Satan's body was barely holding together, crushed under the nonstop attacks. Each strike shattered what little remained of his form, yet his opponent showed no urgency in finishing him off.
Using both hands, Reign alternated his punches, driving his fists into Satan's body over and over.
But he wasn't just attacking—he was playing with the devil king. Some punches came slow, dragging out the agony.
Others were feints, making Satan flinch before delivering a real blow.
Reign wanted to feel it. Every moment, every strike, was proof that he was in complete control.
Meanwhile, Satan's hardened muscles were chipping away, revealing glimpses of his exposed organs. His regeneration struggled to keep up, failing him when he needed it most.
His body should have healed by now. No matter how brutal the attack, no matter how deep the wounds, he always recovered.
Then it hit him.