CHAPTER 160: BEELZEBUB VERSUS HEROES

The scene shifted again, but this time it did not happen instantly. The world faded slowly, as if every fragment of reality was sinking into silence. The flames, the battlefield, the cries, even Beelzebub’s own heartbeat seemed to fall out of existence.

Then everything settled.

Raze found himself once more inside the grand throne hall he had seen earlier. Yet it felt colder now, emptier, like something sacred had been drained out of the walls.

Beelzebub sat on the throne again.

He was grown now, fully matured into a man. But the child Raze had seen before was gone. Nothing about him held warmth. Not his posture, not his eyes, not the aura that seeped off his body like black steam.

The demon king sat with one arm resting on his knee. His massive sword was stabbed into the marble floor beside him, its blade blackened with past bloodshed. Royal armor clung tightly to his frame, clattering softly whenever he shifted.

To his right stood his mother.

Half of her face had been replaced by a metal plate embedded with glowing runes, a cold artificial structure welded into her skull. Her remaining eye was fearful and submissive.

Raze instantly understood.

This was the punishment he had delivered after Marceline’s death. A reminder. A scar she would carry until her last breath. She was still not allowed to forget.

The doors of the throne hall suddenly groaned open. Heavy boots echoed across the floor.

A knight stepped inside, clad in demonic black armor. He marched halfway forward and immediately dropped to one knee. None of the demon soldiers dared approach the throne any closer. Beelzebub’s mood could kill them faster than any blade.

"My lord, the human heroes march toward us. They are coming with full force to end you."

The knight’s head lowered even further as he spoke. His voice trembled.

Beelzebub’s eyes flicked open. A dangerous glint flashed through them.

"To end me?"

He did not shout. His tone was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet.

The knight panicked. "No, my lord, that is not what I meant. I only said they intend to—"

His skull burst like a fruit under a hammer.

Beelzebub had not moved. There was no gesture, no spell circle, no warning. The knight simply died. His blood splattered across the floor, and his body slumped lifelessly.

"How dare you," Beelzebub muttered, barely above a whisper.

He rose from the throne, lifting the massive sword with effortless strength. The metal of his armor creaked faintly. He turned toward his mother. She instantly bowed her head as low as she could, not even breathing loudly in his presence.

"I will meet these heroes myself. You will run the realm in my absence."

She nodded without looking up.

Beelzebub stepped forward. His boot landed directly in the blood of the knight he had just executed. The crimson spread out beneath his feet as he walked across the hall.

His footsteps left a clear trail of red.

A trail that began the day Marceline died.

Raze felt the weight of that truth settle in his chest. Beelzebub’s soul was drowned in darkness. Whatever light had once existed inside him had burnt out completely.

There was nothing left to redeem.

This was the demon king as history remembered him. A being born from grief, shaped by hatred, and sharpened by endless bloodshed.

[..... ]

Beelzebub stood alone on the battlefield.

A dead, barren land stretched endlessly around him, soaked in old blood and layered in ash so thick it muted the color of the earth. Despair hung in the air like a heavy fog. If one listened closely, it almost felt like the cries of the long-departed still echoed beneath the wind.

That same harsh, dry wind tugged at Beelzebub’s cloak, making it flow behind him like a dark banner.

Across from him stood five figures.

The heroes of humanity.

The ones chosen by prophecy.

The culmination of two generations of training, sacrifice, and desperate hope.

They were the strongest humanity had ever created.

At the front stood a blond-haired boy clad in full holy armor, his blue eyes sharp and righteous. His holy sword gleamed with divine light. He was the main hero, the one destined to deliver the final blow.

To his right stood an armored knight, except she was not human. She was an elf, tall and graceful, with pale green hair tied behind her pointed ears. Her long blade pulsed faintly with nature-imbued mana, and her silver armor was engraved with ancient elven runes.

On the hero’s left stood a mage, a young woman with violet hair and glowing purple eyes. Her staff hummed with power, showing she had reached the peak of human magic despite her youth.

Behind them stood the healer, a young priest with robes glowing faintly gold, carrying the authority of divine energy.

And lastly, the tank.

A giant of a man, holding a massive shield and greatsword, his presence alone feeling impenetrable.

They were humanity’s final hope.

The blonde hero stepped forward, pointing his shining blade at Beelzebub.

"Demon King Beelzebub, your reign of terror ends today. The humans, the elves, and every other race have united to bring you down. There is nowhere left to run. Surrender, and your people will be taken as prisoners under our rule. Resist, and face complete extermination by divine decree."

He spoke like someone reading from a holy script, overflowing with the confidence of a child who believed every word he said.

Beelzebub hated the sound of his voice immediately.

Then he laughed. "Hahahaha hahahaha."

A deep, twisted cackle ripped through the battlefield, echoing across the barren plain. It was the laugh of someone who had long passed the point of sanity, someone who had nothing left to lose.

He raised his head slowly, fixing the hero with a look that chilled even the wind.

"You stand there speaking of justice. You preach righteousness. Yet you defend a world built on bloodshed. You call me evil, you call my people wicked, but you pretend not to see the suffering you have caused."

He lifted his sword, pointing it at them.

"Either way, it does not matter anymore. If you wish for a battle, come. I will show you the true power of Demon King Beelzebub."

The moment he said it, his aura exploded.

The earth buckled beneath him. The skies trembled. The air itself vibrated like it might split apart.

All five heroes gasped sharply. They had not even exchanged a blow, yet they already felt it. The overwhelming pressure. The crushing might.