The demon was still running, his movements ragged, stumbling over rocks and ash. Blood oozed from gaping wounds, and his legs barely functioned. He dropped to all fours, crawling like a beaten animal, eyes wide with terror. Just ahead, the First Border shimmered in the distance—a boundary of cursed flame and twisted space separating the inner realms of Hell.
He dragged himself forward, body twitching with pain. His regeneration, once a source of pride, had slowed to a crawl. But somehow… barely… he crossed the border.
Panting heavily, he fell to his knees. His claws dug into the scorched ground. "Just… a little further…" he mumbled, gaze darting in desperation. "One of the other Triad demons… one of them will help…"
But the world didn't answer with salvation.
It answered with silence.
And then—something far worse.
The ground beneath him cracked, glowing red with searing energy. The sky above twisted into a vortex of fire and storm, thunder roaring like a thousand screams. Winds howled with ancient fury, and a torrent of flame surged toward him.
The demon froze. He knew this presence. He had only felt it once before—long ago, when he was forged from darkness and gifted power beyond reason.
"No…" he whispered.
The firestorm circled him like a predator, leaving him untouched—but not unharmed. The heat, the pressure, the overwhelming aura—it was suffocating. Then, all at once, it ended. The flames stilled. The winds died. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Silence.
Not peace. Not mercy.
Only the silence that comes before absolute annihilation.
He raised his head, eyes trembling. A figure stood before him.
Satan.
Towering, wrathful, divine in his damnation. His skin cracked like magma, energy pouring from his core. His eyes burned with hatred older than time.
"L-Lord Satan…" the demon stammered, collapsing fully to the ground, clawing at the dirt. "I—I failed… b-but I—"
"You disappointed me," Satan said coldly.
His voice was a blade. No echo. No emotion. Only judgment.
The demon whimpered, trying to beg, but it was too late.
Satan's hand plunged forward, effortlessly piercing the demon's chest. With a grotesque crunch, he ripped out the blackened, beating heart. The demon screamed in agony—briefly.
"You had one job," Satan hissed, eyes narrowing. "To kill those wretched little children… God's pathetic creations. And you couldn't even do that."
The demon gasped for air, eyes pleading.
"For that failure," Satan continued, his voice rising, "you are no longer worthy of existing in my dominion."
Without a moment's pause, a searing red flame ignited along Satan's arm. With one motion, he severed the demon's head clean from his body. The corpse didn't fall—it disintegrated into ash and cinders, scattered by the silent winds of Hell.
Satan stood still for a moment, holding the severed head. Blood dripped from his fingers.
Then he burned it to nothing.
At last, the silence broke.
"I have reclaimed one shard of my heart," he muttered, eyes glowing brighter than ever. "And it seems, once again, I must clean up the mess myself."
He looked skyward, toward the cursed Gate of Heaven—its divine locks scarred from his last attack, the curse he cast 14 years ago still writhing along its golden surface.
That curse had nearly destroyed him.
He'd never fully recovered.
But now…
Satan raised the reclaimed heart to his mouth.
And ate it.
The moment the dark flesh vanished behind his jagged teeth, his body pulsed. Black veins lit up with hellfire. The air around him vibrated violently. A wave of energy exploded outward. His wings spread—vast, terrifying, divine.
He laughed—deep and loud. His voice echoed across dimensions.
"Finally… I can act again!"
Meanwhile, far from the borderlands of Hell, seven figures stood in silence.
They had just awakened in the Infernal Wastes, their minds still reeling from the last battle. Bloodied, exhausted, wounded—but alive.
Justice dropped to his knees, slamming his fist into the ground.
"I'm weak!" he roared. "I couldn't finish him! I didn't give him what he deserved! I… I failed! I'm worthless!"
Tears of rage and guilt streamed down his face as he began to punch himself in frustration.
But a gentle touch stopped him.
Creativity's glowing tentacle coiled around his wrist, halting the blow. He looked into his eyes, his voice calm but firm.
"It wasn't your fault," he said. "It was ours. We underestimated him."
The others nodded solemnly.
Then, slowly, another voice rose—tired, yet steady.
"I won't let one mistake define us," said Akira, his eyes glowing faintly. "We've come too far to give up now. We just need one shot. One strike. And he'll fall."
Hope flickered in their hearts again.
But only for a second.
Suddenly, Faith collapsed to the ground, clutching her chest in agony.
"F-Faith!" Wisdom shouted, rushing to her side. "What is it?! Are you okay?!"
Faith screamed through gritted teeth. Her whole body trembled.
Then—she stopped. Her breath hitched.
"I sense… something," she whispered, voice raw with fear. "Something terrible."
The others froze.
The air thickened. The light dimmed. The ground trembled beneath their feet.
Wisdom paled. "What is it, Faith?!"
But they didn't need her to say it.
They all felt it now.
A presence.
A darkness unlike anything before.
An aura so vast, so crushing, that even the bravest of them staggered in fear.
The shadows around them split open.
And there he stood.
Satan.
No longer wounded. No longer silent.
He gazed down upon them, as if peering into the core of their souls.
He had arrived.
And Hell itself bowed to him.
To be continued…