287

Mephisto

Forseti rubbed the hearthstone, expecting the Lord of Hell to arrive soon, yet Mephisto appeared far sooner than anticipated.

Just as Forseti was completing his tactical retreat, a humanoid demon cloaked in blood-red emerged nearby.

This demon bore a striking resemblance to a human but was drenched in blood from head to toe—hair, skin, and garments alike—as if emerging from a sea of crimson.

His eyes lacked pupils, replaced by a blank gray, resembling the dead's lifeless gaze, yet his vision seemed keen enough to pierce through obstacles, immediately locking onto Forseti's remote location before swiftly advancing.

"What?"

Upon reaching Forseti, the blood-red demon's gaze fixated on the ever-present holy light, scrutinizing it intensely.

The more he observed, the more serious his expression grew, brows furrowing in concentration.

Beings of greater power possessed sharper perceptions, adept at discerning the essence of things.

This blood-red demon's perception far surpassed ordinary demons, sensing an immense threat from the holy light at first glance.

"You slew the Old Demon?" The blood-red demon's voice, low and ominous, fixed on Forseti.

Forseti remained composed outwardly but inwardly tensed. Without a doubt, he recognized the blood-red demon's identity—Mephisto.

Hell housed numerous demon lords, each with their own dominion and authority, upholding distinct realms of influence.

Yet among them, the most infamous and feared was Mephisto, often regarded as the unofficial king of Hell by many.

Forseti had anticipated a confrontation with a Lord of Hell, but Mephisto's swift appearance caught him off guard.

Thus, when Mephisto materialized, a bead of cold sweat trickled down Forseti's brow. Had he not been nearing the completion of his retreat, he might have faced dire consequences.

"You are Mephisto, the Lord of Hell?" Forseti replied cautiously, stalling for time.

"The Lord of Hell? There is no king in Hell," Mephisto retorted.

His gaze returned to the holy light, "Outsider, though I know not your origin, I find your power intriguing. You will come with me."

With that, Mephisto reached out his hand. Like most demons, his hands boasted sharp, beast-like claws capable of rending life with ease.

Forseti swiftly invoked consumable ultimate shield that has kept him alive till now .

Holy Shield!

Activation of the Holy Shield was instantaneous. With a mere thought, runic holy light enveloped him, rendering him invulnerable.

Mephisto's claws halted against the Holy Shield, unable to breach it.

Frowning, Mephisto's hands oozed blood, gripping the Holy Shield with all his might.

Once more, the Holy Shield held firm, exhibiting no ripple or yield, eerily steadfast.

This unexpected resistance caused Mephisto to falter briefly, casting a glance of disbelief at Forseti's impenetrable defense.

After testing the Holy Shield's resilience, Forseti grinned, "Lord Mephisto, perhaps fate shall determine our next meeting."

Mephisto snorted coldly, withdrawing a twisted, ink-black blade, slashing at the Holy Shield.

In an instant, the twisted blade cleaved through the air, crackling with dark energy, seemingly rending reality.

"Boom—"

The blade struck with thunderous force.

Despite its formidable momentum, the noise stemmed from the blade itself and the air, not from any impact on the Holy Shield.

The shield, impervious to damage, remained steadfast.

Enraged, Mephisto prepared his next attack.

In a flash of retreating holy light, Forseti vanished.

"Boom—"

Mephisto's blade slashed down, leaving only a fissure in the ground.

His gaze vacant, Mephisto's hand trembled faintly as he sheathed the twisted blade, face now darkened with frustration.

As the most powerful demon lord in his domain, Mephisto's inability to prevent an unnamed outsider's escape gnawed at him.

The unprecedented feeling of powerlessness against the Holy Shield haunted the Demon Lord.

"...How is this possible?" Mephisto recalled the unnerving helplessness he'd experienced.

That thin layer of golden brilliance seemed insurmountable.

Stalled in contemplation, two more figures approached—demonic in form yet humanoid in appearance. One was pitch-black, the other engulfed in fiery flames.

Had Forseti remained, he'd have recognized the fiery demon as none other than Zatanos, lord of hellfire and future origin of the Ghost Rider.

Mephisto turned, his countenance darkening, "Blackheart, what brings you here?"

The pitch-black demon replied, "Zatanos invited me, Father."

Mephisto turned to Zatanos, "And do you have business with my son?"

Zatanos sneered, "Mephisto, you intrude on my domain suddenly—I have yet to inquire! I invited Blackheart, not you!"

"An outsider killed your Earth Demon," Mephisto stated flatly.

"The Old Demon is dead?!" Both Zatanos and Blackheart exclaimed, the flames around Zatanos flickering intensely.

Mephisto glanced at his son Blackheart, eyes inscrutable, then pointed, "His remains lie in that pit. Most were obliterated, few fragments remain."

Zatanos eyed the deep pit suspiciously, questioning, "How can you be certain an outsider is responsible?"

Mephisto countered, "Do you suspect me?"

Zatanos fell silent.

Mephisto continued, "See for yourself... No demon possesses the power to slay an Earth Demon."