The Fate of a Traitor

The air around Devil's Peak warped, reality itself struggling to hold together under the sheer pressure of the battle. The five Outer horrors stood, their bodies shifting, their forms adapting, their eyes locked onto Lucifer. They had underestimated him once. They wouldn't do it again.

But it didn't matter.

Because Lucifer had decided.

They weren't leaving this place alive.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. His crimson eyes burned with something dark, something dangerous. A quiet smirk played at his lips.

"This was fun," he said casually. "But it's time to clean up."

The five horrors didn't hesitate.

They moved.

All at once.

The ashen-skinned one was the fastest. His body flickered, splitting into a thousand images, golden sigils burning across his skin. Each afterimage launched an attack, a barrage of black spheres—each one a miniature black hole, erasing space itself.

Lucifer didn't move.

Not yet.