The Summoning Part III

Arion, the enigmatic leader of the Legion of Demons, stood in the boundless void of his personal training dimension—a realm where the laws of reality bent to his will, where the sky was an endless storm of black lightning and howling winds, and the ground was an ever-shifting abyss of destruction and rebirth.

Opposite him, towering like a force of nature incarnate, stood the mighty Storm Dragon Veldora. His golden eyes gleamed with excitement, his aura a tempest of unrestrained power, each breath he took warping the very fabric of the space around them.

They had been clashing for hours, exchanging devastating blows that could annihilate entire civilizations. A swipe of Veldora's claws tore through the void itself, sending shockwaves rippling through existence, while Arion danced through the destruction with effortless precision, countering with strikes imbued with the essence of the abyss.

Despite their relentless battle, Arion's mind was split—engaged in a separate, silent conversation within his soul corridor.

"Master, I have discovered something intriguing," Pandoria's voice, smooth and eerie, whispered through their thought-accelerated link.

"Due to the depth of your connection with Veldora, and the shared corridor between your souls, I can evolve his Ultimate Skill into something far greater than its current form."

Arion sidestepped an explosive impact of divine lightning, his eyes narrowing slightly at the revelation.

"To evolve Veldora's Ultimate Skill…?"

It was an unexpected discovery, but it made sense. The corridor between them wasn't just a link—it was a fusion of essence, a bridge between two titanic beings of power.

Veldora, noticing Arion's momentary distraction, lunged forward, his monstrous form surging through the storm.

"Getting sloppy, Arion!" he roared, bringing his claws down like the judgment of the heavens.

Arion's silhouette flickered, disappearing just as Veldora's strike obliterated a mountain of solidified void energy.

"Veldora," Arion called from behind him, standing casually with his hands in his pockets. "I can help you evolve your Ultimate Skill. Make it stronger."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

"Bwahaha! Wahahaha! AHAHAHAHA!"

Veldora's signature three-stage laugh erupted like rolling thunder, shaking the entire dimension. The black lightning above twisted violently, drawn to his sheer amusement, while the winds howled as if joining his revelry.

"You dare suggest that I, the mighty and feerless Storm Dragon Veldora, have a skill that is anything less than absolute perfection?!" His golden eyes burned with arrogance, his massive arms crossed as he loomed over Arion.

"I shall have you know, my skill, Faust, Lord of Investigation, is the pinnacle of knowledge and foresight! There is no need for—"

He stopped. Dramatically.

Then smirked.

"—But since you insist, very well! I shall graciously accept this offering of power! Go ahead, Arion!"

Arion sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. "Of course."

Arion then gave Pandoria the signal.

"Acknowledged," Pandoria's voice echoed ominously. "Beginning evolution now."

In an instant, the entire realm trembled as an overwhelming surge of divine force erupted from Veldora's body. His very being ignited with golden radiance, spiraling into a vortex of cataclysmic storms. The dimension itself strained under the pressure, as if unable to contain the force of his transformation.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled from Veldora's throat as knowledge and power flooded his existence—rewriting his very essence at the fundamental level.

"Notifice: Ultimate Skill – Faust, Lord of Investigation – is commencing evolution."

The skies split open. The air froze in terror. And then—

"Evolution Complete. Ultimate Skill – Astaroth, The Sovereign Primordial of Wsdom – has been acquired."

Veldora's golden eyes widened as the knowledge of his newfound power settled within him. The storms around him no longer simply raged—they obeyed. The winds, once wild and untamed, now whispered their secrets directly into his mind, revealing past, present, and future all at once.

This was no longer just an ability of investigation and wisdom—this was absolute dominion over the endless tempests of existence itself.

Veldora clenched his fists, his aura coiling around him like an unstoppable force of nature.

"Wahahaha! Magnificent!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the fabric of reality. He turned to Arion, eyes blazing with untamed excitement. "Come, Arion! Let us test this power at once!"

Arion pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just got it. Maybe take a second to actually understand what it—"

Before he could finish, Veldora had already unleashed a cataclysmic burst of energy.

The winds howled in a primal symphony, the lightning crackled with omniscient precision, and the very dimension itself shuddered in fear.

Arion sighed again. "Yeah, I should've expected this."

------

Jahil's Kingdom Falls:

The grand throne room of Jahil, ruler of the High Human Kingdom, stood as a beacon of power and arrogance. Majestic pillars of enchanted obsidian stretched toward the ceiling, chandeliers of eternal fire cast eerie shadows, and the air carried the faint scent of magic—tainted with the blood of countless sacrifices.

Jahil lounged upon his golden throne, eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction as he observed the crimson-cloaked figure before him—Rouge, the demon he had summoned. The very entity he thought he had bound to his service.

Rouge stood with an air of nonchalance, his piercing, infernal gaze fixed upon the ruler who had dared to command him. His crimson coat fluttered slightly as if reacting to an unseen force. His presence alone distorted reality, making the very space around him feel unstable, unnatural.

Jahil grinned, his self-assured arrogance blinding him to the impending doom. "So, you have done as I asked?" he mused, fingers tapping against the gilded armrest of his throne. His attendants—mages, warriors, and nobles—stood proudly by his side, their eyes gleaming with victory.

Rouge merely smirked, his sharp canines barely visible beneath the shadows that danced across his face.

"Yes," Rouge murmured, his voice smooth, yet carrying an underlying malice. "The task you gave me—weakening your enemies—it has been done."

Jahil leaned forward, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. "Perfect," he said, his voice dripping with self-importance. "Now, you may stay put until I require your services again."

A long, haunting silence followed.

And then—

Rouge chuckled. Low. Deep. Predatory.

The sound alone sent a primal chill through the room. It was not the laughter of a servant. It was the laughter of a predator who had finally cornered its prey.

Jahil's grin faltered. His attendants stiffened, and the mages exchanged uneasy glances. The air had shifted.

Rouge lifted his gaze, his smirk widening into something far more terrifying. His eyes glowed, an abyssal red with no end—pools of infinite torment and wicked amusement.

"Well," Rouge murmured, his voice echoing unnaturally. "Now, it is my turn."

A pulse of raw, demonic power exploded from his body.

The throne room shuddered violently as an invisible weight crashed down upon it. The very air ignited with hellish heat, warping reality itself.

Flames of the abyss erupted from the marble floors, twisting unnaturally, forming agonized faces within the inferno. The grand chandeliers shattered into a million burning embers, falling like unholy stars.

The nobles collapsed to their knees, clutching their throats as the very oxygen seemed to vanish from the room. The mages stumbled backward, their eyes wide with horror, their magical barriers disintegrating under the sheer, overwhelming pressure.

Jahil stood frozen, his golden throne trembling beneath him. His once-confident smirk twisted into something else—something raw, something terrified.

Rouge took a single step forward.

The entire castle groaned as the ground splintered beneath his foot, cracks spreading like black veins of death.

Jahil's voice finally broke through the suffocating silence. "W-What are you doing?! You are my servant!" he bellowed, forcing himself to his feet. His once-commanding tone now carried the unmistakable tremor of fear.

Rouge's smirk remained, but his voice turned colder than death itself.

"Your servant?" he echoed mockingly, tilting his head as if genuinely amused. "Did you truly believe that a being like me would ever bow to an insect like you?"

The shadows in the room twisted, elongating unnaturally. Dark tendrils slithered across the floor, coiling around the bodies of the helpless attendants.

The nobles screamed, their flesh melting into the abyssal blackness, their very souls devoured before their corpses could even hit the ground.

One of the court mages, desperately gathering his strength, raised his staff. "F-Fireball!" he stammered, launching a desperate spell.

Rouge flicked his wrist.

The flame halted in midair—then reverse combusted, swallowing the mage in an explosion of black fire. His agonized shriek lasted only for a second before he vanished into nothingness.

Jahil staggered back, his once-mighty legs trembling. His breath came in short, panicked gasps.

Rouge took another step forward. This time, the entire palace quaked.

Outside, the sky darkened, turning a deep, crimson abyss.

The kingdom had already begun to fall.

The people beyond the castle walls—civilians, knights, merchants, mothers, and children—felt an indescribable terror grip their souls. The moon cracked, blood-red light spilling through the heavens. A storm of fire began raining down, setting the entire kingdom ablaze.

The city's great defenses—its barriers, its armies, its proud fortifications—all crumbled in mere moments.

Inside the throne room, Jahil's mind raced. "T-This can't be happening," he whispered. "T-This isn't real."

Rouge grinned wider.

"Welcome to Hell."

With a snap of his fingers, a monolithic explosion of black flames erupted from his body, expanding outward like an all-consuming tide.

The throne room was the first to go. The gold of Jahil's throne melted, pooling like liquid fire. The enchanted walls disintegrated, their protective spells screaming in defiance before collapsing into nothing.

Jahil let out a final, wretched scream—his body dissolving into the abyss, his soul ripped apart and devoured.

And then—

The entire kingdom was consumed.

A wave of hellfire, blacker than the void itself, surged across the land, reducing everything to smoldering ruin. Every street, every home, every soul—erased in an instant.

Where once stood a kingdom of arrogance and pride—now stood nothing but endless, ashen wasteland.

And in the center of it all—Rouge stood alone, atop the smoldering remnants of the throne room. His crimson coat fluttered in the burning winds, his smirk still etched upon his face.

The night was silent.

Not a single soul remained.

Rouge exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair before chuckling softly.

"Well then…" he mused, gazing upon his work with amused satisfaction.

"That was fun."