Chapter 133: Ch 133 : A Giant Trap
In the obsidian fortress at the heart of the demonic realm, the seven Demon Lords sat in triumph. The very air in the grand hall was thick with the sweet, cloying scent of suffering, a perfume they had savored for a hundred thousand years. They were winning, and they were enjoying every moment of it.
"So, Deimos, what’s next on our agenda?" Ichor, the Lord of Corrosion, hissed, his slimy form restlessly shifting on his throne of bone. He was a creature of action, and his patience was wearing thin. "We are strong enough now. Let us crush these remaining Gods and be done with it."
"We can’t just kill them outright," Deimos replied, his voice a calm, chilling counterpoint to Ichor’s eagerness. He was playing a much longer game. "If we do, we will expend too much of our own power. No, we must continue to exhaust them, break their spirits, and make them so desperate that they either charge blindly into our realm to their doom, or simply wait in their shrinking worlds and die of despair."
"He is right," Maledictus, the Lord of Curses, added, her melodic voice weaving through the hall. "If we continue on this path, in another two hundred thousand years, their last embers of hope will be extinguished, and they will fall by our hands."
"We don’t need to wait that long," Deimos said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as he stood and gazed into a distance only he could see. "Their king should be coming to us very soon."
’Does this demon have a talent to see the future?’ Sunny thought, a shiver running through his soul form as he watched from the River of Time. Deimos’s foresight was unnervingly precise.
"Oh, Adam is coming?" Ichor slammed a corrosive fist on the table, the bone sizzling under his touch. "I want to punch that smug face of his until it’s nothing but dust!"
"Even now, Adam could still snap you in half with ease," Beelzebub, the Lord of Gluttony, rumbled from behind a pile of gnawed-on cosmic stones. "Let Deimos handle him. He is the strongest, after all."
Deimos simply shook his head. He knew Adam was no simple opponent. He was one of the few beings in existence whose power seemed to grow with every passing day.
Suddenly, an aura erupted outside their fortress, a force so pure and overwhelmingly powerful that it shook both the cosmos and the entire demonic realm. The very foundations of their obsidian castle groaned under the pressure.
"You rats! Come out!"
The voice was a thunderclap of divine fury, filled with the pride of a king, the grief for his fallen brothers and sisters, and a burning desire for absolute revenge. The Demon Lords looked at each other, their amusement vanishing. They knew that voice. They vanished from the hall and reappeared a mile away from the source, standing before the radiant, furious form of Adam.
"Are you going back on your words, Adam?" Belial, the Lord of Lies, asked, his voice a silken taunt.
"Do not teach me what to do," Adam snarled. In an instant, he moved. A teleportation spell, woven with a speed and complexity that defied understanding, ripped open the space beneath the Demon Lords’ feet. Before they could even react, the tear in reality swallowed them whole, spitting them out of their native realm and into the cold, empty void of the cosmos.
The oath was broken.
Sizzle! A sharp, burning sensation erupted on Adam’s hand, the point of contact where his magic had touched them. The sickening smell of corroding flesh filled the air. But with a casual shake of his hand, the wound vanished, his divine regeneration instantly knitting his form back together. He looked down at his hand, and then at the seven stunned Demon Lords, and his mind went utterly still.
"My powers... they are still with me?" he whispered, the realization chilling him to the bone. There were only two possibilities. The first was that these were not the true Demon Lords, but fakes. The second, far more terrifying possibility, was that they had broken the oath first. "Did you... did you all kill yourselves and get reborn?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, hitting the nail directly on the head.
The seven Demon Lords stared at each other, their faces a mask of pure terror. This was the one thing they had feared. Adam’s power was absolute; even a hundred of them would be helpless before him if he was unbound.
"I should have come sooner," Adam said, a deep regret in his voice. "I wasted so much time learning that soul-tearing technique." He now understood. These demons were not just whispering in the ears of mortals; they were the whispers, reborn and free.
"Adam, don’t push us to the corner! You will regret it!" Ichor stammered, his earlier bravado completely gone. "Why don’t we just shake hands and let bygones be bygones?"
Adam simply cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like thunder in the silent void. "Today," he declared, his voice a low growl of promised pain, "I will show you what suffering truly is."
He vanished. The first punch landed on Ichor’s face with the force of a collapsing galaxy. Ichor’s hand sizzled with corrosive energy, but Adam’s own recovery was so fast the wound healed in the same millisecond it appeared. "You are the most irritating one," Adam said calmly. "You deserve some special treatment."
Before Ichor could even register the pain, a second punch followed. Then a third. Then a storm, a relentless barrage of thousands of blows per second that beat the Demon Lord of Corrosion like a drum.
The other six Demon Lords could only watch, paralyzed by a fear so profound it froze their very souls. They had planned for everything, but they had never planned for this, for the full, unrestrained fury of the firstborn God.
Adam kicked Ichor in the gut, and the demon’s scream of pure agony echoed across the entire cosmos. But as his scream faded; a faint, distant screams, a chorus of terror from a million different mouthd that Adam, in his righteous fury, did not notice.
After Ichor was a broken, whimpering mess, Adam turned to Beelzebub. He delivered another devastating punch. And then, it happened again.
Sizzle.
The exact same corrosive burn appeared on his hand.
Adam froze, his fist stopped inches from Beelzebub’s terrified face. His mind, once a storm of fury, went numb. The righteous fire in his eyes died, replaced by the cold, gray ash of a horrifying understanding.
It was a trap.
"Poor Adam," Sunny whispered from the River of Time, his own heart aching for the doomed king.
"Now I know the real reason for your loss." He saw the scheming nature of the demons and the tragic fall of a noble God who had walked directly into their perfectly laid trap. The Demon Lords Adam was fighting were just decoys. And while the king was distracted, their real armies were slaughtering his leaderless people across the multiverse.