Chapter Eight
Meanwhile, as the chaos continued within the Hell Trial, far away outside the trial grounds, in a separate space cut off from the rest of the Hell Realm, something stirred.
Endless galaxies merged and collapsed into one another.
In that strange convergence floated ethereal beings, shapes that seemed to exist and not exist at the same time.
They revolved around a massive white orb of energy. Their faces were hidden beneath dark fog, but the tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate.
These were not beings in a good mood.
Inside the white orb was the reason.
A lunatic.
A man cutting down Hellbeings and erasing lives on a whim. No hesitation. No mercy. A smile, no, a manic grin plastered on his face as he slaughtered his way forward.
One of the figures, cloaked entirely in red, finally spoke. His voice carried frustration that could barely be restrained.
"At this pace, he will clear the Hell Trial within a few years. Perhaps only tens of years."
Silence fell.
A deeper silence than before.
Every being present knew the red-cloaked warden was right.
These were not ordinary entities. They were formed by the No Realm itself, granted power nearly on par with True Eternals.
They governed Hell. More importantly, they oversaw the Hell Trial.
The Hell Trial was common. Too common.
Any being rejected by the Holy Realm ended up in Hell, weighed down by bad karma.
Filled with guilt, resentment, hatred. Most wanted faster reincarnation, so they rushed into the Hell Trial, believing they could endure it.
They never did.
Most died at the early gates. Their souls shattered, condemned to eternal suffering. Almost none ever reached the 40th gate. That number had stood unchanged for longer than eternity itself.
Only a handful in all recorded history had ever completed the trial and reincarnated ahead of schedule.
"No," another figure said calmly.
A feminine voice.
She stood cloaked in glowing white, a presence violently out of place in the unholy realm.
"I think you are mistaken. The real anomaly is not his speed."
She turned her gaze to the orb.
"It is the fact that no soul remains after his battles."
Her words sent a ripple through the space.
"He is not just killing Hellbeings. He is erasing them completely. That damage is far greater than him climbing the gates. If he reaches the hundredth gate like this, the amount of cosmic energy required to replenish the Hell Trial formation will be catastrophic. At best, unavoidable."
The remaining wardens sighed.
They already knew.
They had assumed this participant might reach the 40th gate. Perhaps even close to the 50th. That was his limit. That was why they stripped him of over sixty percent of his power.
Why they took his strongest artifacts. Why they stacked the odds against him.
They did not want a lunatic like Vastro reborn.
A wildcard like him was too dangerous.
If he returned… no one knew what kind of havoc he would unleash.
And yet, inside the white orb, the man laughed as another Hellbeing vanished without leaving even a trace behind.
The wardens stared in silence.
For a short burst, their plan seemed to work.
The lunatic looked like he was about to lose. Every sign pointed to it. At any moment now, he would fall. He would fail before clearing the 20th gate.
The wardens were almost certain of it.
Then everything they planned went straight to hell.
Vastro began picking up new laws right there on the trial grounds. Comprehending them mid-battle. Using their power to further boost his own, stacking lethality upon lethality.
The wardens could not even protest. He was playing by the rules.
It was just that the rules favored him.
He had been stripped of the Law of the Abyss, yes. But that law had lived in his soul for countless years.
Even stripped away, its properties still answered him. Subtle. Faint. But real. It became one of the many tools he used to tear through the Hell Trial as if it were a blessing instead of a punishment.
Things were getting out of hand.
"At this pace," one warden said, his voice adding weight to the already suffocating tension, "he might reach the 100th gate. He might even clear it."
"We all know the consequences of that," said the warden dressed in greying green, his voice trembling despite himself.
"We wait and see," the red-cloaked warden replied. "Hopefully, he loses soon. We do not want another Hell-Chosen. We do not want another Hellbound."
The rest nodded in agreement.
Meanwhile, the one they feared was still moving.
Vastro continued his onslaught. No matter how many he killed, the enemies kept spawning endlessly. If it had been any other warrior, their will would have shattered long ago.
The sheer number alone was enough to break gods. Each opponent carried astronomical power.
But Vastro was not normal.
Where others would have collapsed, he smiled.
No, not a smile.
A grin.
Then it turned into laughter. Loud. Maniacal. It spread across the battlefield, sending terror through the ranks of the Hellbeings.
Among them were mythical beasts and forbidden creatures. Dark Primordials. Centaurs. Drains of twisted hybrids. Abominations that should never have existed.
They screamed anyway.
One by one, they fell to the Blade of Oblivion. No mercy. No survivors.
Elsewhere, at the 80th gate of Hell, another meeting was taking place.
A destabilized space room trembled as several beings gathered. Dark dragons. Astronops. Deities. Fallen titans. Cursed tyrants.
Entities whose presence alone could collapse entire realms in moments.
Yet the room was not filled with dominance or authority.
Only tension.
Just like the wardens, their focus was on a single anomaly.
Vastro Trasle.
The former strongest usurper. The most ruthless slayer.
They had not faced him yet, but they had heard the reports. Unstoppable. Countless elites erased by the Blade of Oblivion. And with every passing moment, he was getting closer.
Closer to them.
Meaning one thing.
Soon, they would be the ones standing in front of his wrath.
And when that time came, there would be nowhere left to run.
It was not that they were scared.
Well, on second thought, they truly were scared.
But fear alone was not why they did not want to fight the Slayer themselves.
Most of the beings in that room had crossed paths with Vastro before. Far in the past. Long before they were slain by him.
Including Ragnoth.
The very first Primordial Dragon of Destruction stood at the head of the meeting, silent.
He, too, had been killed by that man. Back then, Vastro had not even risen to the Eighth Realm. That was trillions of years ago.
Ragnoth did not want to imagine how much more deadly the Slayer had become since then. Time had only sharpened him. Made him more primal. More ruthless.
To be slain by the most merciless man in existence was one thing.
To be killed once while alive, and then again while dead, here in Hell itself, was another story entirely.
No.
The dragon did not want to experience that again. Weak or not, he did not want to face Vastro.
Some of the beings seated around the chamber argued otherwise. Together, they said, they could kill him.
Each of them was a powerhouse beyond reason.
Easy words. Empty confidence.
Others were like Ragnoth.
They wanted no part of facing that onslaught wearing human skin, slowly making his way toward them.
"Why are we even arguing?" one voice cut in. "We have Sujtral with us. His mastery over mass and space is unmatched. He is the strongest among us. And he wishes to deal with the Slayer alone. Let us wait for the result."
Before anyone could respond, the walls shook.
The chamber trembled violently.
The dark doors exploded off their hinges as a figure stepped inside.
Every supreme being froze.
In the man's hand was the severed head of a colossal giant.
Sujtral.
The very first mammal. The strongest among them.
Dead.
His head dangled like a trophy.
Dust settled, revealing the face of the one holding it.
An unsettling grin.
Vastro Trasle.
He raised his hand. The Blade of Oblivion erupted in black flames, devouring the air itself. His voice was calm, casual, as if discussing the weather.
"You are next."
To be continued....