The Demon Lord's eyes widened the instant he heard that thunderous voice. The miniature sun of annihilation he had hurled toward the battlefield was pierced mid-flight by a streaking spear of golden light. The orb shattered, scattering its infernal fire across the crimson sky.
For a single, silent moment, time seemed to halt.
Then, through the burning clouds, a figure descended.
He fell like a fallen star, his motion graceful yet terrifying. Six vast wings of dark plasma unfurled from his back, each feather shimmering with the light of collapsing galaxies. Black armor covered every inch of his body, etched with shifting runes that pulsed like living veins of darkness. The aura radiating from him seemed to embody the essence of Hell.
To those watching, it felt as though reality itself had become a chessboard, and this being moved the pieces with absolute control.
