Chapter 604: Anomaly in the demon realm.

The path to divinity…

It was a road carved not by mortals, but by ambition itself — a road paved with strength, power, knowledge, and madness.

They said it was the final truth of existence — the essence of becoming one of the Authorities, the very forces that compose the laws of reality.

The stars, the planets, the tides of magic, even the pulse of creation itself — all bent to the will of those who stood upon that path.

Before light and darkness were named, before gods and demons had thrones, divine energy was singular — one infinite, undivided ocean of will.

But then came separation.

Order and chaos split the current apart.

From that fracture, gods arose… and the rest merely worshipped.

Among those lesser beings who refused to kneel was one demon — Asmodeus, the accursed sovereign of desire and ruin.

From the moment he clawed his way through the infernal ranks, drenched in blood and betrayal, there had been only one vision burning within him: divinity.

Not the mockery of it — not the hollow “authority” granted to Demon Kings by the Abyss itself — but the true divinity that even gods feared to wield.

It had been a fantasy once.

A dream painted in failure and corpses.

But now… now the dream stirred again.

“Kukuku~”

His laughter echoed through the shattered air — deep, resonant, vibrating with the kind of malice that made the world itself shudder.

Before him, two figures stood locked in defiance, eyes sharpened, breaths unsteady.

Their determination was fierce — yet to Asmodeus, it was almost endearing.

How long had it been since he’d felt this thrill?

Since the rush of being cornered, when death itself seemed eager to claim him?

A hundred years? Two hundred? He could not recall.

Was it when he clashed with Paimon, that arrogant wretch who claimed kingship of the Ninth Circle, until their battle tore continents apart?

Or perhaps the time when Ares shattered his soul and left him crawling through the void for centuries?

Or was it even earlier — when he faced the first hero of humanity, that luminous fool whose blade of faith nearly severed his existence forever?

He couldn’t remember.

But he could remember the feeling.

That delicious, intoxicating tremor that came with every brush against annihilation — the sharp edge between despair and euphoria.

The feeling of defying fate.

Of cheating death itself.

Asmodeus — a Demon King.

A being whose very existence towered above the frail boundaries of mortality.

Even when he suppressed his aura, even when he kept the storm of his power contained within flesh — the air itself bent around him.

His presence should’ve been enough to drive lesser humans to their knees in terror.

Yet the two standing before him… did not waver.

That alone was intriguing.

His crimson eyes flicked toward the boy at the front.

A young boy chosen by Eris, huh…

Lucas stood there, silent, steady, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword. His expression betrayed nothing — no fear, no arrogance — just focus.

The faint shimmer of divine light clung to his blade like a living flame, humming in quiet defiance against the darkness around them.

To think… that a mere mortal could wield that level of divinity.

Asmodeus tilted his head, studying the sword.

Just one clean strike from that weapon would be enough to sever his link to the elf’s body he currently possessed — enough to destroy this vessel and shatter his plans.

How nostalgic.

The boy’s presence stirred something buried deep within his ancient mind.

Memories long fossilized in the abyss — of another human, long ago.

The first hero of humankind. The one who stood against him when the world was still young.

The one who fought him to a standstill, blade to claw, light to shadow.

That same stubborn brilliance burned now in Lucas’s eyes.

He didn’t know what kind of blessings or divine authorities Eris had given the boy, but the power radiating from him was undeniable.

Enough to threaten even a Demon King. Enough to kill him — if he allowed it.

A grin crept across Asmodeus’s face.

’How amusing… a fragile human carrying divinity strong enough to touch me~’

But then… his grin slowly faded.

Because the real danger wasn’t the boy.

It was the one standing just behind him.

Even in his current form, Asmodeus felt the subtle distortion in the air — a quiet, suffocating pressure that no human should be capable of releasing.

His instincts screamed. His skin prickled. Cold sweat trickled down his spine, though his smirk remained fixed.

He had heard the rumors.

That the White Queen — the being of everlasting white and dominion, one of the most terrifying entities to walk the mortal plane — had been defeated for reasons unknown.

But to think… that something even worse had been born from that?

Fascinating.

Truly, fascinating.

The boy in front was a weapon.

But the one behind him… was a calamity.

Of course, Asmodeus was already well aware.

Everything — the strange chain of events, the gathering of pawns, the very reason he stood here — all of it could be traced back to one singular human.

Riley Hell.

A name that should have meant nothing to someone like him.

Once, he had regarded the boy as little more than a passing amusement — a curious mortal with an uncharacteristic amount of strength and will.

But now… the more he thought about it, the more the pieces began to fit.

Too many coincidences. Too many “accidents.”

Even the abrupt failures of his worshippers, the betrayals that had surfaced one after another — all of them, somehow, pointed back to that same human.

Heh… How bothersome.

From what Erebil had whispered to him — and from the fractured memories he’d glimpsed from his fallen demonic son — one thing had become painfully clear:

Riley Hell was not someone he should ever face directly.

That was what the warnings said, anyway.

A part of Asmodeus still didn’t understand why.

What was it about that mortal?

There was no recorded divinity within him, no known authority, no sign of the higher contracts that could rival a demon king.

And yet… the instincts that had kept Asmodeus alive through countless eons told him to stay away.

It wasn’t fear — not quite.

It was survival.

A whisper that hissed in his ancient blood: Do not provoke him.

And Asmodeus had learned, long ago, never to ignore those whispers.

For now, that meant playing his role. Keeping the illusion intact.

Letting events unfold exactly as the threads of fate — or perhaps Riley’s hidden hand — demanded.

Once Erebil finished whatever dark ritual or experiment she was performing upon the princess, his task would be complete.

The last chain would break, and the cycle would finally end.

He would simply collect the benefits of his gamble.

Reap the rewards.

And disappear — as he always did.

A faint, crooked grin curled upon his lips as his crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.

Just a little longer…

Once this is done… I’ll be free to move again. And when I do… perhaps I’ll finally see what makes that boy so terrifying.

He grinned at the thought of finally being able to fully awaken on the mortal plane. The idea of spreading his influence, of tasting freedom again, made his smile slow and hungry.

“—You. Stop smiling.”

A voice cut through the air like a blade. Red sparkles flared and curled, tracing the edges of the hall as pressure built around them.

The light came from Alice — the Red Queen — and she stood there all sharp lines and cold intent, eyes burned into him like flint.

“As if I could help it,” Asmodeus said, tilting his head, the grin never leaving his face. “My, my, how rude of me. I let my emotions leak. I’m truly sorry, oh Red Queen.” His smile widened, mocking and soft at the same time. He bowed with a slow, theatrical flourish, then looked back at Alice with lazy amusement. “And please, calm down. You wouldn’t want our dear princess to… die because of an accident, would you?”

Before anyone could move, Asmodeus’s hand closed around Snow’s throat. She lay there still and breathing shallowly — asleep or losing her life; it was hard to tell — and his grip was firm, possessive.

The pressure of his fingers was the kind of small, unbearable thing that made Alice falter; the Red Queen’s magic blinked as she hesitated, then eased back.

Lucas tensed, sword in hand but frozen by orders whispered by his holy blade: wait. The sword’s counsel pulsed at his mind, warning him to pick the exact right moment.

“As a reminder,” Asmodeus said softly, voice cutting the air like silk wrapped in steel, “if I sense even the slightest twitch from either of you, she dies. Immediately. So be good little children. Stay still. The event will end soon.”

He kept his thumb pressed lightly against Snow’s throat, a small, obscene proof of control.

Alice’s cold composure cracked briefly with worry, though she hid it under a practiced mask.

Lucas’ jaw worked; his whole body hummed with the urge to act, but the sword’s warning held him back.

The demon before them was no ordinary fiend — and worse, he’d taken a hostage.

Whatever curse or poison he’d poured into Snow’s veins wasn’t something they could risk fighting around.

Seeing their reactions, Asmodeus knew he had the upper hand.

That quiet, trembling fear from the two humans — it was the kind of power he thrived on.

He smirked, savoring it.

Crackle—!

Then, almost perfectly on cue, a surge of dark lightning erupted around Snow’s body. The markings that had been faintly glowing under her skin now burned a deep black-purple, dancing with volatile demonic energy.

“Ahh…” Asmodeus whispered, eyes widening slightly. “It’s done…”

He could already taste victory — the culmination of his deal with Erebil, the end of this troublesome ordeal.

Once this was over, his part of the contract would finally be fulfilled.

I can finally—

His thought cut short.

[FROST DOMAIN]

Crackle.

Crackle.

FOOOOSHHHH!!!!

The entire area around them erupted into a storm of blinding frost. In a heartbeat, the demonic energy in Snow’s body reversed — twisting, shattering, and bursting outward as a violent explosion of ice magic.

The ground split apart with a thunderous roar.

A 200-meter radius froze solid, devouring the grass, the stone, even the air itself.

“—Tch!”

Asmodeus barely managed to let go of her in time, leaping back with a burst of wings made of shadow before landing lightly across the field.

Lucas shielded Janica and followed suit, his boots scraping against the ice as his holy aura barely kept the frost from devouring him.

Everything fell silent for a moment.

The only sound that followed was the slow, hollow crackle of expanding ice.

What… just happened?

Then, through the shimmering haze of frost and mist, a figure slowly emerged.

Snow stood at the center of the frozen wasteland — her body covered in a thin, ethereal glow of blue and white light.

Her breath misted out like smoke, and the air around her wavered with cold so sharp it could cut skin.

Her blue eyes opened.

And when they did, every single person there — even Asmodeus — felt a pressure that didn’t belong to this plane.

It wasn’t demonic. It wasn’t divine. It was something older.

Colder.

Alice, immune to the temperature thanks to her own crimson domain, could only stare.

That face was Snow’s, yes — the same soft features, the same familiar presence — but the gaze staring back at them…

It was not hers.

It was aged. Ancient. Wise. And utterly merciless.

The faint smile on Snow’s lips sent a chill even deeper than the frost.

Snow’s gaze locked onto Asmodeus. Cold. Wordless. Absolute.

She raised her hand slowly, fingers trembling only slightly as pale blue light gathered at her fingertips—

FOOOOSHHHH!

An ice spear shot forward before anyone could even register her movement.

It cut through the air like a whisper—

SHLUKK!

“Gua—!”

Asmodeus’s body jerked violently.

The spear pierced through his abdomen, frost instantly spreading from the wound like living veins of crystal.

His black blood splattered across the frozen ground, sizzling as it touched the ice.

“What—” His voice trembled, the words cracking. “What just—happened…?”

He couldn’t even follow it.

He didn’t see her move.

His demonic senses—his speed, his reflexes—none of it registered her attack.

It was as if time itself had skipped forward.

Then came the cold.

A cold that wasn’t just felt—it burned. It seeped into every fiber of his body, piercing through the flesh he’d possessed, turning every drop of his essence brittle and numb.

Tap…

Tap…

Tap…

The faint sound of her footsteps echoed through the frozen air.

Snow walked toward him—unhurried, calm, her white hair drifting lightly in the soft frost wind.

Her expression didn’t change, her eyes empty of malice or pity, like a god passing judgment on something beneath her notice.

The closer she came, the colder everything got. Even the air shimmered around her, freezing mid-motion like glass.

Asmodeus tried to move, but his limbs refused to obey. The frost had already eaten through his borrowed body’s veins.

Then—

Shhk.

Snow created an ice dagger in her hand, the blade glowing faintly blue. Without hesitation, she drove it straight into his chest.

“—Ah.”

That was all he managed to say before the frost consumed him whole.

In a single breath, his body turned into a sculpture of frozen black crystal.

Then—

CRACK!

SHATTER!

He was gone.

…

When his consciousness returned, he was sitting once more on his cursed stone throne—the throne of his own castle deep within the abyss.

The torches burned weakly around him, blue and distorted, as though even hell itself had caught a chill.

He sat there, breathing heavily, one clawed hand gripping his chest.

“Ahh~ looks like I failed,” he muttered, but instead of frustration, there was a note of amusement in his voice.

He looked down at his hand—frost still clinging to it, refusing to melt, even here in the infernal heat of his own realm.

That power…

It followed him back.

“Hah…” He chuckled, low and slow, eyes glowing faintly red. “To think… something like that could exist outside the divine hierarchy…”

The cold pulsed again in his chest, spreading like a faint heartbeat.

“Snow Luvenitia White Germonia Leven…” he whispered, his grin curling wider, darker. “What are you really…?”

The name lingered in the air like a curse—no, like a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.

He had taken precautions before ever getting tangled with Erebil.

He’d layered safeguards upon safeguards, sealed his essence, split his awareness across different vessels.

He knew dealing with her wouldn’t be simple.

But this?

This was far beyond his expectations.

“Pff—” he snorted before the sound broke into full laughter.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

His voice echoed through the blackened halls of his throne room, the sound twisting and bouncing off the pillars like mocking spirits. He clutched his chest, half in pain, half in joy.

“Ahhh… this feeling…” he exhaled, eyes glowing bright crimson. “I haven’t felt this alive since that damn first hero and I nearly tore each other apart.”

He stood up from his throne, the heavy black armor creaking faintly as he stretched. The air around him rippled with his demonic energy.

“Well then, time to contact Erebil. Let’s see how our little experiment turned—”

He stopped.

His head tilted slightly as his expression froze.

The temperature around him dropped—not physically, but spiritually.

There, just ahead of the steps leading to his throne, stood a silhouette.

Flickering.

Crackling.

Like static in the shape of a person—black, shifting, and wrong, as if reality itself couldn’t decide whether it existed.

Its eyes—if they could even be called that—gleamed faintly blue, a familiar cold leaking from them.

Then he realized something…

He reached out his senses.

The echo of his domain—the howls, the burning pits, the sound of chains and screams—were all gone.

He frowned.

His subordinates, slaves and servants gone….

Nothing.

Not even the faint hum of his infernal legions.

The entire demon realm—his realm—was silent.

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