CHAPTER 117: CHAPTER 117

[3... 2... 1...]

[Transfer Complete]

Reality twisted.

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Satou materialized in a blast of displaced air and crackling energy.

He was standing in the familiar clearing outside the Dungeon of Eternal Nightmares—the same desolate mountainside where he’d entered seventy days ago (ten days ago in real time, he corrected himself).

But he wasn’t alone.

Loki stood about thirty feet away, his back to Satou, apparently examining something in the distance. Morgana was further back, seated on a conjured chair of ice, reading a book that glowed with magical script.

The moment Satou appeared, both of them reacted.

Morgana’s book snapped shut, her ancient vampire instincts screaming danger. She was on her feet instantly, one hand already glowing with defensive magic.

Loki spun around, his hand going to the sword at his hip—an instinctive reaction to a threat.

Then they both froze, staring at Satou.

"Impossible," Loki breathed. "You... you actually cleared it."

The demon lord’s eyes were wide with genuine shock. In all his centuries of existence, Loki had seen many things, but this wasn’t something he’d expected. His gaze traveled over Satou, taking in the transformed appearance, the iridescent scales, the glowing eyes, the way reality seemed to bend slightly around him.

But most importantly, what made Loki take an involuntary step back was the aura.

Satou’s presence had always been notable—the determination of someone who refused to give up, the controlled ferocity of a survivor. But now it was something else entirely.

Power radiated from him like heat from a star. Not aggressive, not hostile, but undeniable. It pressed against the world around him, making the air feel thick, making reality itself acknowledge that something significant stood there.

It was the aura of someone who’d faced death a thousand times and refused it. The aura of someone who’d conquered absolute darkness and emerged carrying its power. The aura of someone who’d killed a being that was supposed to be unkillable.

"How strong did you get," Loki said, his voice tight with controlled emotion.

"Stronger enough to defeat Clay," Satou replied, his voice deeper than it had been, resonant with power that hadn’t been there before.

Loki’s expression shifted through several emotions—shock, calculation, respect, and something that might have been fear.

"Well now," the demon lord breathed, a strained laugh escaping him. "You don’t say."

He stepped closer, studying Satou as if seeing him for the first time.

"Do you understand what this means? Your growth rate is unreal. And it took you only ten weeks to reach a level most beings fail to touch in their lifetime."

"The dungeon was... thorough," Satou said with dark humor.

"Thorough," Morgana repeated, stepping forward now, her initial alarm fading into scholarly curiosity. "Young lord, you’ve changed. Not just in power, but in essence. Your very nature has been altered. You’re no longer purely hobgoblin. The dragon essence has integrated deeply, but there’s something else. Something from the void itself."

She was right. Satou could feel it—the touch of Nihilus’s power still lingering in him, not as an infection but as a permanent mark. He’d killed the Void Incarnate, and in doing so, he’d absorbed a fragment of what it represented.

"Show me," Loki said suddenly. "Your aura. Your true presence. I need to see what you’ve become."

Satou understood what Loki was asking. The demon lord needed to gauge exactly how strong he’d become, needed to see if this gamble—sending Satou into the deadliest dungeon on the continent—had paid off.

"Alright," Satou said. "But you might want to step back."

Loki’s smile was sharp. "I’m a demon lord, Satou. I’ve weathered the presence of beings who’ve existed since the dawn of time. I think I can handle—"

Satou stopped holding back.

His aura exploded outward.

It wasn’t bloodlust—not quite. It was something more fundamental. It was the accumulated weight of seventy days of constant life-or-death combat.

The effect was immediate and dramatic.

The ground beneath Satou’s feet cracked, spider-web fractures spreading outward as his presence pressed down on physical reality. The air became thick, almost syrupy, as if his aura had weight and substance.

Morgana took three steps back despite herself, her vampiric instincts screaming that she was in the presence of an apex predator. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised defensive magic—not because she intended to attack, but because her body was reacting to a threat on a primal level.

Loki stood his ground, but Satou could see the effort it took. The demon lord’s casual smile had vanished, replaced by intense focus. His own aura flared in response—the presence of a being who’d lived for over a millennium, who’d mastered countless magics, who’d earned his seat on the demon lord council through power and cunning.

The two auras clashed, and for a moment, the air between them shimmered with barely contained violence.

Then Loki laughed—a genuine, delighted sound.

"Magnificent!" Loki’s aura retreated, no longer meeting Satou’s in challenge but in acknowledgment. "Absolutely magnificent! Satou, do you understand what you’ve just done?"

"Pressed you back?" Satou said, pulling his own aura in, condensing it back to manageable levels. The cracks in the ground stobnpped spreading, and the air returned to normal.

"More than that," Loki said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You made me react. You forced me, a seated demon lord with over a thousand years of experience, to actively defend against your presence. There are only a handful of beings on this continent who can do that."

He circled Satou slowly, examining him from every angle like a merchant appraising a precious gem. "Your transformation is remarkable. The dragonic features, yes, but there’s more. Your skin has that iridescence, like light catches on it strangely. Your eyes—" he peered closer, "—they have depth to them now. Like looking into an abyss that looks back."

"The void," Morgana said softly. "He bears a mark of the void. Not corruption, but... integration. He consumed something from Nihilus, didn’t he?"

"Not consumed," Satou corrected. "More like... inherited. When Nihilus died, its essence scattered. Some of it marked me. Like a scar that became a tattoo."

"And the weapon?" Loki’s gaze had fixed on the barely-visible scabbard on Satou’s back. "That sword. I can barely perceive it, which means it’s operating on a level of reality I don’t fully interact with. Where did you get it?"