The Birth of the New Demon Lords

The challengers had gathered in the labyrinth's grand arena, all bearing their respective pride, arrogance, and ambition. Diablo and Zegion sat like two beasts of the abyss, waiting patiently for the show to begin. Their thrones were placed at opposite ends of the arena, towering over the arena floor where the challengers now stood. The dim light shone through the cracks in the labyrinth's walls, casting eerie shadows that stretched like the hands of ghosts, waiting to claim their victims.

The challengers sized each other up, their gazes intense, as they realized that they weren't just fighting for an invitation to the Demon Lord council. This was a battle for dominance, for control over the new world order. Each challenger was keenly aware of the stakes and how the very nature of the fight could determine who would emerge as the top Demon Lord among them.

Zephyrion, the Storm Tyrant, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes crackling with power. His ability to control storms and lightning was legendary. He radiated an air of quiet confidence. Beside him stood Xalvador, the Crimson Sage, whose fingers twitched as arcane runes appeared in the air, his magical prowess apparent in every move. Azariah, the Queen of Shadows, stood apart from the rest, her eyes glinting with sharp intelligence and a deadly, alluring smile. Xyloth, the Demon Lord of Pride, stood arrogantly at the edge of the arena, his arms crossed as he sneered at the others. His prideful nature was evident in every subtle gesture, and his absolute confidence made it clear that he believed himself to be the rightful ruler of all.

The challengers were bracing themselves, knowing that whatever came next, it would be a trial like no other.

"Let the games begin." Diablo's voice echoed through the arena, and with it, the reality of the Walpurgis began to take shape.

The labyrinth began to shift, the very ground beneath their feet rumbling as dimensional energies started to swirl. Suddenly, the challengers were not alone. The arena transformed, becoming a battlefield, where the challengers would face both each other and the traps designed to test their abilities. Illusions flickered across the landscape, distorting the challengers' perception of time and space.

"We are all pawns in Diablo's game now," Xalvador muttered under his breath. He knew this was no mere contest of strength—it was a game of manipulation and endurance.

A Battle Royale of Chaos and Carnage

The moment the trial began, the arena exploded into chaos. A thundering boom echoed through the labyrinth as the walls trembled, shifting like a living entity. The very ground beneath the challengers fractured, sending shockwaves rippling through the battlefield.

The challengers barely had time to react before the battle royale commenced.

Zephyrion, the Storm Tyrant, launched into the air with a burst of lightning, hovering high above the battlefield. Crackling energy surged through his body as storm clouds gathered overhead, his golden eyes flashing with anticipation.

"Let the weak fall first," he declared, unleashing a torrent of lightning spears down on the battlefield. The bolts struck indiscriminately, blasting chunks of the labyrinth floor apart and vaporizing several monstrous creatures that had begun emerging from the labyrinth's depths.

Xalvador, the Crimson Sage, reacted instantly, conjuring a barrier of blazing crimson flames to deflect the lightning. His grimoire hovered beside him, flipping its pages rapidly as he chanted incantations.

"You'll have to try harder than that, Zephyrion," he muttered. With a flick of his wrist, crimson chains shot forth from his spell circle, snaking through the air to ensnare Zephyrion's legs.

Before the chains could reach him, a shadowy figure appeared between them. Azariah, the Queen of Shadows, moved like a specter, her body dissolving into darkness before reforming behind Xalvador.

"You men and your theatrics," she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement. With a snap of her fingers, shadowy daggers materialized and shot toward Xalvador.

But Xyloth, the Demon Lord of Pride, was already moving. He smashed into Xalvador with a single devastating punch, sending the Crimson Sage hurtling across the battlefield, crashing through several beasts in the process.

"You'll have to fight me directly," Xyloth sneered, his entire body glowing with a golden aura. His prideful energy made him nearly impervious to attacks.

Xalvador twisted midair, landing on one knee, blood dripping from his lip. "Bastard," he growled before raising his hand. The air around Xyloth condensed as gravity magic slammed into him, attempting to crush his body under an invisible force.

But Xyloth grinned through the pain, his overwhelming willpower resisting the force of gravity itself. "You think this will work on me?" he scoffed.

Meanwhile, the labyrinth continued its onslaught of monstrous creatures.

Massive beasts, with twisted, grotesque forms, surged into the battlefield—some covered in spiked obsidian armor, others exuding a miasma of death, their bodies barely holding form. A colossal serpent, its scales glistening like molten lava, lunged toward the battlefield, its jaws wide enough to swallow several warriors whole.

Zephyrion dove toward the beast, electricity surging from his palms, and punched the serpent's skull with enough force to send a shockwave through the entire arena. The creature screeched, thrashing wildly, but before it could retaliate, Azariah appeared above it, driving a shadow-forged spear straight through its eye.

The ground quaked as another abomination—a titanic, horned behemoth—charged into the fray, its roar deafening. Xyloth met it head-on, catching its tree-sized fist with one hand before delivering an earth-shattering uppercut that sent the beast flying into the ceiling.

Despite their struggles, it became clear that the true contest wasn't against the beasts. It was against each other.

As the dust settled, the remaining three challengers—Zephyrion, Azariah, and Xyloth—stood at the center of the battlefield, their bodies battered but their spirits unbroken.

Xalvador had been knocked out, his body buried under a collapsed section of the labyrinth.

The three warriors locked eyes, each realizing the inevitable truth. They were powerful, but to truly claim their place, they had to face the ones who orchestrated this battle—Diablo and Zegion.

Zephyrion stepped forward first. "Enough of this," he growled, his stormy aura flaring wildly. "If we're to be Demon Lords, we should face the two who declared themselves first."

Azariah wiped the blood from her lips, a slow smirk forming. "I have to admit, that does sound like a fitting conclusion."

Xyloth cracked his knuckles. "Hmph. If we're going to rule, we should at least prove we can stand against them."

Diablo and Zegion exchanged glances from their thrones.

Diablo stood, his aura of absolute malice filling the entire arena. "You wish to challenge us?" he purred. "Very well. We shall grant you an audience... but I warn you, you won't enjoy the experience."

Zegion nodded, stepping forward. "If you want to be Demon Lords, you must first understand true power."

Then it began.

The moment the battle started, it was over.

Zephyrion blitzed forward, moving at speeds even lightning couldn't match. He aimed a devastating thunderstrike at Diablo's face, but before he could land the blow—

Diablo caught his wrist with two fingers.

CRACK.

Zephyrion's arm twisted unnaturally, and he barely had time to scream before Diablo drove his knee into his stomach, folding him in half. The shockwave alone sent him crashing through multiple walls, leaving a bloody crater in his wake.

Xyloth lunged at Zegion, his prideful aura surging, his golden fist crashing down like a meteor—

But Zegion sidestepped effortlessly and slammed his elbow into Xyloth's ribs with enough force to nearly shatter reality. The self-proclaimed Demon Lord of Pride was launched into the sky, blood spraying from his mouth before Zegion appeared above him in an instant—

And hammer-fisted him back into the ground.

Azariah barely had time to react before Diablo's hand appeared around her throat. He lifted her effortlessly, his golden eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered amusement.

"You fought well," Diablo admitted. "But this is where you fall."

Then he drove her into the floor with enough force to send shockwaves through the labyrinth.

The challengers didn't even last a full minute.

As their beaten bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, Diablo and Zegion stood before them, looking down with unreadable expressions.

Then, Diablo clapped his hands once, his power washing over them like a dark tide, healing their wounds.

"Congratulations," he said, his voice silky smooth. "You have survived the first test. You may have lost, but you have proven your worth nonetheless."

Zegion nodded. "You are strong. Strong enough to rule."

One by one, the challengers rose, their bodies still aching but their determination burning brighter than ever.

Diablo turned to the darkness, summoning his subordinates. "Spread the word," he commanded. "Let the world know of the new Demon Lords."

And so, the new Demon Lords were born:

Diablo, the Abyssal Chaos Creator.

Zegion, the Insect Monarch.

Zephyrion, the Storm Tyrant.

Azariah, the Queen of Shadows.

Xyloth, the Lord of Supreme Pride.

Xalvador, the Phantom of the Abyss.

The world was about to change.

And they would rule it from the shadows.