Chapter 919: Vlad, Hazon, and Barkial vs Hajack
The Devils pooled every ounce of their strength into the assault on the final Specter, unleashing a storm of corrupted fire, shadow-forged weapons, and infernal sorcery. The entity, already weakened, began to stagger under the relentless barrage. A limb was severed, one of its colossal legs blown clean off in a thunderous explosion of black fire, leaving it unbalanced and unable to stand.
Barkial seized the opportunity. With a roar that shook the air, he raised his rust-stained machete high, molten blood still dripping from his wounds. He poured every last drop of power into his swing, cleaving downward in an arc so heavy the stone beneath his feet cracked under the pressure. The blade cut from the Specter’s right shoulder to its ribs, splitting the phantom guardian into two jagged halves.
The towering figure shuddered, its cold flames flickering one final time before it collapsed, crumbling into a storm of particles that dissolved into the choking darkness of the citadel.
The battle was over. But there was no celebration.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Each Devil present could feel the truth gnawing at them: those two Specters had been merely the gatekeepers, the sentinels standing at the threshold of the citadel. Yet they had very nearly slain the Lords themselves. If the guardians of the outer walls were that powerful, what horrors awaited deeper within?
Every member of Sector Four’s squad struggled to regain their bearings. They forced their bodies to knit together broken flesh, circulated energy through battered organs, and tried to calm their pounding hearts. All but one.
Vlad remained suspended in the air, unbothered by the exhaustion that weighed on the others. His eyes, cold and sharp as blades of obsidian, swept over the gathering of Devils, as his body thrived thanks to the energy he just devoured.
The Sector Masters lowered their heads at once. No matter what excuses they might offer themselves, they all knew what they had witnessed. The True Depravita of Wrath had reached the threshold of a Lord. He stood above them, and they were beneath him.
As for Hazon and Barkial, their expressions were far more complicated. Gratitude never crossed their minds—Devils were not creatures of thanks. What swirled in their hearts instead was annoyance, caution, and simmering unease. Vlad had saved Hazon from certain death, but instead of inspiring loyalty, it only carved unease into their bones.
Had Vlad remained weak, they could have forced him to the frontlines, used him as a spearhead to absorb danger, and clear their path. But this was no longer possible. Though his aura was weaker than theirs, his mastery over the Law of Space, combined with his regenerative abilities, made him a nightmare to confront.
A battle against him might be won, but killing him? Stopping him from escaping? That was another matter entirely. And the last thing either Lord wanted was to march into the heart of this cursed citadel with a vengeful enemy lurking in the shadows.
After a long, heavy pause, Hazon and Barkial both inclined their heads toward Vlad. It was not thanks, but recognition—an acknowledgment that he would march beside them, as an equal. Vlad returned the gesture with calm detachment, his expression unreadable.
With the decision made, the force divided itself into three teams. Vlad took command of the other True Depravitas, the Overlord, and the Nightmare Eye Devils. The Devil Lords split the remaining Sector Masters and their followers among themselves. For now, Vlad pushed aside his quiet search for information regarding the Hell-Zanis portal. The dangers before them were simply too immense for distraction.
Together, the host pressed on, crossing the ruined outer walls.
What greeted them within was not just stone and ash, but a city in ruins. The scale was titanic, clearly never meant for mortals. Every home, every shattered obelisk, every broken archway was built to house beings as large as the Devil Lords themselves. Towers rose like petrified trees of black stone, their jagged silhouettes clawing at the gloom. Vast boulevards stretched onward but were broken in a thousand places, cracked by ancient battles or simply by the slow crushing hand of time.
The sheer size of the place made it perilously easy to become lost. Worse still, the citadel’s cloaking force—thicker here than in the sacrificial pyramid—smothered their senses. They could see only what lay directly before their eyes and hear only what their ears could catch.
For the Devils, this was suffocating.
For Vlad, it was manageable. Quietly, without boasting, he relied on the aid of the A.I. Chip woven into his being. Mapping every fragment of the city they passed, the chip reconstructed the landscape in virtual simulations. It allowed Vlad to guide his group with calm precision, though he concealed the true extent of his advantage.
So they advanced, every Devil tense, their eyes flicking to shadows, their claws ready for ambush. Weeks of grim silence followed. No monsters attacked, no traps sprung. Yet the stillness was worse than battle—it felt like the pause before a storm.
Finally, after a month of traversing the citadel’s outskirts, they found it.
A gate.
It was no ordinary entrance, but a yawning maw of stone carved in the likeness of fangs. The gate resembled a beast’s jaw frozen mid-snarl, its cavernous throat swallowing the path forward. To step through would be like walking willingly into the belly of the beast.
The Devils stared in silence. Their instincts screamed danger, but the oppressive pulse of Primordial Law seeping from beyond told them this was the path. The path that led deeper into the heart of the citadel, and toward the corpse of the Primordial God.
There was no choice.
Just as the group steeled themselves to march forward, a shadow darkened their field of vision.
A figure emerged from the gloom ahead. A titanic shape, part dragon, part demon, its body scarred with wounds, its wings torn and ragged. Yet despite its injuries, it radiated a feral might that bent the sky and crushed the earth beneath it.
Surprise flickered across Hajack’s monstrous face when he first saw the Devils—but it lasted less than a heartbeat. A savage light burst in his eyes, and with a roar that split the air, he exhaled a torrent of abyssal flame that poured down upon them like the wrath of the Abyss itself.
The sudden onslaught caught most unprepared.
Most—but not Vlad.
Through the A.I. Chip, he had detected Hajack long before he revealed himself. When the flames came roaring down, Vlad’s hand swept upward, the Law of Space detonating in a rippling surge. In the next instant, he and his group blinked from existence, teleported to safety.
Hazon and Barkial’s forces were not so fortunate. The two Devil Lords called upon their infernal aura to shield themselves, and the Sector Masters reacted swiftly, using their titanic bodies as barriers. Yet many of the Legendary Devils were too slow. Screams rang out as abyssal fire consumed them, their flesh peeling away in a storm of ash.
"ARRRGGHHH!"
Hazon and Barkial roared, their cries filled with rage and desperation as they burst through the wall of abyssal fire. They hurled themselves at Hajack with reckless abandon. The fallen Devils meant nothing to them; in truth, those who had perished were dead weight. What mattered now was survival. If they faltered even for a heartbeat, the Demon Lord would tear them apart.
Hazon struck first, his titanic frame crashing into Hajack with a shockwave that split the stone beneath their feet. Barkial followed a heartbeat later, his monstrous bulk descending from above, rusty machete swinging with enough force to cleave mountains.
Hajack sneered. Wounded though he was, he had no shortage of power.
With one thunderous stomp, he rooted himself into the ground, halting Hazon’s charge. His left claw shot upward, catching Barkial’s machete in mid-swing. Sparks and hellfire exploded from the impact, the sound of metal grinding against raw demonic flesh echoing like thunder. The sheer force sent Barkial’s arms trembling, disbelief flashing in his burning eyes.
The Demon Lord’s right claw lifted, poised to crush the back of Hazon’s neck in a single brutal blow.
And then—
A flicker. A glint of dark steel.
Vlad appeared at Hajack’s flank, no larger than a speck of dust compared to the Demon Lord’s colossal form. Yet when his blade flashed, it cut deeper than any mountain-breaking strike. His sword tore through hardened muscle and sinew, biting into bone. Hajack’s right arm convulsed, paralyzed for a heartbeat.
Cold fire burned in Vlad’s eyes. He vanished, reappearing at Hajack’s leg. His blade slashed once more, cutting into the back of the Demon Lord’s knee. Bone cracked, and Hajack’s balance faltered.
"GRAAAHHH!"
Hazon seized the opening. His body swelled with fresh waves of muscle and flame, and with a roar of fury he drove forward, shoving Hajack off his footing and slamming him into the citadel wall with bone-rattling force.
Barkial bellowed overhead, forcing every ounce of power into his grip. His machete trembled against Hajack’s claw—then slipped free. In a single, savage swing, Barkial hacked downward, his blade biting deep into Hajack’s chest.
The Demon Lord’s scream tore through the citadel like a storm. Black flames spewed from his wound, coating the ground in pools of corrosive fire.