Demon had his narrowed gaze now fixed upon the Progenitor of the Demonic Flame — Ignatius Pyrohrt!
Whereas, Ignatius Pyrohrt, as a newly ascended Second Order Primordial Demon God clearly was the weakest of the bunch here in this Grand Hall of supremacy and sovereignty.
A dark hall of demonic grandeur like an undeniable paragon of diabolical majesty.
Forcing one to gape and gawk. The luxury illuminated only by the dim silver-light of the gothic chandeliers and the imposing Moon.
Making the space shimmer with opulence, nobility and splendour.
Alternatively, Ignatius Pyrohrt on feeling Demon's gaze on himself couldn't stop his heart from skipping many beats. He shook with strong trepidation and palpitation.
Meanwhile, Demon scrutinized him carefully; The Disastrous Flame Demon stood at 1.9 meters tall. He had a dark-red skin. A well-defined physique. Two amber-stars with crimson slit pupils that didn't dare match his gaze.
Pointed ears. Long, waist reaching deep-red hair, flickering with the crimson-black embers of the Disastrous Flames every now and then.
He had two demonic horns coming out of his forehead, made after the crystallisation of his flames. They shimmered and throbbed with the presence of destruction and disaster, as though reflecting the very nature of his Origin Source.
His towering figure dressed in something similar to a fusion between a battle armor and a crimson suit. Not to mention, the 3-Meters Long-Sword resting on the side, against his seat.
A strong demonic artifact is what Demon guessed after glancing at it.
Which in and of itself told everything. His mind becoming impressed at this Disastrous Flame Demon's amazing achievements and improvements, regardless of how he achieved them. Compelling an imperceptible smile to spread through his lips.
No doubt, Ignatius Pyrohrt was a great talent indeed, and he unmistakably proved that too, by actually surviving to this day. Even after starting a war with Four Progenitors who were all obviously stronger then him. Evidently, he had to have something about himself that made him achieve these extremely rare feats.
Then again, Ignatius Pyrohrt didn't just survive. He evolved. He improved. He grew.
He became stronger with every battle fought, every scheme countered, fully using every opportunity that the world presented before him without missing one.
There were no mistakes. No, more like he couldn't afford them, not at his level, If he didn't wanted to die for real that is.
His mind wasn't only about bringing endless disasters. He also knew how to make use of those disasters to always make himself stronger than his past.
Suddenly, the long-sword trembled like her master, clearly showing sentience and intelligence, making Demon amused.
Nevertheless, afterwards, he had his gaze focus on the Progenitor left to Ignatius Pyrohrt, as to his right was his Pride.
He was the Progenitor of the Darkness of Eternal Damnation: Bran Corvus.
An Infernal Raven, one who carried out judgements and condemned his enemies to a Hell that broke them apart peice by peice.
His darkness, like an eternal punishment, simply erased their Sense of Self's, their Wills from their very souls leaving them alive indeed, but hollow nonetheless, like mere empty shell.
Ending them, but also not.
Eventually, making his worthy enemies into his servants, his heralds by letting their souls develop another Ego/Will absolutely loyal to him, while devouring the unworthy within.
Bran Corvus was also the strongest progenitor out of the five here.
He stood tall at two meters. His skin, a deep darkness. His eyes, two dark orbs of swirling gold. Long hair, like a harmonious mixture between gold, obsidian and darkness, fell below his back, till his waist.
He had two pointed ears, a bit on the shorter side though. Afterwards, came his perfect face and physique.
He did not have any horns, yet the menacing aura that clung around his figure draped in a scaled armor dark suit clearly told one the story of his sadistic and wicked nature.
Someone who took pleasure and satisfaction in watching and giving pain, dread and fear to his enemies. Giving hope to them only to have it shatter at the last second.
Making their souls plead and hearts cry till the very last moment before eventually dying. Naturally, it wasn't the wisest of choices to become his enemies.
Subsequently, to his left was the Progenitor of Fiendish Decomposition: Dacros Yiazmat Decay.
A Necrofiend. In other words a Demon of Decay. One that currepts, corrodes and festers. He weakens the once trapped in his Fiendish Decay, melting and rotting their souls, essence and bodies from within.
He is the one who brings gradual destruction. His enemies are always aware of what is happening to them but they would always purposefully choose to do nothing.
Their thoughts decomposed, their emotions currepted, all for them to embrace the gradual death with open arms or with a smile on their faces. After all, it is but a mere death, nothing to worry about, they could always reincarnate again, no.
For now, they just want the freedom the curreption desires. Their souls, heart and body desires. They desired to decay and return to the earth once again.
Dacros Yiazmat Decay was indeed strong but was still weaker than Bran Corvus, the Progenitor of the Darkness of Eternal Damnation and quiet a bit stronger than the Disastrous Flame Demon.
He stood as tall as Ignatius Pyrohrt.
His skin, a canvas pale gray. Eyes, like a white abyss with no end. His hair, threads of long subtle whitish-gray like the strings weaved from the essence which is death and decay.
His ears, pointed. His demonic horns, a creation of something none dared touch, they pulsed with dread and one that is ominous, something baleful.
Causing the air to wither and Space-Time to rot in his mere presence. Which obviously currently wasn't happening. Considering, Dacros Yiazmat Decay was actively controlling himself this whole time, initially because of Pride; the Profane Primordial. And now because of the Master of the Demon Realm.
Evidently, the Progenitor of Fiendish Decomposition wasn't a fool insolent enough to actually flaunt his arrogance before him.
Their were many ways to court death other than this.
He was dressed in some plain pale-grayish and dark-black robes of demonic elegance and fiendish grace like a heavenly demon from the eastern mythos.
His baleful grayish-black aura, his decomposing presence, also kept suppressed within.
Next to Dacros Yiazmat Decay stood the Progenitor of Illusory Demons: Xelana Dream. The Demoness of Unholy Imagination.
A second order Primordial Demon Goddess just as strong and tall as the Necrofiend.
She was a woman of ethereal beauty with an allure concealed, seen by and below none like a phantasmic fairy of a forgotten dreamland, shrouded in the otherworldly mist of mirage and misconceptions.
Xelana Dream's lifelike hyper-realistic illusions were not something weak enough for the other four Progenitors to actually see through them- No! They were only capable of breaking through them and nothing more. However, even that wasn't something they could do with a mere flicker of their finger.
They weren't that strong after all.
She was a Demoness capable of converting fantasy into reality. Her illusions wasn't simply an altered perception or some metamorphosed and distorted visions- No! They were more real than reality itself.
The illusion manifested into whatever she desired, visualised or could think of. Her mind was her limit and her enemies, her inspirations.
Her illusions would do whatever they could do. She could materialize their subconscious thoughts, emotions, sensation, even their very personalities or who knows, perhaps even their very souls themselves.
Although a creation of her Will, the Illusions were still capable of interacting and reacting with the material and tangible. Accordingly, were thus capable of destruction and slaughter too.
Her name, the Demoness of Unholy Imagination was given to her for a reason after all.
Her face created from perfection itself. Her buxom frame sculptured by the hands of one who was forbidden. Her fair skin like an undefiled soft ivory.
Her silken hair like an ethereal blend of dark-black crowned by dim silver.
Her gaze, a pair of crimson gems. Her pink lips, graced with the shade of blood, warm. Down was her slender neck contrasted by the two holy majesties below. They were big, round and inviting. Complemented by her tempting waist and plump buttocks.
Her beauty further amplified by the silvery-black grown, honored by her enchanting figure, accentuating her sharp and voluptuous curves.
Xelana Dream blushed a deep red. Her heart shook. Mind out of commission, feeling in heat at the calm gaze with which Demon, the Master observed everything of her.
She dared not match his gaze. As, she feared, she might loose herself and commit a blasphemous sin against the one she adored and worshipped.
However, as Demon's gaze shifted on the Demoness standing beside her. Xelana chocked. Forgetting to even breathe. Her heart clenched, aching for more. She couldn't remember the last time the Original Demon had observed her with so much interest.
Therefore, the Demoness of Unholy Imagination couldn't help but yearn for more. She did not have enough. She wasn't satisfied. She wanted him to watch her more, more, and more. Even more.
She wanted him to only watch her. 'Ah!... How presumptuous of me to even think of something so absurd when I'm not even worthy enough to become his servant~
I should just be happy that His Eminence even gazed at a pelbeian such as myself ~ '
Xelana Dream, sighed inwardly.
Meanwhile, Demon, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil his mere gaze made a Primordial Demon Goddess go through, focused his attention on the last Progenitor.
The Progenitor of Nine Hellish Hexs! ... ... ... ... ...