In another section of the battlefield, Azrael was fighting his own opponents.
Azrael stood at the center of a vortex of death, his scythe gleaming in the red light of the Underworld.
Facing him were three peak Ultimate-class devils, each empowered by Ophis snakes that boosted their abilities to nearly Satan-level: Shalba Beelzebub, Creuserey Asmodeus, and Katerea Leviathan.
"Spread out!" Shalba commanded. "Don't let him focus on any one of us!"
They moved to surround Azrael in a triangle formation, their combined power making the air shimmer with heat and malevolent energy.
Creuserey struck first, launching a barrage of charm spells that would normally paralyze even high-class angels. Pink energy bolts filled the air, each one designed to overwhelm the target's mind with false emotions and loyalties.
The death miasma surrounding Azrael devoured every single bolt before they got within a meter. The spells simply ceased to exist, consumed by the death energy.
Katerea attacked from the opposite side with her signature whip, a weapon that could shatter holy barriers and tear through angelic flesh. It extended impossibly long, crackling with destructive power.
The whip passed through the miasma. When it emerged on the other side, it was rotting. Decaying. The magical energy sustaining it withered away, and the physical material crumbled to dust.
Katerea stared at the destroyed weapon in shock. "My... my whip..."
Shalba, seeing both attacks fail, decided on a more direct approach. He gathered his demonic power vastly amplified by the Ophis snake, and compressed it into a single devastating blast.
"Destruction Cannon!"
A beam of pure demonic energy shot toward Azrael, powerful enough to punch through mountains.
Azrael didn't dodge. He didn't even acknowledge the attack. The beam hit the miasma and simply vanished into nothing.
"What... what ARE you?!" Shalba's voice cracked. "That should have worked! You're just one angel! We're three Satan-class devils with the Infinity Dragon's power!"
Azrael spoke for the first time, his voice cold and emotionless. "You talk too much."
His scythe cut through the air in a wide arc, and a wave of death energy expanded outward in all directions.
All three devils barely dodged, using their enhanced speed to get clear. Where the wave passed, the ground didn't get destroyed. It aged. Centuries of erosion happened in seconds.
Katarea paled. "His powers infects all things with death. One touch can make anyone reach their end of lifespan." She didn't wish to die here. After sacrificing her dignity and herself to obtain power, she wanted to finally claim the position that should have been hers.
Creuserey tried a different approach. "Perhaps we can negotiate? We're not your real enemies! Long Aotian forced us to—"
"Silence."
Azrael appeared behind Creuserey in an instant. His scythe swung down horizontally. Creuserey threw up every defensive spell he knew, layering them desperately. The scythe passed through them all like they were made of tissue paper.
But before the blade could connect with flesh, Shalba tackled Creuserey out of the way, both of them tumbling across the ground.
"Don't let him get close!" Shalba shouted. "Keep your distance! Use ranged—"
He choked on his words. Looking down, he saw black tendrils of death energy wrapped around his throat. They hadn't been there a second ago. Now they were tightening, draining his life force.
He tore at them desperately, his demonic power flaring. The Ophis snake tattoo around his neck glowed brightly, feeding him infinite energy to resist. The tendrils dissolved under the assault of that much power.
But Shalba was breathing hard now, genuinely frightened. "He's... he's not even trying. He's toying with us."
Katerea, having conjured a new whip, snarled in frustration. "Then we make him try! All together! Maximum power!"
All three devils activated their trump cards simultaneously.
Shalba's body swelled with power, his demonic energy taking physical form as armored plates around him. Creuserey's charm magic shifted, becoming more aggressive—mental assaults designed to shatter sanity rather than seduce. Katerea's new whip glowed with enough power to tear holes in space itself.
They attacked as one, their movements perfectly synchronized from decades of training together.
And Azrael met them head-on.
His scythe became a blur, deflecting Katerea's whip with the shaft while the blade itself carved through Creuserey's mental attacks as if they were physical objects. His free hand caught Shalba's armored fist, and there was a sickening crack as the armor—and the bones beneath—shattered.
Shalba screamed, pulling back his ruined hand. The Ophis snake's power immediately began healing it, bones knitting back together, armor reforming.
"You see?" Shalba laughed through the pain. "We can't lose! We have infinite regeneration! You can't kill what won't stay dead!"
Azrael's expression didn't change. "You misunderstand something fundamental."
He pointed his scythe at them. "Death isn't about the body. It's about the soul."
The death miasma surged forward, no longer passive but actively hunting. It moved like a living thing, tendrils and waves and grasping hands all made of pure void. Where it touched, it didn't injure—it erased. Not just flesh, but the fundamental life force beneath.
The three devils scattered again, but the miasma was everywhere now. Filling the air, covering the ground, making escape impossible.
Katerea's foot touched it for just a moment. She screamed as her entire leg below the knee simply stopped existing, as if it had never been there. The infinity energy tried to regenerate it. But nothing happened.
"W-what?!" Katerea stared in horror at her missing leg. "Why isn't it healing?!"
"Because I didn't just destroy your leg," Azrael said quietly. "I Killed the very concept of your leg existing. Regeneration can't restore what has been erased from existence itself."
That's when true panic set in.
Creuserey, desperate now, pulled out a forbidden artifact, a crystal that could temporarily boost a devil's power a tenfold at the cost of their lifespan. He crushed it, and a large amount of demonic power flooded his body.
For a brief, glorious moment, he felt invincible. Strong enough to challenge even a Seraph. His charm magic amplified to levels that could enthrall entire armies. He unleashed everything at Azrael at once.
The Angel of Death didn't dodge. He just stood there with a cold expression. The attack hit him directly. For one second, Creuserey thought he'd won.
Then Azrael took a step forward, completely unaffected.
"Impossible," Creuserey whispered. "That should have... you should be crushed under my power..."
"I am the angel of Death," Azrael said simply. "I might have been weak in the past, but do you think it's so easy to kill death?" His scythe moved almost casually.
Creuserey's head fell off his shoulders.
There was no blood or gore. The death energy erased everything instantly. The body stood for a moment, then collapsed.
The infinity power tried to regenerate him. But you can't regenerate a soul that's been reaped. And that power didn't belong to him in the first place. Now without a master, the energy simply returned to it's original owner. Creuserey's body crumbled to dust.
Shalba and Katerea watched their companion die, and something broke inside them.
"No... no, this isn't how it's supposed to go..." Shalba's voice was hollow. "We were supposed to win. To reclaim the Underworld. To avenge our parents..."
Then his grief transformed into rage.
"YOU!" He pointed at Azrael with his regenerated hand. "If you had this strength, why did you let your father and brother die during the great war? You claim we are weak, when you failed to even save your family!"
The temperature dropped.
Michael and I, fighting in different parts of the battlefield, both winced simultaneously.
Shalba had just said the absolute worst possible thing.
Azrael's scythe lowered slightly. The death miasma around him began to move differently, less like fog and more like a living creature stirring from sleep.
When he spoke, his voice was no longer cold and emotionless. It was gravelly, raw, filled with an ancient pain that had never healed.
"What... did you just say?"
Shalba, too far gone in his grief and rage to recognize the danger, continued. "I SAID YOU'RE WEAK! Weaker than your brothers! That's why Metatron DIED! That's why the Seven Deadly Sins almost KILLED you! You're the shame of Heaven, the—"
He never finished the sentence.
The death miasma exploded outward, forming a massive cloak around Azrael that billowed despite the lack of wind. His eyes, normally gentle and sad, became pits of absolute darkness. His scythe began to hum, vibrating with power that made reality itself uncomfortable. He looked like Death incarnate. The literal concept of Death given physical form.
"You... dare..." Azrael's words were barely more than a whisper, but they echoed across the entire battlefield. "You dare speak of that day? You dare mention my greatest failure, when it was you accursed devils who started that war which took everything from me?"
He raised his scythe, and the sky above them turned black. As if the concept of light had been temporarily removed from that section of reality.
"Then let me show you what weakness truly looks like."
Shalba tried to run. He managed three steps before the miasma caught him.
It didn't kill him immediately. Azrael was done being merciful. The miasma wrapped around Shalba's body, and he began to age rapidly. His youthful features withered. His hair turned white. His skin became wrinkled and spotted.
"No! NO! Ophis's power, It should prevent—" The snake shattered, unable to withstand the concentrated death energy.
Azrael spoke coldly. "Relying on borrowed powers, yet you claim to be strong? You are not even half as strong as your father."
Shalba aged further. His body became skeletal, ancient beyond measure. But he was still alive. Experiencing centuries of decay in mere seconds.
"Please..." His voice was barely a wheeze. "Stop... I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."
Azrael's expression was carved from stone. "My brother died protecting Heaven. He died because I wasn't strong enough to protect him. My father died while I lay wounded, unable to even stand. My brother Kokabiel gave up his very essence to protect us, and we could only rely on him to shield us, knowing we were not strong enough. "
He pointed his scythe at Shalba's deteriorating form. "You will never understand that pain. That guilt. That failure."
Shalba's body turned to dust, scattering in the wind .
Katerea, watching this, made the only choice that made sense. She tried to run.
She turned and fled as fast as her one remaining leg would carry her, using magic to boost her speed desperately.
"LONG AOTIAN!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "HELP ME! WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU PROMISED VICTORY! YOU PROMISED—"
She looked around frantically for the cultivator who'd guaranteed their success. He was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kokabiel. Both had completely vanished from the battlefield.
"Where..." Her voice trembled. "Where did they go?"
A shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Azrael standing there, his scythe already in motion.
"Please, I—"
The blade fell, severing her head from her body.
And the battlefield became quiet once more.
Azrael stumbled and nearly fell. The death energy places lot of toll on the body. He rarely used it to this extent. He sighed and closed his eyes, old memories playing in his mind from happier times.
"I am... tired. But I can't fall here. My siblings can't lose another brother." He muttered softly.
*****
Meanwhile, Michael was demonstrating exactly why he was considered one of Heaven's strongest despite his gentle demeanor.
Rizevim and Euclid had initially managed to hold him off through combined effort and desperation. Rizevim's inherited power of Radiance of the Morning Star passed down from Lucifer and Lilith, allowed him to "rebel" against natural laws and God's systems.
It was powerful. Genuinely impressive.
But it didn't matter in front of the Sword of Heaven.
Michael had been holding back at first, testing himself, seeing how his body responded to actual combat after centuries of administrative work. Now that he'd warmed up, the fight had become decidedly one-sided.
"I appreciate the exercise," Michael said pleasantly, his flaming sword cutting through Rizevim's defenses. "I'd forgotten how good it feels to actually use these muscles for their intended purpose."
Michael's flaming sword clashed against Rizevim's dark radiance, the impact sending shockwaves that vaporized nearby devils instantly.
Rizevim snarled, his power flaring. "You think you can judge me?! You, who sit in your golden palace while the world burns?!"
"I don't judge you, Rizevim." Michael's voice was calm, almost gentle. "Your actions have already judged you. I'm merely the executioner. I should have killed your father before he started the war, I won't make the same mistake again."
His sword swept in a wide arc. Rizevim barely blocked it with a barrier of condensed demonic energy, but the holy fire ate through it like paper.
Euclid flanked from the side, launching precise strikes of pure demonic power. His attacks were calculated, aimed at weak points in Michael's defense.
Michael's wings spread wide, and from each feather, a blade of holy light materialized. Hundreds of them filled the air like a deadly constellation.
"Light of Judgment."
The blades rained down.
Rizevim and Euclid scattered, both throwing up barriers and dodging frantically. The ground where they'd been standing was obliterated, turned to glass from the sheer heat.
"You've grown soft, Michael!" Rizevim laughed, though there was an edge of desperation to it. "Centuries of paperwork have dulled your blade! You're not the warrior who fought in the Great War anymore!"
Michael tilted his head slightly. "You think so?"
He moved faster than Rizevim could react with speed that defied perception. His sword was suddenly at Rizevim's throat.
Only Rizevim's inherited power saved him. Reality itself bent around him, "rebelling" against the natural law that said the sword should have already severed his head. The blade stopped a millimeter from his skin, held back by pure conceptual defiance.
Rizevim's eyes were wide with shock. "That speed...!"
"Oh, you're right that I've spent centuries managing Heaven after my brother refused to." Michael said casually, his sword still pressed against Rizevim's throat. "But that doesn't mean I've forgotten how to fight. I've simply been... conservative with my power."
He pushed harder. The radiance around Rizevim cracked.
"But my brother's energy seems to have affected me today. Reminded me of simpler times." Michael smiled, and it wasn't entirely kind. "When the solution to a problem was simply to remove it from existence."
Euclid appeared behind Michael, his hands glowing with a spell designed to paralyze angels.
Michael's wing swept backward without him even looking, catching Euclid in the chest and sending him flying through three buildings.
"I am the Right Hand of God," Michael continued, his power steadily increasing. "The Demiurge. The Voice of Creation. Did you truly think administrative duties had made me weak?"
His body began to change.
Holy fire erupted from every pore, covering him completely. But this wasn't normal fire, this was the primordial flame of creation itself, the light that existed before the sun was made.
His form became wreathed in radiance so intense that looking directly at him caused physical pain. His twelve wings spread wide, each one burning with divine authority. His eyes blazed like stars. His sword grew longer, the flames shifting from red to white.
This was his Demiurgos form. The aspect of creation and judgment merged into one. In this form, he was the only one who could keep up with Kokabiel while sparring before he ascended.
Rizevim felt genuine fear for the first time in centuries.
"You... you're not holding back anymore."
"No," Michael agreed. "I'm not. Thank you for giving me a reason to stretch these muscles properly. It's been far too long."
Rizevim responded by fully unleashing his own inherited power. Dark radiance exploded from his body, twisting and writhing like living shadows. It had the power to even nullify sacred gears.
Where Michael's power represented order and creation, Rizevim's represented defiance and chaos.
The ground beneath Rizevim cracked as gravity suddenly decided it didn't apply to him anymore. He floated upward, his power warping the natural laws around him.
"You want to see my full power, Michael?" Rizevim's voice distorted, layered with unholy resonance. "Then witness the TRUE legacy of the Morning Star! The power that challenged God himself!"
He thrust his hands forward, and reality started distorting.
The holy fire around Michael began to flicker. Not because it was being extinguished, but because the fundamental law that said "fire burns" was being rebelled against.
Michael's expression remained calm. "Impressive. You're actually affecting my Demiurgos form. Your father would have been proud if he had any care for you in his twisted heart.."
"DON'T TALK ABOUT MY FATHER!" Rizevim roared.
He launched himself forward, his fists wreathed in dark radiance. Where they struck, the very concept of "defense" was denied. Barriers didn't matter. Armor was irrelevant. The idea that one could block or deflect an attack was rebelled against.
Michael met the charge head-on.
Their clash created a shockwave that leveled everything within a kilometer radius. Devils who'd been watching from what they thought was a safe distance simply ceased to exist, vaporized by energies they couldn't withstand.
The two combatants separated, both slightly injured. Michael had a cut across his cheek, the first injury anyone had seen him take in centuries. Rizevim had burns across his arms where Michael's flames had penetrated his defenses.
Euclid struggled to his feet from the rubble, coughing blood. He could barely perceive what was happening. The energies being thrown around were so far beyond his level that he couldn't even properly see the attacks.
He could only watch as his lord fought desperately for their survival.
Michael raised his sword high. "Sword of Genesis."
The flaming sword expanded, growing to hundreds of meters in length. It wasn't just a weapon anymore, it was a fundamental force of creation given form. It wasn't like the 2nd strongest longinus despite the same name, the powers varied deeply.
"This is the sword that divided the primordial chaos," Michael said, his voice echoing with divine authority. "That separated light from darkness, heaven from earth, existence from void."
He brought it down.
Rizevim met it with his own ultimate technique. "Rebellion's Edge!"
His dark radiance condensed into a blade of pure conceptual defiance. It was the antithesis of creation—the denial of order, the rejection of natural law.
The two attacks collided.
The space where the attacks met literally fractured, cracks spreading through the air like broken glass. Through those cracks, they could see the void between dimensions, the absolute nothingness that existed outside reality.
The shockwave expanded outward in a perfect sphere, and everything it touched was annihilated. Buildings, mountains, the ground itself—all reduced to fundamental particles and then scattered beyond recovery.
The surviving devils in the Old Satan camp were fleeing now, screaming in terror. This wasn't a battle they could influence. This was two forces of nature attempting to destroy each other, and they were just insects caught in the crossfire.
When the energy finally dissipated, both fighters were still standing.
But the battlefield had changed. Where there had once been a military camp, fortifications, training grounds—now there was just a massive crater, perfectly circular, burnt smooth at the bottom from the incredible heat.
Michael's breathing was slightly elevated. His Demiurgos form flickered, some of the flames dying down. "You're almost strong as your father was at your age. I'll give you that."
Rizevim was in worse shape. His demonic powers was wavering. Blood dripped from multiple wounds. His inherited power was reaching its limits.
"I... I won't lose!" He forced himself upright. "I won't let Heaven win! NOT AGAIN!"
He gathered his remaining power for one final attack, pouring everything he had into it. All his hatred, all his rage, all his desperate desire to prove himself worthy of the Lucifer name.
Euclid saw what was happening and made his decision. He forced his broken body to move, to approach Rizevim through the apocalyptic energies still crackling through the air.
"My lord!" He grabbed Rizevim's arm. "Stop! You need to escape!"
"WHAT?!" Rizevim's eyes were wild, almost manic. "Never! We fight to the end!"
"There IS no end except death!" Euclid shook him. "Look around! Our army is gone! The camp is destroyed! Everyone is dead or dying! Even if you kill Michael right now, we've LOST!"
Rizevim looked around as if seeing the devastation for the first time. He was right. The Old Satan faction was finished. Centuries of planning, decades of recruiting, all the resources they'd gathered—gone in a single battle.
"But... but we can still..."
"You need to take the sealed Ophis and flee!" Euclid's voice was urgent. "With her power, you can rebuild someday! The energy we've siphoned from her is enough to start over!"
"I won't abandon—"
"SOMEONE HAS TO HOLD MICHAEL BACK!" Euclid's expression was resolute, accepting. "And that someone is me. You're the only one with the power to eventually return and finish what we started."
He smiled sadly. "So please, my lord. Live. For all of us who won't."
Rizevim's face twisted with emotion—rage, grief, shame, all fighting for dominance.
Finally, he nodded. "I... I'll return and avenge you all. I swear it. This isn't over." He took out the artefact given by Long Aotian. "Use this, I would rather not take anything from that bastard.
Michael looked annoyed. "You guys seriously ignored me and discussed your plans?" He swung his sword.
But Euclid used the artefact to block it, summoning a giant tower inscrived with foreign symbols.
Rizevim gritted his teeth as he escaped without looking back, knowing he would never see his only loyal follower again. But before he fled, he had to do one thing.
He searched the battlefield for Long Aotian with his senses, wanting to deliver one final attack to that bastard who'd humiliated him. Even if it meant helping Kokabiel. But he didn't find them.
"I hope you both kill each other, you bastards. I will have my revenge." Rizevim muttered before vanishing.
*****
Far from the main battlefield, in a section of the Underworld that had been completely cleared of debris and bodies, two figures floated in the sky.
Long Aotian had recovered from his initial humiliation and was taking this fight seriously now.
After being slapped around like a child, his pride had been thoroughly wounded. His system, Xue'er, had been frantically calculating options.
"Xue'er!" Long Aotian barked. "Show me everything available for immediate purchase! Highest tier only!"
"Here you go , master." A cheerful female voice answered. A translucent screen appeared before him, visible only to his eyes. Lists of bloodlines, weapons, techniques, all organized by point cost.
He'd been saving his points from his previous world conquest. He had accumulated an absurd amount from defeating countless enemies, stealing treasures, and completing system quests. Now it was time to spend it all.
"Why are they so expensive? Give me a discount!" Long Aotian's eye twitched seeing the prices.
"It's already on discount as you are facing a strong enemy." Came an annoyed reply.
"Tch, you like to squeeze my points you cheap system!" Long Aotian complained.
Kokabiel watched with mild interest as Long Aotian bickered with his system like he wasn't even there. The cultivator was frantically purchasing items, his points draining rapidly.
"This one... no, too expensive... yes, that bloodline... and that weapon..."
It was almost entertaining watching someone so thoroughly focused on power-ups while standing before their executioner.
Finally, Long Aotian completed his purchases and turned back to Kokabiel, laughing with renewed arrogance.
"You made your final mistake, angel! You shouldn't have let me power up!" His energy surged dramatically. "I've just acquired the Primordial Chaos Lord inheritance! The Heavenly Fiend's Demonic Halberd! The Immortal Ice Phoenix bloodline!"
His cultivation base exploded upward, his power level increasing several-fold. The halberd that materialized in his hands radiated malevolent energy. Ice and fire swirled around him in contradiction, somehow coexisting through his new bloodline.
"Nobody in this world can stop me now!" He struck a pose, energy crackling. "Face your doom!"
"If you are done with it, don't waste my time." Kokabiel replied boredly.
The battle began in earnest.
Long Aotian unleashed everything—every technique he'd learned, every artifact he'd collected, every trump card he'd saved for emergencies.
And he was actually landing hits.
His speed had increased dramatically. His power output was immense. The Primordial Chaos Lord inheritance gave him access to reality-warping attacks. The Immortal Ice Phoenix bloodline meant any injury he took regenerated almost instantly.
Kokabiel's coat got torn. His face acquired a small cut. Dust covered his form.
Long Aotian laughed triumphantly. "See?! Even you can't handle my full power! You're weakening!"
Kokabiel looked... bored. Emotionless. Like this entire fight was a mild inconvenience.
"Is that all?" he asked flatly.
Long Aotian's eye twitched. He pulled out his final trump cards.
An ancient sealing array that bound any being regardless of power level, while hundreds of artifacts simultaneously attacked the trapped target. On top of that, he activated poison abilities that sealed all senses—sight, sound, touch, taste, smell, even spiritual perception.
He threw everything at Kokabiel at once.
The collision of powers created a gigantic explosion that threatened to destroy the DxD world itself. Energy that could crack continents compressed into a single point.
BOOM!
The shockwave cleared massive swathes of the Underworld. The ground was vaporized. The sky itself seemed to crack.
When the dust finally cleared, there was no trace of Kokabiel. Just empty, scorched earth.
Long Aotian floated there, breathing hard, covered in sweat and minor injuries that were rapidly healing.
Then he started laughing. Laughing so hard he almost choked.
"HAHAHAHA! That's the price of offending the Heavenly Demon! Only death awaits those who dare oppose this young master!" He threw his head back dramatically. "I am supreme! I am inevitable! I—"
He paused, noticing something odd. The entire area was completely empty. No devils. No fighting. Nothing.
"Where... where did everyone go?" He frowned. "Did my attack's shockwave erase them too?"
He scoffed. "Hmph. Next time I'll recruit better subordinates. Ones who don't die so easily."
Then he heard it. A gentle sigh, right behind him.
He spun around instantly, weapons ready. Nothing was there.
"Was it my imagination?" he muttered. "Impossible. My senses are—"
Then he heard it. "Oh, foolish ant." The voice was bored, almost pitying. "Haven't you realized it yet?"
The surroundings around him suddenly disappeared. Everything turned to darkness. But it wasn't not normal darkness, this was something else. Something solid. Dense. Like the darkness had weight and mass and substance.
Long Aotian shouted for his system. "Xue'er! What's happening?! What is this place?"
He was only greeted with silence.
His blood ran cold. His system had never failed to respond before. Never.
"XUE'ER!" He screamed louder. "ANSWER ME!"
Nothing.
He looked around frantically, his enhanced senses trying to pierce the darkness. That's when he realized where he was.
It was a distorted space. A place where the universal laws simply didn't exist. They weren't suppressed or sealed. They were absent. This space had never had them to begin with.
Among the thick, suffocating darkness, he saw stars. Countless stars shining in the distance. But their light couldn't reach him. It couldn't penetrate through the dense darkness.
Then he noticed two large orbs of light much closer. He tried to walk toward them, desperate for any source of illumination in this oppressive void.
But he couldn't move. His body felt like it weighed thousands of tons. Every attempt to take a step forward resulted in nothing. He was stuck, frozen, held in place by forces he couldn't comprehend.
"You always screamed about being strong, didn't you?" The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "About crushing all who stood in your path? How does it feel to know how truly insignificant you are, foolish insect?"
Long Aotian tried to scream. To deny the words. To curse and rage and assert his dominance. But no sound came out.
His mouth moved, but there was nothing. Not even the faintest whisper. As if sound itself had been denied permission to exist in this place.
Then the darkness began to move.
And Long Aotian understood, with dawning horror that shattered what remained of his sanity, why the darkness felt solid.
Because it was alive.
Because it was the body of on actual entity. Long Aotian wasn't smart, but even he realized there could be only one person who could have brought him here. The angel he just saw being crushed under his power.
Kokabiel's PoV
I sighed as I saw Long Aotian understanding how foolish he was after witnessing my ture form. The Outer God form that reality itself struggled to contain.
I looked down at Long Aotian with eyes that existed across multiple dimensions simultaneously. Each one containing entire galaxies.
"You're probably wondering how I'm alive after you 'killed' me," I said, my voice resonating through the void. "I'll satisfy your curiosity before I erase you. You see, you were never actually fighting me."
Long Aotian's remaining sanity crumbled. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. His eyes were locked on my form, forced to witness something mortal minds were never meant to perceive.
"It was just a fleeting imagination of mine. A thought experiment. An illusion to see how you would react." I tilted my incomprehensible form slightly. "I wanted to observe how people act when they believe they have power. When they think they're invincible."
Long Aotian screamed silently, blood pouring from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth. His body was breaking down just from proximity to my true nature.
"But I was disappointed," I continued. "You were exactly what I expected. Arrogant. Wasteful. Cruel without purpose. You had power but no wisdom. Strength but no restraint."
Long Aotian, in his last moment of clarity before complete madness took him, dug out his own eyes with his fingers. He clawed them from their sockets even as he screamed silently. Anything to stop seeing this horror.
But he could still perceive me. Could still sense my presence. Vision was irrelevant when facing something like this.
"This is the end for you. I would say you're going to hell, but that would be lying, since your existence will be erased entirely." I said simply.
I reached into him with a thought and ripped the system free. Long Aotian's body dissolved into nothingness instantly. The system's core—a small ball of light that squirmed and writhed, trying desperately to escape, remained in my grasp.
I grabbed it firmly, preventing its escape, and returned to the DxD world with a thought.
The transition was jarring. One moment, infinite void. The next, back in the Underworld with its red sky and oppressive atmosphere.
I looked down at the battlefield below. The various fights were wrapping up. Michael had beaten Rizevim and dealt with his followers. Azrael was finishing off the last of the Satan heirs. Kazuma was unconscious. Ritsuka was providing medical aid.
I descended rapidly, landing in the middle of the battlefield with a tremendous impact that crushed several nearby devils who'd been trying to flee. My presence washed over the area like a wave.
Everyone who was still conscious stopped fighting. Some even stopped breathing. They all turned to look at me.
I spoke softly, barely above a whisper, yet everyone alive in that entire section of the Underworld heard it perfectly.
"The insect is dead."
I let the system core dissolve in my hand, its light fading as it was sent to the chat group for mission completion.
"Now perish for your sins."