Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Third person P.O.V

The capital of the devil's underworld, Lilith, had always been a realm of perpetual shadow and malevolent grandeur. The skies above it churned with sulfuric clouds, streaked by flashes of crimson lightning, and the oppressive air bore the weight of countless unholy rituals and the ceaseless ambition of the infernal elite. Yet, all of this—the darkness, the heaviness, the ominous hum of latent power—was abruptly consumed by a light so overwhelming that even the most ancient and hardened devils recoiled in shock.

A rift opened high above the city, a tear in reality itself that radiated golden brilliance. The light was blinding, its intensity far beyond anything the underworld had ever known. It burned through the sulfurous skies, scattering the malevolent clouds like frightened animals, leaving the heavens above Lilith bare for the first time in its ancient history. The rift was no mere opening—it was an event, a phenomenon that defied understanding. It stretched across the sky like a wound, its edges pulsating with power that seemed to hum with both promise and judgment.

The golden light that poured from the rift was not warm or inviting. It was awe-inspiring, sharp, and resolute, carrying with it a presence that demanded reverence and submission. The radiance illuminated every corner of the capital, casting the darkened spires and obsidian towers into stark relief. Shadows fled from its touch, revealing every crack and blemish of the city's infernal architecture. The usual red and black hues of the underworld were drowned in a sea of gold, as if the very concept of their existence had been challenged by the light's purity.

The devils felt it before they saw it. A pulse of energy, vast and alien, rippled through the city and beyond, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade. It was not the chaotic energy of the underworld nor the celestial light of their ancient enemies—it was something entirely different. Something that felt both unfamiliar and terrifyingly angry.

Every supernatural being in Lilith felt it in their core. The weaker devils collapsed to their knees, clutching at their heads as though the sheer presence of the rift threatened to extinguish their existence. Stronger devils faltered, their confidence shaken, their instincts screaming at them to flee. The oppressive, unyielding light bore down on the city with the weight of an executioner's blade.

Panic spread like wildfire. Devil soldiers, clad in dark armor and trained for unending battles, scrambled to form ranks. Their discipline, usually ironclad, wavered as they barked conflicting orders and struggled to understand what was happening. The legions that once moved like clockwork now appeared chaotic, disorganized, and wholly unprepared. From the highest towers of the great houses to the darkest alleys where the enslaved toiled, the question echoed in every mind: What is this? Who dares?

Across the vast city, alarms sounded—ancient bells crafted from infernal alloys that had not rung in centuries. The capital, a city of power and sin, braced itself for an invasion unlike any it had ever known.

Above it all, the golden rift remained unmoving, its light growing stronger, more concentrated. The oppressive aura that had once defined Lilith was gone, replaced by something infinitely heavier—judgment. Every devil in the city, from the mightiest ancestor to the lowliest servant, felt it: the gaze of something greater.

As the panic reached its peak, a new sound reverberated through the air—a low, resonant hum that seemed to emanate from the rift itself. It was not a sound of chaos, but of control, a steady beat that hinted at the inevitability of what was to come. The rift widened, and the light grew denser, as though preparing to disgorge the wrath it contained.

And then it began. Figures emerged, clad in golden armor that shimmered with the same radiant light as the rift. They stepped forward in perfect synchronization, their movements fluid and purposeful, as though they were part of a single, unbreakable will. These were not ordinary soldiers—they were avatars of something far greater. As they descended into the city, the air itself seemed to bow to their presence, and the devils watching knew with a chilling certainty: this was not just an invasion.

It was a reckoning.

Viktor Inox

We step from the golden rift into the oppressive air of the underworld, our armored boots striking the vile, uneven bedrock beneath. The atmosphere around us is heavy, the purple sky above twisting and roiling like a living thing recoiling from the energies that ripple outward from the rift and my own body. The air itself seems to resist us, a toxic miasma laced with infernal energies, but it cannot touch us. My power carrying the Emperor's might shields us, its golden light cutting through the dark, poisonous atmosphere like a beacon.

The land before us is bleak, barren, and steeped in corruption. The jagged black stones of the underworld stretch endlessly, broken only by the faint glimmers of infernal fortresses on the horizon. The weight of this place—its malice, its hatred—presses down on all things. Yet, it falters against the radiance of the Sentinels as they pour from the rift, one after another, in perfect formation.

I take a step forward, my golden armor gleaming even against the oppressive gloom, and turn to address my brothers and sisters.

"Go forth, my brothers and sisters," I say, my voice cutting through the unnatural stillness, carrying the weight of command and purpose. "Save and protect any human you may find. Bring them back to safety."

As one, the Sentinels respond. They slam the hafts of their spears into the corrupted earth, the sound reverberating like thunder across the barren landscape.

"Let hell tremble before our might!" their voices echo, a single, unified roar of defiance and determination.

The ground beneath us seems to quake, as if the very realm shudders in fear of what has come.

As one, my Sentinels begin to move. At first, they walk with purpose, their golden armor gleaming even in the darkened realm. Then they quicken their pace to a jog, and finally to a full sprint. Their speed surpasses anything mortal eyes could ever hope to follow, leaving no trace of their passage but a faint shimmer in the tainted air of the underworld.

From my vantage point atop the rise, I gaze upon Lilith, the so-called capital of the devils. The sprawling city is a monument to excess and decadence, its towers of obsidian and brimstone clawing at the perpetually darkened sky. My enhanced vision catches the chaos erupting within as alarms and bells echo across the infernal landscape. Devils scramble like ants, their disorganized frenzy a far cry from the discipline of the Sentinels.

In mere minutes, the gates of Lilith open, and from its depths pour tens of legions—hundreds of thousands of devils marching in hastily formed ranks. Their dark forms surge forth like a black tide, the cacophony of their movement a discordant roar of wings, claws, and steel. I can see their leaders shouting orders, attempting to form a cohesive defense against the approaching storm.

But it is futile.

From my elevated position, I watch as my Sentinels close the distance. All but five break off, spreading like golden streaks of light to every corner of this wretched dimension. They are following my command to ensure that no corner of this infernal realm is left unturned. No human will remain in chains, no soul abandoned to the clutches of this vile dominion. They will cleanse every shadow, liberating humanity from its tormentors.

The remaining team of Sentinels advances directly toward the devil army. Hundreds of thousands of devils blot out the land, their sheer numbers transforming the battlefield into a seething sea of malevolence. I see their attempts at organization—lines of spears, shields locking into place, wings taking to the skies in an effort to flank. It is all so hopelessly primitive against what is coming.

Then, one of my Sentinels steps forward, their golden spear in hand. The weapon radiates a brilliance so pure it seems to burn the very air around it, a beacon of hope and destruction in equal measure. With a single, deliberate motion, they hurl the spear toward the heart of the devil army.

The spear arcs gracefully through the air, leaving a trail of golden light that momentarily splits the darkness. When it lands, it does so with a detonation of unimaginable force. A wave of golden energy erupts from the impact point, washing over the battlefield like a divine tsunami. The light is blinding, a purity that scours everything in its path.

As the light subsides, the results are laid bare. The once-massive army is decimated. The land where they stood is now scorched and barren, reduced to smoldering craters. Almost every devil caught within the blast has been turned to ash, their existence snuffed out in an instant. Only those of High-class and above remain, their forms charred and broken, barely clinging to life. Their weapons and armor are melted, their once-proud stature reduced to trembling shadows of what they once were.

The silence that follows is deafening. The devils who remain stare in disbelief at the devastation, their bravado shattered. They know now, as I do, that this is not a battle—they are facing a reckoning.

The lone Sentinel remaining on the field strides through the aftermath of destruction, his golden armor glinting against the darkened, scorched land. His spear moves with mechanical precision, cutting down the remaining devils who writhe and crawl in desperation. They are weak, pitiful remnants of what was once a proud army. He executes them with ruthless efficiency, the sound of his spear slicing through the air the only herald of their demise.

Meanwhile, the other four Sentinels smash into the walls of Lilith with unrelenting force. For a brief moment, a shimmering dome of magic flickers into existence—a last-ditch effort by the city's defenders to protect their stronghold. It is a noble attempt, but utterly futile. The barrier magic shatters under the combined weight of their assault, fragments of the dome falling like shattered glass before the Sentinels barrel through into the capital.

Within moments, chaos erupts inside the city. The sound of crumbling stone and cascading debris fills the air as the Sentinels unleash their devastating attacks. Buildings collapse into dust, streets are torn apart, and entire sections of the capital are obliterated under their calculated onslaught. Screams echo as devils, both soldiers and civilians, scramble in terror.

Yet, my focus does not linger on the havoc they wreak. No, my attention is fixed on what approaches me.

Dozens of devils surge toward my position, their power signatures like roaring infernos in the void of the underworld. Each of them exudes an aura that rivals my Sentinels—some even stronger. These are not ordinary devils.

The battlefield trembles as the first wave of Ancestors steps forward, their presence unmistakable.

A devil with fiery wings leads the charge, his body wreathed in an aura of blazing orange and gold. Lord Phenex, the progenitor of the Phenex clan, radiates an unearthly heat. Flames lick at the ground beneath him, each step leaving molten footprints. With a flick of his hand, a torrent of fire erupts from his body, surging toward me like a tidal wave intent on incineration.

Behind him strides Lady Agares, her gaze cold and calculating. The air around her warps and distorts as she manipulates the flow of time itself. In one moment, the flames from Phenex slow to a crawl, their raging inferno reduced to a languid dance of embers. In the next, her power snaps forward, accelerating their velocity to impossible speeds. The very fabric of time bends to her will as she surveys the battlefield with predatory precision.

Flanking them is a devil whose mere presence causes the shadows to deepen. Lord Glasya-Labolas, a towering figure of malice and intellect, commands an aura of bloodlust so potent it feels alive. His voice cuts through the chaos, resonant and hypnotic. With a single utterance, I feel the faint tug of something ancient and vile—a compulsion, a whisper of madness meant to unsettle even the strongest mind. The devils near him surge forward with newfound fervor, their actions driven by his manipulations.

Each Ancestor is accompanied by dozens of Ultimate-class devils, their formations disciplined and their attacks unrelenting. Beams of hellfire streak toward me, arcs of energy rip through the sky, and fissures open in the earth as their combined power reshapes the battlefield.

Glasya-Labolas utters something, his voice laced with the unmistakable undertone of compulsion. But the attempt falters, his words scattering like ash in the wind, utterly failing to find purchase against the fortress of my mind.

With a flex of my will, I mold the chaotic energy siphoned from the Dimensional Gap into a single, radiant golden glaive. The weapon hums with unyielding power, its edge gleaming with the brilliance of Glory itself. As the incoming attacks close in around me, I move.

In an instant, I bisect one of the Ultimate-class devils with a single, fluid strike, their form dissolving into golden motes as the glaive's energy tears through their essence. Without hesitation, I pivot, driving the blade through another devil's chest. They barely have time to scream before their body begins to flake away, consumed entirely by the power of my weapon.

Before the remaining devils can reorient themselves, I vanish from their sight, moving faster than their eyes—or their minds—can follow. A heartbeat later, I reappear behind Glasya-Labolas, my hand plunging through his chest with unerring precision. His still-beating heart is in my grasp, its unnatural rhythm faltering as golden energy begins to seep into its corrupted flesh.

The battlefield freezes as his strained voice echoes weakly. "H-How di-did you...?"

His words trail off as I tighten my grip on the heart, my voice cold and unrelenting. "You mistake me for someone who can be swayed by words."

With deliberate care, I channel my power through the heart, activating a ritual I had prepared long before this moment. The runes of Occultism flare to life around me, forming a glowing array of symbols that hum with energy. The heart in my hand glows brighter, golden cracks spidering across its surface as the connection to his bloodline begins to manifest.

For an instant, I feel them—souls tethered to this one. The weight of Glasya-Labolas's lineage, every devil bearing even the faintest trace of his blood, is laid bare before me. Dozens, All connected through the ancestral bond they share.

The heart begins to disintegrate in my palm, flaking away like ash caught in the wind. As it crumbles, the ritual completes. Across the underworld, I feel the extinguishing of lives as the bloodline's connection becomes their undoing.

Glasya-Labolas's form collapses to the ground, his once-proud visage now reduced to a crumbling husk. The battlefield is silent save for the crackling remnants of golden energy still lingering in the air.

I release the last fragments of the heart, letting them drift away into nothingness. Turning my gaze toward the remaining devils, I see their resolve falter, their confidence shattered.

Agares regains her composure the quickest, her eyes narrowing as she weaves her magic. A shimmering bubble of frozen time forms around me, an intricate net of temporal stasis meant to trap me entirely. I feel the tug of her power, and though I resist with ease, I pretend to freeze, my body unmoving.

Agares turns sharply to the Phenex, her voice urgent. "Quickly! Kill him!"

The Phenex doesn't hesitate, unleashing a wave of fire so intense that it distorts the air, the edges of the inferno licking against the frozen time barrier. The flames roar as they envelop my supposed prison, their searing heat potent enough to incinerate even the most resilient of beings.

As the attack subsides, the Phenex smirks, turning to Agares with satisfaction. "Do it. That should be enough to wound even one of the Satans!"

I allow my lips to curl into a faint smile as I move the moment the flames obscure their sight. In an instant, I blur through their ranks, my movements fluid and deadly. A dozen of their entourage fall in mere seconds, their forms disintegrating into ash and golden light as Glory's touch reduces them to nothingness.

Agares and Phenex realize the truth too late. Their attacks haven't landed, and the reality of their failing tactics sets in as they see the remnants of their allies vanish into the ether. Their composure falters, a flicker of doubt crossing their faces as I remain untouched, unrelenting, and entirely unyielding.

Before they can decide to smarten up and retreat, I close the distance in a flash. My glaive arcs toward Agares in a sweeping slash, but she reacts quickly, speeding up her own time to narrowly evade the blow.

Clever. While I am immune to her time manipulations, she can augment herself. Still futile, however.

The Phenex sends a blazing beam of fire hurtling toward me, its heat scorching the air. I weave a new spell with Occultism as I dodge the attack effortlessly, closing the gap between us in the blink of an eye. Reaching him, I seize his face with my palm, my grip unyielding as his flames flicker and fade against my presence.

Swinging the devil around with brutal force, I etch runes into his skin as he spins: Negate. Mortal. Seal. The glowing sigils burn into him, taking immediate effect. I can feel the waves of confusion and fear emanating from him as the runes bind his essence. With a final motion, I hurl him into the ground, the impact cracking the obsidian bedrock beneath.

The Phenex struggles to rise, blood dripping from his mouth. His once-pristine form is now marred by his own mortality. "H-he stopped my regeneration!" he gasps, his voice trembling with disbelief and terror.

I pay him no heed, carving through more of their forces.

As I kill the last of the Ultimate-class devils, I stare at the two ancestors stepping back with fear.

"W-what the hell are you!" Agares stammers, her voice trembling as she desperately tries—and fails—to manipulate time within my vicinity. Her power is rendered inert by the spell I wove before sealing the Phenex.

Deciding to humor the soon-to-be-dead devil, I respond with measured finality, "I am Anathema. I am your end."

Her face twists in a mixture of fear and defiance, though her voice quivers with panic. "L-Lucifer will kill you for this! Do you think you can invade hell and walk away free?"

I ignore her frightened mutterings, my focus shifting to the Phenex. Using Jumper, I teleport to his side, my golden glaive flashing as it arcs cleanly through his neck. His head flies in a crimson arc, and his lifeless body collapses to the cracked ground.

Before it has time to hit the earth fully, I spear the body with my weapon, channeling the ritual I used before. The power of Glory surges, and through it, I extend my reach. Every devil bearing the blood of the Phenex clan is extinguished, their vaunted regeneration meaningless before the radiance of my power. They fall one by one, consumed by the light.

Turning my gaze to Agares, I find her trembling, tears streaming down her face. Her once-proud demeanor is shattered, replaced by raw terror. She falls to her knees, sobbing. "P-please! I—I will serve you! I can sign a contract! Anything!"

I tilt my head at her pitiful display. Her frightened yelp echoes as I step forward, gripping her head firmly. Channeling my power, I scour her memories, delving deep into the sins of her existence. The visions that greet me are vile—centuries of crimes against humanity. Entire cities burned to ash. Souls consumed in agony. Lives torn apart for sport. The weight of her atrocities is staggering.

Releasing her, I stand silent for a moment, my decision clear. Her pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. Without wasting words on the wretch, I raise my glaive and thrust it through her heart. The golden light flares, and in an instant, the Agares clan is no more.

Their tainted legacy is erased.

As the last embers of the Agares and Phenex clans' souls flicker out, a wrathful roar echoes through the underworld, shaking the ruined city of Lilith to its foundations. The sound is primal, filled with rage and disdain, a declaration of wrath from the heart of the devil's capital.

Using Jumper, I teleport to the source of the chaos—a section of Lilith left in ruins by the ongoing battle. My Sentinels are locked in combat with an enormous presence, a white-haired devil whose power radiates with unrestrained fury. His movements are precise and devastating, yet my Sentinels meet him with unwavering resolve, their golden armor gleaming defiantly even as cracks mar their surfaces.

Without hesitation, I channel my power and rush forward, closing the distance in an instant. My kick connects with the devil's chest, the force behind it sending him hurtling through the air like a meteor. He crashes through the central castle of Lilith, the once-pristine structure reduced to rubble as his form is propelled beyond it.

Turning to my Sentinels, I take in their battered forms. Though wounded, their discipline and determination remain unbroken. "Did you evacuate every human in the capital?" I ask, my tone steady.

One of them, their armor dented but still glowing with power, steps forward and nods. "Yes, my lord. All human signatures have been teleported to the Throne World."

I incline my head in acknowledgment. "Good. Leave this place. Heal yourselves and assist the other Sentinels. When every last human has been sent to the Throne World, contact me and evacuate the underworld immediately."

With synchronized precision, they nod and vanish, their golden forms disappearing into flashes of light. The air around me stills for only a moment before it becomes suffused with a suffocating pressure.

An enormous power approaches, and I turn to face it just as a figure lands in the rubble-strewn streets before me.

Lucifer.

The first of the Satans, his presence is overwhelming. His black armor glistens with an unnatural sheen, his white hair contrasting sharply with his crimson eyes that burn with fury. Shadows ripple around him, bending and twisting as if alive. He looks at me with disdain, his lip curling into a mocking sneer.

"You," he says, his voice dripping with venom. "You dare to invade my realm, slaughter my people, steal my property, and think you can simply leave unscathed? Your arrogance is almost amusing."

I say nothing, my gaze steady as I take in his form, noting every movement, every fluctuation in his power.

As Lucifer's presence settles over the battlefield, three more figures descend, their power warping the very air. The remaining Satans—Leviathan, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub—arrive, their combined energy eclipsing the ruins of Lilith. The ground beneath their feet cracks and crumbles, unable to bear the sheer weight of their aura.

Leviathan, clad in serpentine armor, sneers, her voice a mix of mockery and contempt. "The so-called Anathema. You should have stayed hidden in whatever realm you took that city in. Here, you will die."

Asmodeus steps forward, his presence cold and calculating, his eyes narrowing as he appraises me. "Impressive, I'll admit. But this ends here."

Beelzebub, his gaunt frame shrouded in a sickly green aura, smirks, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "A mere human pretending to be divine. How quaint. Let's see how long your light lasts against the darkness of hell."

My lips twitch for a moment, 'did these guys practice this? How are they so cliché?'

Lucifer steps closer, his shadows swirling with malevolent intent. "You think yourself a savior, but all I see is a fool who dares to challenge the destined rulers of creation. You and your pitiful efforts are nothing."

I take a step forward, my golden glaive forming in my hand, its radiance pushing back the oppressive darkness that surrounds them. "I am not here for your words, Lucifer. I am here to end this."

The battlefield falls silent, the weight of the moment settling over us. The Satans exchange glances, a shared understanding passing between them. Then, without warning, the ground erupts as they charge.

Lucifer is the first to strike, his dark light surging forward in a torrent that distorts the very fabric of reality. I meet it head-on, my glaive carving through the onslaught as golden radiance clashes against abyssal darkness. The impact sends shockwaves rippling outward, leveling what remains of the nearby structures.

Leviathan and Beelzebub flank me, their attacks coordinated and precise. Leviathan's serpentine water coils lash out, each strike aiming to entangle and crush, while Beelzebub's sickly green energy swirls around me, seeking to corrode my armor and flesh.

With a flick of my glaive, I sever Leviathan's coils before they can reach me. Beelzebub's energy finds no purchase, repelled by the Glory that suffuses my form.

Asmodeus, ever the strategist, attempts to bind me with a complex web of magic circles, but I counter with a surge of Occultism, unraveling his spellwork with ease.

Lucifer roars, his power intensifying as he launches himself at me, his fist wreathed in shadows that seem to devour the light. I parry his blow, the clash of our powers sending another wave of destruction across the battlefield.

"You overestimate yourself!" Lucifer snarls, his strikes growing more frenzied. "You are nothing but a fleeting spark in the abyss!"

"And you underestimate humanity," I reply, my voice calm as I push him back with a burst of golden light. "Your reign ends here."

The battlefield becomes a maelstrom of power, the clash between us reshaping the land itself. For every strike they land, I counter with precision. For every spell they cast, I unravel it with superior mastery. The Satans, once the undisputed rulers of this realm, now find themselves facing an opponent they cannot overwhelm.

The battle rages on, the fate of the underworld hanging in the balance.

Meanwhile, House Nebiros territory.

Fatimah bint Tariq

My spear pierces another abomination, its grotesque form pulsating with unstable, demonic energy. The creature lets out a guttural screech before crumpling to the ground, ichor spilling across the rune-inscribed floor.

My team and I advance through what appears to be an underground complex, its walls etched with infernal runes that sizzle and sear as we pass, reacting violently to the Glory radiating from our presence.

"How many of these experiments are there?" one of my brothers grumbles, his voice carrying over the comms as he tears apart a six-legged humanoid monstrosity. "I've already killed nearly a thousand!"

"I couldn't tell you, brother," I reply, slicing through another abomination with my spear in a single, fluid motion. "But I must admit, it's becoming a bit monotonous."

Ahead of us, one of my sisters kneels, her hands glowing as she works a spell. "Just a few seconds more to pierce the wards," she says, her focus unwavering. "Captain El-Ton Jon, are you ready?"

The captain, a few paces behind us, incinerates two abominations skittering across the ceiling with a burst of golden flames. "Always ready, sister! Cast it as soon as you can!"

With a flick of her wrist, a magic circle manifests beneath the captain's feet. Runes shimmer and spin as the spell takes hold, shattering the complex's remaining wards. In a flash of radiant light, the captain vanishes, teleported directly into the heart of the facility. The blast of his arrival reverberates through the air, clearing out clusters of enemies in its wake.

As the light fades, a crackling sound fills the comms, followed by… music?

I pause for a moment, skewering another abomination with a bemused expression. "Uh, sister," I say, glancing at the source of the spellcaster's glowing runes, "should we tell the captain that he's broadcasting through an open channel?"

Beside me, my sister spears three creatures in quick succession with a lance of ice, her movements precise and unrelenting. She smirks as she throws a fireball into the throng of abominations, their grotesque forms disintegrating in the blast. "Just let him have it," she says, shaking her head. "He's been singing that tune ever since the Revelation taught it to him. Something about his name reminding the Revelation of a great musician?"

I hum quietly to myself, the melody catching on even as I drive my spear through yet another creature. The captain's rich voice echoes through the comms, accompanied by the crackle of his attacks and the wails of the abominations.

As we continue the seemingly endless battle, I can't help but find myself tapping my foot to the rhythm. Even amidst the chaos, it's strangely infectious.

El-Ton Jon

"I'm still standing~! Yeah yeah yeah~!" I sing as I spear a devil, their form flaking away from the golden energy of my spear.

I unleash a wave of flames, reducing the remaining creatures to ash. Turning toward the heavy metal door ahead, I plant my foot and kick it open with a resounding crash.

Inside, the scene before me is grim: huddled figures of humans, their faces gaunt with fear and suffering. Some are bound in chains against the walls, while others lie strapped to bloodstained tables, their bodies bearing the marks of cruel experimentation.

Without hesitation, I flex my will. A golden vortex engulfs the room, and in an instant, every one of them vanishes—transported to the safety of the Throne World.

"Im still standing, better than I ever did~!" I continue to sing as another devil appears in the room, because calling this place a laboratory would be too generous.

"You! Intruder!" a voice snarls from the shadows, dripping with venomous indignation. "You dare desecrate the sacred work of the Nebiros?!"

I hum to myself, the melody undisturbed as the figure steps into view. Draped in dark robes adorned with intricate runes, the devil's crimson eyes blaze with fury. His voice rises, shrill with arrogance. "We are one of Lucifer's six houses! This affront will not go unpunished—he will have your head for this transgression!"

"I'm still standing, Yeah yeah yeah~!" I sing as I approach.

"What in Satan's name are you saying?! Did you no—"

His words are cut off as I grab him by the throat, my hand closing around his neck like a vice. His eyes widen in panic, a strangled gasp escaping him as I lift him effortlessly from the ground and slam him against the wall. The force of the impact sends cracks spiderwebbing across the surface, chunks of stone crumbling to the floor.

He coughs violently, blood spilling from his lips. The crimson droplets sizzle and evaporate the moment they touch the radiant surface of my armor, the energy leaving no trace of his defiance.

I tighten my grip, savoring the satisfying crack as his neck bends under the pressure. His body goes limp in my grasp, lifeless and broken. Without a word, I release him, letting his corpse crumple to the floor like the insignificant creature he was.

My attention is drawn to the skittering of countless feet and the guttural snarls echoing through the corridor. Turning toward the source of the commotion, I see a mass of abominations surging forward, their grotesque forms clawing and trampling over one another in a desperate bid to reach me. Their twisted limbs and slavering maws reflect the unholy energy that animates them, a tide of chaos rushing my way.

I grip my spear tightly, its golden radiance flaring in response to the oncoming threat. With a fluid motion, I twirl the weapon in my hand, its edges singing through the air as I prepare to meet their charge. The rhythm of my actions matches the tune lingering in my mind, and I continue to hum the song that has accompanied this battle.

"I'm still standing~! Yeah yeah yeah~!"