Chapter 39: The Infernal Sigil – Unlocking the First Artifact

The battlefield lay in eerie silence.

Baal, the Infernal Tyrant, knelt before Lucian, his once-mighty flames flickering weakly, their brilliance dimmed by the weight of submission. The air around them still trembled with the echoes of their battle, the very fabric of the Infernal Wastes bearing scars of their titanic clash.

Yet Lucian's focus had already shifted.

He could feel it.

A presence, ancient and bound by forgotten power, lurking deep within Baal's Infernal Citadel—the first piece of the Eternal Shackles of Darkness.

Azrath's voice slithered into his mind like a whisper carried by the abyss itself.

"It is calling for you, My master… The first sigil… Do you hear it?"

Lucian's abyssal eyes gleamed as he turned toward the great obsidian fortress that loomed over the infernal landscape.

The Infernal Citadel.

A monument of tyranny where Baal once ruled unchallenged. Now, it would be his to claim.

The first step toward the Eternal Shackles of Darkness—toward absolute dominion over the Demon Realm—began here.

Without another word, he strode forward, his cloak of darkness billowing behind him.

And the gates of the Infernal Citadel groaned open.

The Infernal Citadel – Descent into the Abyss

Lucian entered the fortress, the air within thick with ash and embers, the walls pulsating with ancient infernal energy. Towering obsidian pillars, etched with demonic sigils, stretched high into the endless dark, whispering with cursed power.

A single path led forward—a vast spiraling descent into the citadel's depths, where the true heart of Baal's domain lay hidden.

Azrath's voice echoed in the darkness.

"The Infernal Sigil… It is bound by the law of flame and wrath. Only one who has conquered the Infernal Tyrant may claim it."

Lucian's footsteps echoed like judgment itself as he moved deeper. The walls seemed to shift around him, the demonic inscriptions glowing with baleful fire as if watching his every move.

Then, he reached it.

A colossal chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness.

At its center stood a black altar, wreathed in flames, and upon it—a sigil carved from pure infernal essence, pulsing with an otherworldly glow.

The Infernal Sigil.

The first piece of the Eternal Shackles of Darkness.

Lucian stepped forward—

And the chamber roared to life.

The Trial of Wrath – The Soul of Baal's Flames

A great tremor shook the chamber, and from the abyssal shadows, fire erupted. The walls ignited in a torrent of golden infernal energy, forming an inescapable arena of flame.

The air thickened with oppressive heat, pressing against Lucian's very existence.

Then—

From the infernal altar, a phantom of fire began to take form.

A towering wraith of pure flame, its body shifting like molten gold, its eyes burning with the wrath of a fallen king.

Azrath's voice echoed in Lucian's mind.

"The soul of Baal's flames. Before you can claim the sigil, you must prove you are worthy to wield the Infernal Tyrant's true power."

Lucian smirked.

"Another test?"

The fire-wraith let out a deafening roar, its arms stretching outward. The flames of the chamber surged, forming massive spears of fire that rained down upon him like divine punishment.

Lucian did not move.

Instead, he simply raised his hand.

The abyss responded.

A tide of darkness swallowed the flames, devouring them before they could even reach him. The fire vanished into the void, leaving only silence in its wake.

The wraith hesitated.

Lucian's smirk deepened.

"Not enough."

Then—he moved.

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, his abyssal blade slashing through the air with terrifying precision.

CLANG!

The wraith barely raised its flaming arms to block, but the moment it touched Lucian's abyssal power—it began to burn.

Not with fire.

But with nothingness.

Lucian's darkness was erasing the wraith's very essence, consuming it from within.

The wraith let out a final defiant roar—

And then, it was no more.

The flames of the chamber died out, and in their place, the sigil upon the altar shone with renewed brilliance.

Lucian stepped forward.

And reached for it.

The First Sigil Claimed – The Flames of the Abyss

The moment Lucian's hand touched the Infernal Sigil, a wave of pure power surged through his body.

The abyss howled, colliding with the infernal essence, fusing, merging—

Until fire and darkness became one.

A new power awakened within him.

The Abyssal Inferno.

Lucian's eyes burned with golden-black flames, his very aura shifting, evolving—

He was no longer just a master of darkness.

He was now the abyssal flame itself.

Azrath's voice was filled with dark amusement.

"You have taken the first step, My Lord. The first piece of the Eternal Shackles is yours… but the path ahead will only grow bloodier."

Lucian closed his fist, the abyssal flames swirling around his fingers.

This was only the beginning.

The war was far from over.

And soon—the Demon Kings would kneel.

A New Challenger – The Gathering Storm

As Lucian emerged from the Infernal Citadel, the demon legions knelt in silent submission, their master now sworn to the Abyss.

Baal, though defeated, watched Lucian with burning eyes, not of hatred—but of recognition.

The Infernal Wastes were his now.

But even as Lucian stood atop his newly claimed domain—

A new presence made itself known.

A shadow in the sky.

A storm of blades and blood descending upon the Infernal Wastes with merciless speed.

Azrath's voice was deadly calm.

"Lucian… He is here."

Lucian turned his gaze toward the sky.

And there, standing upon the wind, his crimson wings stretched across the heavens, his twin swords radiating unparalleled killing intent—

Zerath, the Crimson Executioner, had arrived.

The Demon King of Blood and Slaughter.

And he had come to kill.

Lucian smiled.

A storm of blood descended upon the Infernal Wastes.

The sky, once cloaked in darkness, was now painted in crimson streaks, as if the heavens themselves bled. A howling wind carried the scent of iron and death, heralding the arrival of a being whose very presence reeked of slaughter.

Zerath, the Crimson Executioner.

Lucian stood atop the charred remnants of Baal's fortress, his newly claimed Infernal Sigil pulsing beneath his skin, the abyssal flames within him simmering with newfound power.

Yet even as his aura darkened the sky, Zerath's presence did not falter.

No.

It burned even brighter.

Lucian's abyssal gaze locked onto the descending warlord, who moved like a streak of crimson lightning, his twin blades glinting with the hunger of an executioner who had never known mercy.

The demon legions that once knelt in submission to Baal shrank back, their instincts screaming fear in the presence of their bloodthirsty king. Even Baal, though kneeling in defeat, lifted his head, his molten gaze narrowing at the new challenger.

And then—

Zerath landed.

A single step.

BOOM!

The ground beneath them split open, the impact of his arrival sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. The air itself screamed, as if unable to contain the sheer killing intent radiating from his body.

His crimson armor dripped with the blood of countless fallen. His wings, stretched wide, pulsed with an eerie glow, the feathers stained in blackened ichor. His twin blades—Bloodrender and Carnage—hummed with the restless thirst of a thousand slain foes.

Then, he spoke.

"Demon Lord of Abyss… I wondered when I would finally meet you."

His voice was a blade drawn in silence—sharp, unwavering, filled with the promise of death.

Lucian did not move. His abyssal flames burned low, waiting, watching. He tilted his head slightly.

"You seem eager to die."

A slow, razor-sharp grin spread across Zerath's face.

"Die? No, I came to kill you."

Then—

He moved.

The First Strike – Clash of Kings

CRACK!

Zerath vanished from sight.

And in that instant, the battlefield erupted.

A thousand crimson slashes tore through the air, each strike moving at a speed beyond mortal comprehension. The very space around Lucian fractured, the sheer force of Zerath's blades cutting through reality itself.

Lucian's instincts flared.

His body reacted before thought could even form.

He lifted his abyssal blade—

CLANG!

A single slash met a thousand.

The impact sent a cataclysmic shockwave across the Infernal Wastes, shattering mountains, uprooting the earth, and reducing the ruins of Baal's fortress to nothing but dust.

Lucian slid back a few feet, his boots carving deep trenches into the molten ground. His arm tingled from the sheer force of the collision.

Zerath, however, was already upon him again.

Another strike.

Faster.

More ruthless.

Lucian countered.

His abyssal blade met Zerath's with terrifying precision, and for the first time in history—light and darkness, blood and abyss, clashed in equal measure.

The sky trembled.

The land wept molten rivers.

The Demon Realm itself shuddered, as if recognizing that two kings had begun a battle that would decide its fate.

The Art of Slaughter – Zerath's Unrivaled Killing Technique

Zerath's movements were flawless.

Each strike flowed into the next, a dance of absolute slaughter, where hesitation did not exist. He wielded not just skill, but instinct—the kind of lethal artistry that could only be honed through endless bloodshed.

His Bloodstorm Technique was unparalleled—

A martial art that transformed his entire body into a living blade, each movement perfectly designed to execute, dissect, and obliterate.

Lucian could see it.

Every step, every feint, every flick of Zerath's wrist—all of it was perfect.

And yet—

Lucian smirked.

"You think I can't see it?"

His abyssal flames flared, his body vanishing into the shadows.

For the first time in the fight—Zerath's expression shifted.

Lucian was gone.

Then—

A voice behind him.

"Your technique is flawless. But it means nothing if you can't kill me."

Zerath's eyes widened.

Abyssal claws tore through his armor.

First Blood – The Abyss Devours the Storm

A sickening crack echoed through the battlefield.

Zerath was sent hurtling backward, a jagged wound now burning with abyssal flames spreading across his ribs.

He landed with a harsh skid, but did not fall.

Instead, he laughed.

A wild, bloodthirsty, exhilarated laugh.

"Yes! That's it, Show me! Show me your true power!"

Lucian's abyssal flames flickered dangerously, but his expression remained cold.

This was no mere battle.

It was a war between kings.

Zerath lowered his stance, his crimson aura exploding outward in a violent maelstrom of bloodlust. His twin blades howled, as if sensing their master's intent.

"Enough playing around."

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

And then—

Zerath unleashed his true technique.

Bloodstorm Manifest – The Slaughtering Tempest

The sky darkened.

A terrifying vortex of crimson energy formed above them, swirling like a raging typhoon, its center pulsing with pure killing intent.

Zerath raised his swords toward the heavens.

The vortex responded.

"Bloodstorm Manifest—Final Execution!"

Then—it fell.

A thousand crimson blades rained from the storm, each one carrying the power to annihilate entire legions.

Lucian's abyssal flames coiled around him, his form vanishing into the shadows.

And in that instant—

The battlefield became a nightmare of blood and darkness.