"I am the Demon Lord. King of the Underworld and master of the mighty armies of Hell," Sârtuuh declared, pouring all the dignity he could into his words. However, a cold sweat trickled down his back as he tried to hide his uncertainty behind a false bravado. Whoever this man was, his power was undeniable. "You think you can stop me?"

"For all your crimes against Arcadia, I will kill you. I’d say there’s no better way to stop you than by ensuring you’re dead," the man said coldly, his voice laced with sarcasm, though it was clear he wasn’t joking. "You will never lay a finger on her. This is the closest you’ll ever get to her again."

The man shrugged and stepped forward. That single step nearly made Sârtuuh jump back in fear. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But he couldn’t—if the Devilkins saw him flee, they would come to claim his head.

"A-and w-who might you be?" the Demon Lord stammered, trying—and failing—to sound dismissive. Instead, his voice came out panicked and trembling. Frustrated, he huffed angrily and glanced at the Succubus, who had all but forgotten his existence. She was gazing at the man with adoration. "A nice puppet you’ve found for yourself, Cahrona!" he spat, desperate to regain control.

"Ahhhh... Funny,” the man replied. “If I’m just a puppet, then why are you trembling in front of me?" He placed his armored hands on his hips, shaking his head in amused disapproval. "For a moment, I thought you were a serious threat. How someone as incompetent as you became a leader is beyond me. You didn’t even bother gathering intel on Arcadia, did you? Don’t answer—I already know." Each word was a dagger of mockery, and instead of provoking him, it filled the Demon Lord with fear.

The man crossed his arms and raised his voice. "Devilkins! I give you a choice. You can die or pledge your loyalty to the rightful Princess of your race, Cahrona Ashes. Drop your weapons and live. Fight, and you will die."

The man’s voice unnaturally boomed across the battlefield, silencing the sounds of combat. The Demon Lord could hear the muffled murmurs of discussion around him. He knew he had to act fast, or the situation would slip from his hands altogether. But before he could speak, the man’s glowing blue eyes locked onto him, piercing his soul.

"Now... tell me, what exactly are you?" The King of Arcadia asked, slightly intrigued. "You’re neither a creature of Chaos nor a servant of the Void, and yet, I can sense their powers clinging to you, Sârtuuh... and to your general, Kažhûn."

"I'm the Demon Lord—"

"Not quite. First of all, you're not Demons," the man interrupted with an impatient wave of his hand. "If anything, your race should be called Tieflings or something like that. Demons, by nature, are inherently evil and deeply tied to the spiritual realm. They’re locked in an eternal struggle against God—or, in the case of Nilmerthis, I suppose, the gods who represent the Forces of Order."

A deep silence settled over the courtyard, filled with consternated blinks and dropped jaws. Yet the man seemed utterly unfazed by the awkward stares, falling into silence as he fixed his gaze on Sârtuuh.

"That's... Irreverent."

"I think you just wanted to sound cool. 'Look at me, I'm a Demon Lord!' Please..." the man mocked him even more. "You claim to be something you're not. Some of your people are capable of good—they are compassionate, even selfless. That's anathema to Demons."

Sârtuuh opened and closed his mouth several times, desperately searching for a response. It finally dawned on him that he should be fighting this man, not wasting time on a pointless discussion. But he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Cahrona should have been trembling at the sight of him in his current form, unable to utter a word against him. Yet, even without the King of Arcadia present, she remained calm and defiant.

Now, with that man standing before them, she completely ignored Sârtuuh’s presence. If a Succubus as powerful as she was could stare at this man with such reverence, it would only mean one thing—he was beyond anything humanly possible. Caution was his only option.

"That brings us to the last flaw in your little statement," the man—presumably the King of Arcadia—said, spreading his arms wide. After gesturing slowly toward the gathered Devilkins, he let them fall to his sides with a muffled clang of metal. "On what grounds do you claim to be a Lord?"

The man's voice was deceptively calm, and Sârtuuh knew that everything now hinged on his response. He could feel the Devilkins’ eyes on his back, and the sound of held breaths filled the oppressive silence of the Shadow Realm.

"I hold that title by the Right of Power..." he replied slowly, unleashing a pulse of his energy that rippled through the air, shattering nearby spells in its wake.

"I see." The man simply nodded, surprising the Demon Lord.

"You’re not going to argue with that? Not going to tell me that power alone isn’t enough to be a king?" Sârtuuh asked, trying to buy time. He quietly gathered all his mana, preparing a massive spell—his only hope of defeating the man before him.

"Why would I?" the man said, shaking his head slowly. "I’m the King of Arcadia by the will of the gods and the might of my inexhaustible armies. Power is easy to understand and a common enough justification, Demon Lord Sârtuuh. But if that's everything you have to back up your claims, then you are a weak king sitting on an unstable throne. It must be exhausting—always watching for daggers in the dark, worrying about poison in your meals. And worse still, the moment someone more powerful rises, your reign is over."

The man slowly lifted his hand as though gripping an invisible sword. As his arm levelled with his line of sight, lightning danced around his not-fully clenched fist, the air buzzing with a loud, electric hum. Alarmed, the Demon Lord drew his sword and assumed a defensive stance. The vicious, wide edge of Soul Claimer, the great sword that had always belonged to the reigning Demon Lord, paled in comparison to the weapon now forming in his opponent’s hand. The man easily cut through the air and lowered his weapon, standing in a neutral, seemingly relaxed stance, perfect for attack and defence.

"You’re the King by the will of the gods? That's a bold statement. What Gods?" the Demon Lord snarled, seizing the unexpected opportunity. Gods were notoriously spiteful; if that man started using their names, they would surely intervene. Even if they struck him with a simple debuff, it would help Sârtuuh.

"A lot of them, to be honest, though I have serious reservations about calling them gods." Theon Avalon shrugged with a sigh. "Eriar, Hestia, Zeus, Hera, Zephyr, Verka, Akh'ila, Ertu, Kaal'nai, and Tuul'kara... I think that covers everyone. Oh! Technically, Hur'zhun, too, but if I told him to croak like a frog, he’d do it, so I’m not sure he counts."

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"You blasphemous fool! How dare you call the name of Hestia, the Goddess of the Underworld, as your patron?" Sârtuuh bellowed, theatrically raising his right hand toward the heavens. "Oh, Holy Hestia, bring your judgment upon this man, whose soul is full of hubris and destr—"

A bright flash of divine flames flashed briefly behind Theon. "Why would I do that to my husband?"

The gasps of shock and the sound of weapons clattering to the ground chilled him as if ice were filling his veins. His soldiers, heads bowed, had abandoned all doubt. There was no mistaking it—the woman gently resting her hand on Theon’s shoulder was none other than the Goddess Hestia.

"But my Goddess... Why?"

"You found other gods to serve, but even before that, you never truly believed in me." Hestia gazed down at Sârtuuh as if he were nothing more than a wriggling worm at her feet. Her eyes then swept over the gathered Devilkins in the courtyard between the gatehouses, her gaze sharp with judgment.

"If you truly believe in me, surrender, and you will be spared. Continue this pointless fight, and you will be killed."

In full view of the soldiers, she leaned in and kissed Theon’s cheek, her expression softening as she gave him an infinitely warmer look. "Everything went perfectly," she said with satisfaction. "We did our part."

Theon smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "Excellent, my Darling."

Goddess Hestia, ignoring the stupefied and pleading gazes of the Devilkins, turned her back on them and walked toward Cahrona. In an instant, both she and Cahrona, along with the Dragon she sat upon, vanished—only to reappear atop the distant gatehouse.

"So what are you?" the man asked once more.

Sârtuuh gritted his teeth angrily. "None of your business, human."

"Very well." Theon Avalon summoned another sword, catching it effortlessly as it materialised in the air beside him. "I’m glad that you humored my curiosity—and, in the process, patiently waited for the final touches of our plan to come to fruition. But now, I believe it’s time we return to the main subject." Theon’s voice shifted from slightly amused to deadly serious. "What is your answer? Will you choose to live—or die?"

Before he could respond, Kažhûn lunged forward with blurring speed, his claws poised for the kill. But instead of reaching Cahrona, who was far beyond anyone’s reach, he was intercepted by the blonde woman in black and gold armor. With a single, offhand slap, she deflected the Devilkin general's claws and effortlessly shoved him back.

"My Lord has already told you that you won't lay your finger on her."

"All right then..." Theon Avalon's voice boomed across the fortress. "The rules are simple: those who drop their weapons and sit or kneel will be spared. Everyone else will die."

At first, a few dozen weapons clattered to the ground, but soon, hundreds, then thousands, followed as his soldiers surrendered en masse. The inevitability of the confrontation had become clear—the overwhelming and unexpected superiority of Cahrona Ashes, combined with the revelation that their own Goddess supported and had even married Theon Avalon, shattered their will to fight. However, Sârtuuh had not been idle during the seemingly pointless exchange. With a sly smile, he waved his hand, unleashing the spell he had been silently preparing.

"Vfarrnifar." The word slipped from his mouth, so alien and intrusive that the very air seemed to reject its existence.

Despite the word’s repulsiveness, the sound persisted, soon forming a small spot of pure darkness that swirled, sending visible pulses of dark energy rippling outward. In a heartbeat, the spot expanded into a raging tear in reality. The air was violently pulled into the void, and while the surrounding Devilkins screamed in horror, the Arcadians remained stoic. The only response from Theon Avalon was a quiet sigh.

"So, you are a servant of the Ruinous Powers..."

"You’re awfully calm for someone facing their doom, mortal," the Demon Lord cackled. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he barely managed to block an abrupt, wide slash from Theon Avalon.

"You’re mistaken, Sârtuuh. You called me Human and Mortal. I’m neither." Another powerful blow struck, and the Demon Lord’s hands began to tremble slightly under the strain of blocking the relentless attacks.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sârtuuh caught sight of Kažhûn locked in battle with the blonde woman, her sword casting ominous red flashes. Some of his soldiers were fighting, too, but the confrontation with the black-and-gold-clad knights was unlike anything they had ever faced. His elite, his best warriors, could barely hold their own against the silent Arcadian soldiers. As for the regular troops—they were helpless and completely outclassed. It was a slaughter.

"Your general is facing the Captain of my Praetorians," Theon Avalon said, closing the distance with unhurried precision. "Her name is Morrigan, the Vampire Queen." Each blow he delivered was sharp and precise, barely giving Sârtuuh time to parry. "And as you’ve likely guessed, the soldiers you see here are my Praetorians."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Sârtuuh huffed, straining as he blocked another blow. "She can't be a Vampire. They died out thousands of years ago. The only place you’d find them now is in Dungeons."

"What an amazing coincidence..." Theon laughed, effortlessly blocking the powerful slash Sârtuuh had attempted to deliver.

With desperate hope, the Demon Lord risked a glance at the spell he had cast. The black hole was still growing, but the air around it remained eerily still. He quickly realized why—someone had sealed it under a transparent barrier. It must have been the Goddess.

"This game was rigged from the start, Demon Lord Sârtuuh," Theon Avalon said, the blue light in his eyes flaring, leaving glowing trails in the air. "You never stood a chance. It seems your soldiers aren’t willing to die in your name."

"Some traitors may have surrendered, but I still have more soldiers than you," Sârtuuh laughed, watching as new waves of his warriors flooded into the courtyard. "You sent away too many of yours."

"You should have sent more spies," The King of Arcadia laughed, clearly enjoying the duel as he set the pace. "You let me evacuate the civilians and relocate my Mortal soldiers. I don’t want them to die unnecessarily. They still have much to learn."

"So the soldiers we’re fighting here are less important? Their blood is on your hands!" Sârtuuh spat.

"Those soldiers belong to the Immortal Legions of Avalon," Theon replied calmly. "They can’t truly die."

"You’re insane..." The Demon Lord shook his head, but a sudden surge of curiosity made him appraise one of the Praetorians. To his horror, it wasn’t a person at all—it was a Death Lord, a deadly monster.

"A Dungeon monster..." he muttered in disbelief.

"Indeed. My most loyal and trusted soldiers." Theon’s laughter, more chilling than his swordsmanship, echoed in the courtyard.

"You’re delusional! They serve only the Dungeon!"

"Indeed..." The blue mana glowing in Theon’s eyes was as unsettling as his grim, cold voice.

At that moment, Sârtuuh realised the depth of his mistake. The figure before him was no mere mortal. He could hardly be called a man at all. The unparalleled strength of his unstoppable armies suddenly made sense now. The legions of monsters in service of a monster king. A shudder of fear ran through him, but the sudden sound of shattering glass and a surge of familiar power brought a brief moment of calm. He greedily absorbed the power that had arrived, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"You may be a master of monsters, but I am not abandoned. My gods are with me!" Sârtuuh shouted, narrowly dodging another strike from Theon’s sword. He leaped back, gaining distance with a few powerful beats of his wings. "Limit Break."