CHAPTER 1355: LUCIFER CLAIMS THE UNDERWORLD.

The empty space fell into stunned silence, disbelief crackling in the air.

But this was not the atmosphere to be carried by leaders of a great cause.

The atmosphere was too depressing. Crusher coughed as he stepped forward.

His response came as a roar. He surged forward, muscles swelling with power, his hammer vibrating with barely restrained fury. "Whatever that flying chicken dares to bring, we are ready for it!"

Kanada only shook her head. Her voice was cold certainty. "No. None of you are ready for what is to come."

Her words hung like a blade.

Then—another voice split the void. Smooth, defiant.

"What if we also joined in?"

A portal of fire blossomed open, a spiraling gate of molten light. From it stepped a woman in a gown that rippled like liquid flame. Her eyes, though blind, burned yellow as if each orb was a living sun. Behind her spilled a host of chaotic entities, their forms ever-shifting, bristling with raw destructive energy.

Father Black’s hand snapped outward, summoning sigils of war. Crusher’s hammer lifted high as he lunged forward, bellowing a battle cry., "Devils!"

But before his weapon could strike, Morgana ascended, floating between them and intercepting his hammer with a single hand. The shockwave rattled the air.

"Crusher, you muscle-headed oaf," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Even after a hundred years, do you still not recognize her? And besides—look at her. Does it look like she came to fight us?"

Morgana turned to the fiery woman, her voice sharpening with recognition.

"Am I wrong... Athena?"

The everyone froze.

Especially Perseus’s face shifted, the composure cracking, his eyes widening at the name.

How couldn’t it? Athena was supposed to be dead.

---

Meanwhile...

The Underworld was chaos.

The ground split and roared, sending veins of black fire racing across broken earth. Cities once carved from obsidian cliffs crumbled like sandcastles under the storm of wings that filled the skies. People—beings—fled in every direction: some running on foot, others taking to the air with wings of bat, crow, or dragonfly. Yet no matter how far they went, white wings descended upon them like blizzards of death.

The Fallen Angels cut through the masses mercilessly. Their swords of pale flame cleaved demons in half, their spears pinned wailing shades to walls, their arrows fell like silver rain piercing through even the thick hides of ogres and armored beasts. Entire demon clans, mothers clutching their children, patriarchs roaring with magic and fury, were erased in heartbeats.

One battle raged near a shattered citadel where a family of horned demons tried to hold the line. The father, twice the size of a man, raised a fortress of stone to block the enemy. But above him, a Fallen Angel with four wings descended like a comet, her blade splitting the wall as though it were paper. He swung with brute strength, shattering the ground, yet the angel moved like flowing silk, piercing his chest with her glowing spear. His wife screamed, claws tearing the air with bloody force—but arrows stitched her body before she reached him. The children tried to run, but the angel simply flared her wings, a wave of holy fire consuming them before they made it ten steps.

The massacre continued for hours, until silence began to creep across the land. Smoke rose from ruins. The air was thick with ash and the copper scent of blood.

And then—like the eye of a storm—she descended.

A woman with five pairs of perfect white wings, each feather shimmering with untainted brilliance. She landed at the shattered heart of the Underworld’s capital, the blackened plaza where the great obsidian throne had once stood. In her hands, she carried stones—smooth, glowing like fragments of pearl—still vibrating with restrained power.

She knelt, lowering her head in reverence as she presented them.

"Lord Lucifer," she said, her voice both steady and trembling with awe, "these are the anchor stones of the Underworld."

From the shadows of the broken plaza, he emerged.

Lucifer.

The young man’s appearance was almost painfully beautiful, his features sculpted like marble, his presence bending the world around him. His eyes glowed faintly with shifting galaxies, his steps soft yet heavier than thunder.

"Good girl, Seraphina," he said with the gentleness of a father and the cruelty of a god. He lifted a hand, and with a mere wave, the stones rose into the air, circling one another like planets caught in his gravity. They merged, humming louder, brighter, until they pulsed like a beating heart.

And then, before them, the Heart of the Underworld revealed itself.

A seething, massive storm of black molten power, boiling like a sea of liquid night. Unlike the other Primary Planes, this one glowed not with fire but with the devouring dark of its people—demons, shades, cursed souls. The storm raged, sending out waves that could shear mountains into dust, yet it parted slightly as Lucifer stepped forward.

He entered without hesitation.

The moment his body touched the Heart, the world itself screamed. A booming explosion tore through the Underworld, a shockwave flattening what was left of the ruins. The Fallen Angels—those endless white wings—screamed as well, their bodies collapsing to their knees. Their wings, once radiant and pure, burned, darkened, and then turned a perfect shade of black.

When the storm cleared, he walked out.

"Lucifer, king of the Underworld..." The words echoed across the universe of creation.

Lucifer was draped in a cloak of living shadow, his garments etched with streams of writhing black flame. His eyes shone brighter, deeper, like stars buried in night. Every Fallen Angel lowered their heads to the ground, their chorus rising in unison:

"Hail Lucifer! Hail Lucifer! Hail Lucifer!"

The chant rolled like thunder through the Underworld, vibrating its broken mountains, shaking its molten seas.

Lucifer’s lips curled into a dark chuckle.

He was now a Midnight Star.

"All Apostles," he declared, his voice echoing with power that silenced even the storm, "prepare yourselves. We march for the greatest battle ever."

His eyes narrowed, glowing with anticipation.

"We are going for Demeter."