Fight (1)

Late in the night, under the dim glow of flickering street lamps, Luseraph and Beelzebub walked along a narrow, grimy alleyway. The air was thick with the stench of rot and dampness, and the distant chatter of drunken men in the city's nightlife could barely be heard over the howling wind.

Suddenly, Luseraph came to an abrupt halt, his long black hair swaying slightly as he tilted his head. A slow, wicked smile curled across his lips.

"You can come out now," he said, his voice smooth yet commanding, laced with amusement.

At first, there was only silence. But then, the shadows stirred. One by one, seventeen figures emerged from the darkness, their cloaks billowing slightly as they stepped into the moonlight. Their eyes gleamed with greed, their expressions filled with confidence, for they believed they had caught their prey unaware.

Among them, seven were sixth-order mages, their auras crackling with dense mana, while the other ten were fifth-order mages, lesser but still formidable in numbers. Even though the rumors spoke of Luseraph's immense aura but in face of greater power a better aura meant nothing, only one among them seemed truly dangerous in their eyes—Beelzebub. As for Luseraph, they scoffed at the thought. After all, he appeared to be no more than a first-order mage, a mere child standing in the presence of giants.

One of them stepped forward—a tall man with piercing gray eyes, clad in battle-worn armor. He smirked as he summoned a sword of shimmering blue steel from thin air. His confidence was evident, even as his sharp gaze scrutinized Luseraph.

"It seems your senses are sharper than we expected," the leader spoke, his tone laced with mock admiration. "To detect us while we were perfectly concealed... You're no ordinary target, are you?"

As he spoke, another mage raised his staff, murmuring an incantation. In an instant, a thick wall of ice erupted from the ground, splitting Luseraph and Beelzebub apart.

A calculated move. The seven sixth-order mages positioned themselves against Beelzebub, while the ten fifth-order mages turned toward Luseraph. They had deemed Beelzebub the greater threat—a mistake they would soon regret.

Luseraph exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Hey, Beel," he called out casually, his voice smooth yet carrying an undeniable weight. "Ensure you don't overdo it. Dispose of them properly."

Though his tone was relaxed, there was a distinct authority in his words. No matter how indifferent he seemed, he was still the strongest being in existence. As a king among demons, he did not tolerate foolishness, nor did he spare his enemies.

Beelzebub's crimson eyes flickered with understanding. "As you wish, my liege." His voice was laced with reverence, yet beneath it, an unmistakable bloodlust stirred.

Then, without warning, his killing intent flooded the alleyway like a tidal wave.

The very air grew heavy, pressing down on the mages like an unseen force. The leader stiffened, his breath hitching. His instincts screamed at him—run! But there was nowhere to go.

"W-What is this?!" The leader's hands trembled as he gripped his sword. The sheer weight of the aura Beelzebub emitted felt suffocating. It was beyond anything he had encountered before. Even the Guild Master's presence wasn't this overwhelming.

Desperation set in. He clenched his teeth and made his move.

With a roar, he lunged forward, his sword glowing with blinding energy as he swung it down upon Beelzebub with his full strength. It was a blow meant to shatter steel, to carve through mountains. His strongest attack.

Yet the moment the blade struck Beelzebub's flesh—

—it shattered.

Not just cracked. Not just chipped. It disintegrated.

The sixth-order enchanted weapon, capable of slicing through solid iron as if it were butter, was reduced to dust upon impact.

The leader's eyes widened in pure horror. "I-Impossible…" His breath hitched, his mind racing as he staggered backward, falling onto the cold, dirty ground.

This wasn't just power. This was something beyond reason.

His mind desperately searched for an explanation. Was this man part of the fabled Ninth Order? A commander of the Empire? Or worse—someone from Delsgade?

"A-Are you… a commander from the Empire?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Behind him, the other sixth-order mages were shaking. They had seen their leader's might firsthand, yet the man before them had dismissed it as if it were a child's tantrum.

Beelzebub scoffed, tilting his head slightly. "A commander?" He chuckled, his crimson pupils glowing with eerie light. "It seems you are mistaken."

Then, in a single heartbeat, his entire aura shifted.

The very air crackled with malevolence. His presence became suffocating, consuming all light, all hope. The mages felt it in their bones, in their very souls.

"I never said I was human," he declared, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do not insult me by comparing me to your inferior species."

A predatory grin spread across his face as he took a step forward, his very movement causing the ground beneath him to tremble.

"I am the Demon Sin of Gluttony. A faithful and loyal servant of my liege, the great being above all."

The words sent a chilling wave of realization through the enemy ranks.

"D-Demon…?" One of the mages whispered, his voice quivering.

The leader's face turned pale. Then—

"A DEMON!" he roared in sheer panic. "ALL OF YOU, ATTACK!"

In an instant, dozens of spells ignited the alleyway.

Firestorms. Ice lances. Bolts of lightning. Crashing tidal waves. A barrage of devastation, the combined might of the strongest spells they could muster.

A force strong enough to erase an entire island.

Yet—

Nothing happened.

Not to Beelzebub. Not even the ground he stood upon was touched.

The flames died before reaching him. The ice melted into harmless puddles. The lightning dispersed into the air like flickering embers.

Silence.

The mages' faces twisted in horror. "T-That should've killed a dragon!" one of them gasped.

Beelzebub exhaled in disappointment. "Pitiful attempt." He raised his hand, and suddenly, a multicolored orb of swirling energy materialized in his palm.

Their attacks. Compressed. Refined.

"I don't even need my own magic to defeat you," Beelzebub muttered, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Let me show you true despair."

He flicked his wrist.

The orb shot forward, exploding upon impact.

The entire alleyway was consumed in a violent detonation, a swirling mass of destruction that reduced everything within a twenty-meter radius into fine dust. The bodies of the mages disintegrated in an instant—not even ashes remained.

As the explosion faded, Beelzebub let out a sigh, brushing the dust off his coat.

"How dull," he muttered. "They didn't even last a minute."