoning was instantaneous. There was no chanting, no delay. The reality behind Roy tore open.
From the earth to his left, Gog erupted. He was a Titan, a creature made of living mountain rock and steel veins, standing forty feet tall. His roar was the sound of an avalanche. From the sky to his right, Magog descended. A primordial dragon made of storm clouds and lightning, its wingspan blotting out the purple sun. These were Sovereign-Level spirits, gods in their own right, the guardians of the Ferrum line.
But Roy wasn't done. He didn't just summon his spirits; he became one with his element.
"SSS-Class Steel Blood: World of Blades," Roy whispered.
The ground of the estate, the walls of the castle, the discarded weapons of the dead guards—every scrap of metal within a mile answered his call. The iron liquefied, flowing into the air like rivers of mercury. It swirled around Roy, forming a thousand floating swords, spears, and chains. He was the center of a galaxy of steel.
"Die," Roy commanded.
The attack was a cataclysm. Magog unleashed a beam of pure lightning. Gog slammed his massive stone fists down. And Roy sent his river of steel crashing forward like a tsunami. It was enough power to erase a city from the map. It was a coordinated, three-pronged assault of physical, elemental, and conceptual destruction.
Lucifer didn't move. He didn't dodge. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the apocalypse rush toward him with mild interest.
The attacks hit.
The explosion was blinding. A mushroom cloud of dust, lightning, and pulverized stone rose into the air. The shockwave flattened the surrounding stables and sent the surviving guards tumbling like leaves. For a moment, it seemed impossible that anything could survive. The sheer violence of the assault was absolute.
But as the dust cleared, a sphere of pristine white light remained in the center of the crater. Lucifer stood inside it, untouched. There wasn't a scratch on his armor. His cape hadn't even ruffled.
"Impressive," Lucifer said, nodding appreciatively. "For a human. That actually had some mass to it. I felt a breeze."
Roy didn't panic. He was a veteran of a thousand wars. He knew the first strike rarely killed a King. He narrowed his eyes, analyzing. A barrier? No. He didn't block it. He dispersed it. He pushed the energy away before it touched him.
"Again!" Roy roared.
He changed tactics. He didn't just throw energy; he used mass. He commanded his steel river to form into three colossal dragons of solid iron. They were intricate, heavy, and moved with the speed of a whip. They lunged at Lucifer, their jaws snapping, their bodies coiling to crush him.
Lucifer raised a hand and caught the first iron dragon by the nose. He held the massive construct, weighing hundreds of tons, with one hand.