Axe King II

The Five Cults were peculiar in their nature, each distinct in its own twisted way. Most of them, with the glaring exception of the Order of the Fallen Flame, didn't worship their respective black mana species out of blind faith or genuine reverence. No, that would be far too simple, far too… human.

The truth behind the cults' motivations was darker, more cynical. They had no need to bow before the races of black mana—those beings of chaos and destruction who tore through worlds like wildfire. The leaders of these cults didn't see them as gods. Instead, they saw them as tools. Means to an end.

Take Vorgath Ironmaw, the Cult Leader of the Savage Communion, as an example. By sheer strength, Vorgath outclassed every ogre and orc in existence. Yet he led a cult that ostensibly worshipped their kind. Why?

The reason was simple: power.

All members of his cult had signed contracts—pacts forged in black mana—to twist and transform themselves, trading away their humanity for strength beyond mortal comprehension. The black mana coursing through their veins made them something other than human. Stronger. Deadlier. And the higher-ups in the cult? They didn't bow to the black mana races out of fear or awe. They didn't kneel.

They used them.

To them, black mana wasn't a mark of servitude—it was a tool, a lever they pulled to move the world. The Order of the Fallen Flame might kneel to demons in servitude, but the others? The Savage Communion, the Umbravale Covenant, and their ilk? They played a different game entirely.

They saw demons and their power not as masters to obey but as a weapon to wield.

And now, I faced the result of that philosophy.

Vorgath Ironmaw, bonded with the Infernal Armis, was a nightmare incarnate. His molten crown pulsed with power, his Ruin Axe burning with chaotic astral energy, and his Infernal Dominion gnawed at the edges of my Divine Emperor's Throne. He was stronger than any ogre, any orc, any mortal man. He was a calamity waiting to be unleashed.

But he wasn't invincible.

'Conceptualize a winning idea,' I told myself, my grip tightening on Nyxthar.

This wasn't about miracles. I couldn't afford to rely on them.

I had to think.

Think about everything Vorgath can do. Every ability, every strength. The Infernal Armis had granted him devastating power, yes, but it was power that demanded a cost. His strikes were heavy, relentless, but they were predictable. The artifact amplified his strengths but hadn't erased his flaws.

Compare them to mine.

I had my True Domain. I had my Gifts. I had Nyxthar, a blade that had stood against monsters and legends alike. I had Luna, her qilin strength complementing my own. And most importantly, I had my mind—a mind trained to dissect, to calculate, to break down impossibilities and forge them into victories.

'Think how to counter him.'

Vorgath relied on destruction, on overpowering his enemies with sheer force. But destruction without precision left openings. His attacks, as devastating as they were, lacked the refinement to overwhelm the harmony of my Divine Emperor's Throne. His Dominion was powerful, yes, but it wasn't a True Domain. It was a construct of borrowed strength, fueled by the Infernal Armis. Mine was something else entirely—a manifestation of my will, my mastery, my unshakable authority.

'Think how I can crush him right now.'

It wasn't enough to hold him back. I needed to end this. To stop him here, now, before his power solidified further, before he adapted. Every second the Infernal Armis bonded with him, it would hone him further, forging him into something that could rival even Alyssara Velcroix in time. I couldn't let that happen.

'No miracles.'

This wasn't about hoping for an opening or waiting for luck to tip the scales. This was about cold, hard calculation. Every move I made had to be precise, deliberate. I couldn't afford to waste energy, to swing blindly and hope for the best.

'Calculate everything, Arthur Nightingale.'

My breath steadied. My grip on Nyxthar firmed. Around me, the light of my throne burned brighter, the seraphim above me shimmering with divine purpose. Luna stood by my side, her galaxy eyes narrowing as she readied herself for the next exchange. I could feel her trust, her confidence in me, and it only strengthened my resolve.

And then, I smiled.

'Win the battle.'

Vorgath roared, the molten rivers of his Dominion surging as he charged again, his Ruin Axe gleaming with destructive intent. But this time, I wasn't reacting. I wasn't on the defensive.

This time, I was ready.

"Luna," I said, my voice steady. "We're ending this."

She nodded, her fists glowing with astral energy as she stepped forward to meet him. Together, we would push him to his limits—and then shatter them.

Because in this battle, there was no room for doubt. No room for hesitation.

Only victory.

Vorgath was strong. Unbelievably strong.

Every strike he unleashed carried the weight of worlds, every step he took resonated with destruction. But strength alone wasn't enough—not in a battle like this. His power, overwhelming as it was, was still unrefined. By the standards of a demon, his movements lacked precision, his strikes wasted energy, and his reliance on raw power left openings I could exploit.

If he refined his power even a fraction further—if he reached the precision of a demon duke—he would crush me. That much was certain.

But for now, that lack of refinement was my edge. And I wasn't about to waste it.

It was time.

The air within my Divine Emperor's Throne grew still, the light of the seraphim above me glowing brighter, casting long, golden shadows across the fractured ground. My breathing steadied, my grip on Nyxthar tightening as I prepared for the attack I could only ever perform inside this Domain—a movement that was impossible anywhere else.

A movement that surpassed limits.

The fifth movement.

I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, letting everything else fade away. Vorgath's molten crown, the searing heat of the Infernal Dominion, the weight of his presence—all of it vanished. All that remained was me, my blade, and the will to cut through everything.

'My sword… will cut everything,' I thought, my mind sharpening like the edge of Nyxthar.

Space.

Time.

Everything.

If it existed, I would cut it. If it resisted, I would sever it. There was no boundary my blade couldn't cross, no barrier it couldn't break.

I moved.

The fifth movement wasn't a strike—it was a phenomenon. Nyxthar glowed with blinding light as it cut forward, the blade slicing through the fabric of existence itself. Space warped and folded around the edge of the sword, time fracturing like glass under the sheer force of my intent. The attack wasn't aimed at Vorgath's body. That would have been too simple, too crude.

No, this strike was aimed at something deeper.

His soul.

The blade struck true.

Vorgath staggered, his molten eyes widening as the weight of the attack hit him. For a brief moment, the Infernal Armis flickered, its molten crown dimming as if unsure whether it could still sustain him. His Ruin Axe wavered in his grasp, the chaotic energy around it faltering.

And then, he shattered.

His body split into countless fragments, each piece scattering like shards of molten glass across the ground. His crown, his axe, his molten veins—all of it fell apart, leaving nothing but the empty space where he had stood.

I exhaled, the tension in my body releasing as I lowered Nyxthar. "It's done," I muttered, my voice carrying through the now-silent Domain.

But then, the silence broke.

From the scattered fragments of Vorgath's form, a dark, malevolent energy surged. The pieces began to pull themselves back together, molten streams of black mana reweaving his body like threads stitching a tapestry. The light of the Infernal Armis flared once more, brighter and more oppressive than ever.

"What—?" I started, taking a step back, my eyes narrowing as the molten crown reappeared atop his head.

"Did you really think…" Vorgath's voice rumbled, echoing through the cavern. "…that would be enough to kill me?"

He stood tall once more, his body fully restored. His grin was wider now, more feral, his molten eyes blazing with unrestrained glee. The Infernal Armis pulsed with power, and I felt it then—the presence of one of its abilities, an insidious, godlike force that refused to let its wielder fall.

Immortal Slayer.

The Infernal Armis's most insidious ability, the one that made it truly worthy of its Mythical status.

Vorgath chuckled, rolling his shoulders as if testing his newly restored body. "Impressive, Grandmaster. You hit me where no one else could. You split me apart, piece by piece. But…" He gestured to himself, his grin widening. "Here I am. And now, I know your tricks."

I gritted my teeth, adjusting my stance as Nyxthar gleamed with celestial light. My mind raced, recalculating. The fifth movement was a blow meant to end any fight, to sever any foe's very existence. And yet, here he stood, stronger than before.