Inside the warped pocket dimension, Ituzo stood frozen, mouth agape. He'd never imagined Draconis and the others would survive that annihilating blow.
"Impossible… That was the power of a hundred souls, burned at once. By the numbers, it should've been twenty times stronger than anything we've ever recorded."
He muttered in disbelief.
Soul-burning was nothing new to him. Last time, just five souls had fueled a devastating attack. This time, he'd been certain—Number Two's strike would erase Draconis and his team from existence.
But Draconis had weathered it, all thanks to five seconds of absolute invincibility. Ituzo's mind short-circuited. No calculation, no theory could have predicted Draconis wielding a power as absurd as the Endless Dusk Citadel.
Twenty times stronger? Try two hundred. As long as that ability held, nothing could touch him.
Thud.
Number Two collapsed to his knees, strength spent. The backlash of burning so many souls hit all at once.
"Aaah… aaahhh!!"
He clutched his head, screaming—a sound that made Asia's skin crawl. "What's happening to him?" she whispered, voice trembling. It sounded like torture beyond anything human.
Rias watched, brow furrowed, and pieced it together. "A soul is incredibly delicate. Burning through so much soul power—whether it's his own or someone else's—causes irreparable damage. Even if the power wasn't his, the act itself destroys the soul."
So it wasn't just a cost paid by the victims; the attacker suffered too. A one-shot weapon, with a price no one should pay.
Draconis grimaced. Sure, it worked as an attack, but the method was repulsive. Using human souls as fuel—just the thought was vile.
Even devils wouldn't stoop so low. Devils respected souls, whether in promises or contracts; their dealings were always bound by soul, and that was sacred. Say what you will, but devils had standards.
Humans, though—they were the real wild card. Some shone brighter than angels, others were darker than the deepest abyss. No other race was so many-sided.
Number Two's screams grew more desperate. The agony ripped through him, driving him mad. His fingers tore at his scalp until his face was a bloody, ruined mask.
Draconis watched in silence. In Number Two's eyes, he saw a flicker of pleading—of sorrow.
After a moment, Draconis stepped forward, sword in hand. He raised the blade and brought it down.
A soft sound. Blood sprayed, and Number Two's head rolled free.
For an instant, relief lingered in the dead man's eyes.
Draconis stared at the severed head, holding its gaze for two heartbeats before looking up at Ituzo, face unreadable.
Ituzo snapped out of his daze, but before he could speak, Draconis blurred forward—appearing right in front of him.
The Regalia Blade thrust out, cold and merciless.
Steel punched through flesh. Draconis lifted Ituzo off the ground, impaled on the sword.
Ituzo writhed, feeling his strength drain away. Blood bubbled from his lips; words failed him.
Draconis's gaze was icy, golden light flickering in his eyes—majestic, cold.
"Letting you die too quickly would be too kind."
Ituzo tried to speak, but managed only a twisted smile.
"My… soul… will… endure…"
Draconis snorted. "Is that so?"
He flicked the sword, sending Ituzo flying—landing in front of Number Two's corpse.
Suddenly, a guttural scream split the air.
A shadow rose from Number Two's severed head—his soul, ragged and barely holding together. The instant it saw the dying Ituzo, it lunged like a beast. At the same time, a soul emerged from Ituzo's head—bearing his likeness.
The two spirits tangled, and then the sickening sound of tearing and chewing filled the room. Number Two's soul ripped into Ituzo's, devouring it piece by piece.
When Ituzo's soul was gone, Number Two's spirit exploded, scattering into a thousand points of light.
Draconis watched, silent, then glanced at Number Two's head. The eyes were closed now—at peace.
He raised a hand, and golden light poured from the corpse.
The Holy Sword.
Just as Draconis reached for it, a chill ran down his spine. Devil instincts screamed—danger.
No time to grab the sword. He darted sideways.
A massive spear of light materialized overhead, slamming into the spot where Draconis had just stood.
Boom!
A crater more than a hundred meters wide blasted open, flattening what was left of the ruined lab.
Draconis had moved fast, but the shockwave caught him. He spat blood, staggered by the force.
This attack—far beyond anything an upper-class devil could unleash.
"Who?!"
Rias's voice was sharp with fury. The attack had come too fast—even she hadn't sensed it.
If Draconis's instincts hadn't been razor-sharp, he'd be dead.
A cold voice echoed from above, unseen. "Well, well. The Gremory princess herself. Haven't seen your brother in ages—almost miss him."
Rias's eyes blazed. "Coward! Show yourself!"
She was livid—Draconis's injury had pushed her over the edge.
The voice ignored her, and the Holy Sword vanished.
"Patience. The show hasn't started yet. When the time is right, we'll meet face to face. That's when things get interesting. Hahahaha…"
Mocking laughter faded into the distance. Black feathers drifted down from the sky.
Rias's frown deepened. "A Fallen Angel… and at least a cadre."
…
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