Right now, two beings capable of turning the world into a heavy metal album cover were about to throw hands.
The ground split open beneath their feet.
Blue fire and shadow collided, turning the world into noise.
I couldn't breathe—hell, I could barely stand. My body wanted to run, but my soul was stuck watching.
This wasn't about to be a fight.
It was creation trying to eat itself alive.
Now, I didn't know a lot about demons. Which shouldn't be surprising since I literally got isekai'd into this fantasy hell hole 2 months ago. But here is what I do know.
The Adventurer's Guild Handbook of Hostile Creatures – Revised 7th Edition (remember from the first chapter? Of course you don't) had a whole chapter on demons. According to the book, demons aren't like monsters or undead—they're spiritual beings, native to another realm entirely.
Most can't exist here naturally. So, they cheat.
They possess living creatures—humans, animals—anything with a soul and a pulse. The possession usually mutates the host into something grotesque, because demonic energy doesn't play nice with mortal flesh.
Others prefer to squat inside objects—statues, trees, ancient weapons. That's where we get things like Gargoyles or Vine Draughts—both A-class nightmares which I fear more than a job interview.
The weaker demons sit comfortably at B-class.
The strongest ones? Their energy is so dense, so corrupted, they don't even need a host. They just manifest, shaping themselves a physical body out of sheer infernal will.
Those are the Demon Generals.
One rank below the fabled Demon King himself.
Their classification is listed as Unidentified—attempts to assign a rank were abandoned. All supplementary pages are blank.
And this guy standing in front of us?
Yeah. He was one of those.
The book also said there's only two ways to actually kill a demon:
Purge them through a holy exorcism, orObliterate their soul completely using spiritual energy.
Destroy the body alone?
Congratulations—you've just sent their consciousness back home for a nap in the Demon Realm. They'll respawn eventually, angrier and probably with better accessories.
That's why, eons ago, sages and sorcerers worked together to build a massive spiritual barrier around this world—a divine firewall to keep high-level demons out. Only the weak ones could slip through; anything too strong got repelled or exorcised on entry.
At least, that's how it was supposed to work.
But if one of these bastards was standing right in front of us—materialized, whole, radiating enough power to make the sky shiver—
then that barrier was cracking.
And we were so, so screwed.
Alyknor's voice pierced through the air like a sharpened blade.
"Prepare yourself, mortal dragon. You stand before a sovereign of shadow."
Alzareth stretched lazily, cracked his neck, and yawned. "Yeah, that's great. Could you hold on to that thought for a second?"
He turned to me mid-battle and tossed his katana like he was flicking away a cigarette. The blade embedded itself in the dirt beside me, brimming with power like it was offended to be left out.
"Hold that for me, Sam," he said. "Try not to lick it or anything."
"Wait, what—ARE YOU INSANE?! Are you really going to fight him without your sword?"
"Fight?" he said. "Nah. I'm not fighting him. I'm just gonna teach him basic manners."
He pointed two fingers at me—light flared.
"Protection of the Azure Flame."
A blue aura wrapped around me, warm and sharp at the same time.
The air felt heavier, like the pressure before a storm.
"That'll keep you alive if I miss," Alzareth said.
"I usually don't miss. Usually."
Then he started walking toward Alyknor.
No stance. No guard. Just a slow, bored swagger that said: I'm not here to battle. I'm here to commit character development with violence.
Alzareth glanced at me, then back at the demon, eyes barely open and bored.
Alyknor's eyes flared with a deep, unhinged vexation.
"You taunt me, halfbreed? Are you truly so injudicious as to face me barehanded?"
Alzareth's expression didn't change. Then, in that flat, tired voice of his, he said:
"If I used a weapon, you'd think I was trying."
Alyknor's face started to twist with madness.
"YOU PRESUMPTUOUS LITTLE VERMIN!"
Alyknor's form blurred as he stretched out his right hand, vanishing into the shadows. When the blob of darkness dissolved, a blade of condensed night outlined by purple light curved in his hand—beautiful, terrible, thrumming with the power to erase.
"Devour the light. Tear the sky. Leave nothing screaming.
I summon the edge that ends all resistance—Hados, Blade of Annihilation."
Reality itself flinched. Space warped around the weapon as it gave off a dark cosmic luminescent glow, trembling like it feared being touched.
Alyknor spread his smoke covered cape, his voice rising into a dark sermon:
"Let me warn you just once, mortal. This blade I summoned is not just any weapon—it belongs to a hidden, thought-to-be nonexistent class. An Apocalypse-class relic, surpassing even Mythos arms and the so-called ultimate rarity forged by the Gods themselves: Fantasia.
Its power does not merely cut. It erases. It slices not through flesh, but through the foundation of being itself. Matter, dimensions, souls—the fabric of space—it all bleeds before its edge. Even the Demon King feared its potential. You would have to stand above the laws of the universe itself to endure a single stroke."
Then, as if to prove it, he slashed.
A mountain in the distance—massive, Everest-sized—was bisected like a KitKat bar.
For one impossible instant, reality itself came apart, a gaping wound through heaven and earth. The air convulsed, space warped, then closed itself like a scar sealing shut.
Even Sam's (yes, me) voice trembled. "Did… did he just press Control-Alt-Delete on a giant mountain?"
Alyknor leveled the blade at Alzareth, a smile stretching too wide.
"Now do you understand? You cannot guard against it. You cannot exist against it."
Alzareth tilted his head, unbothered. "Yeah… can't argue with that."
He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and sighed.
"Guess I'll just have to dodge it."
And then—he did.
Alyknor unleashed a flurry of slashes. Air, sound, space—gone.
But Alzareth slipped aside, barely moving, the attack missing him by a hair.
Another strike. Another dodge. Then another.
Every swing ripped craters into the earth, cutting through dimensions like wet parchment. The sky flickered between dusk and dawn, reality struggling to decide which one was real.
And I absolutely lost it.
"HOLY— HOLY SHIT! ARE YOU GUYS SEEING THIS!? GOOD LORD, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?"
Yet Alzareth—in sandals—just kept bobbing out of the way.
Mountains evaporated. Trees were reduced to theories.
Yet Alzareth sidestepped every swing without any effort.
Sometimes not even looking.
Like the world was on 0.5x speed for him.
"Stand still!" Alyknor roared.
"You first."
"You dare jest in battle?!"
"I dare nap."
The blade hissed past his arm. A tiny cut. Just enough to bleed.
Alzareth stopped, glanced at it, and muttered, "Oh. It actually cut me."
Blue flame flickered from his fingertips. He brushed it across the wound—Azure Flame of Restoration.
Nothing happened.
The cut didn't heal.
Alyknor smiled. "Shadow paralysis. Your body's regeneration is sealed. Even you are bound by the rules of reality."
Alzareth flexed his fingers, drips of blood trickling down. Then he grinned.
"Good to know."
"WHAT?" I yelled, hiding behind a rock. "GOOD TO KNOW?! ARE YOU HEARING YOURSELF?! THIS GUY MIGHT ACTUALLY KILL YOU!"
But he wasn't listening. He was already walking forward again as Alyknor lunged his sword at him with shadows exploding behind him.
Alzareth moved through it like water through a sieve. Every attack missed by inches, his movement too loose to be planned, too precise to be luck.
Then, finally—impact.
But not from Alyknor.
Alyknor swung the Blade of Annihilation in an arc meant to erase continents—
and Alzareth wasn't there.
He slipped under the slash by a hair, planted a foot, and launched himself upward.
In one fluid motion, he flipped into a full somersault—
a spinning, airborne blur—
and his heel CRACKED down onto Alyknor's skull like divine retribution delivered by a gymnast.
The demon's head slammed into the dirt.
The Blade of Annihilation lurched in his grip—
then slipped.
He dropped it.
Before gravity even remembered the sword existed, Alzareth reached down, grabbed Alyknor by the hair like a dirty slut, yanked him upward, and drove a knee straight into the demon's face with enough force to redraw the local geography.
A shockwave rippled outward—erasing the battlefield around them in a perfect circle of flattened earth.
Only then did the Blade of Annihilation finish falling.
"KNEE! KNEE! FLYING KNEE TO THE FACE! HOLY SHIT, ALZARETH!"
I swear I was alone and still yelling like I was commentating the underworld's nastiest pay-per-view.
Alzareth didn't flinch. He just let go of Alyknor's hair and smirked.
"Open wide. I'm gonna start feeding you consequences."
He threw one punch.
It didn't sound like a punch.
It sounded like unchecked domestic abuse.
Alyknor flew backward, the shockwave parting clouds and splitting mountains in the distance.
Alyknor's body hit the ground, bones reforming instantly — or rather, they tried to.
The wounds within his chest didn't disappear.
He stared down at it, confused:
Why…? Why does it not mend?
Our regeneration stems from the soul! The astral body connects all forms—physical, spiritual, demonic. Even in death, we revive!
So why—?
Alyknor tried again, forcing demonic energy through his veins. The black light pulsed—then fizzled, dying in his chest.
"No… no, it cannot be…Impossible," he hissed. "My regeneration—"
Alzareth walked through the smoke, cracking his knuckles.
"Isn't working," he said calmly. "That's because I perfectly synchronize my body, soul and spirit. So when I hit you, I hit all three. And when that happens, I disrupt that connection to the point that even your own cells are out of tune. Now you're about as mortal as the rest of us."
Alyknor stood in disbelief.
"That's… not possible! Such union transcends mortal or divine alignment—!"
"It's not as hard as you think honestly. It's like emptying a chamber pot. But halfway through I realize it's leaking, so I throw the whole thing at the wall and walk away."
"You compare me to—"
"—a pot? No. The brown streak it leaves."
Alyknor screamed — raw fury and humiliation.
"I AM ALYKNOR, HEIR TO THE BLOOD OF THOSE WHO SERVE THE ABYSSAL THRONE! MY SOUL IS ETERNAL!"
"Your mouth sure is," Alzareth said.
"SILENCE!"
Alyknor exploded into motion.
His shadow spread across the battlefield, blooming like a storm.
"Art of Darkness: Thorns of Rebellion!"
A forest of giant ink black spikes erupted, piercing the ground in waves. Each one piercing with soul-cutting resonance.
Alzareth lifted his hand. One Punch.
BOOM.
The shadows disintegrated, a blue shockwave splitting the clouds.
"You broke my spell with sheer force!?" Alyknor gasped.
"Yeah, you can't?"
Alyknor screamed, more rage than pain.
He rose instantly, shadow steam pouring off him.
"YOU—INSOLENT—WORM!"
He lunged again, both fists now cloaked in annihilation energy.
The ground shattered under his first punch.
Then the second.
Then a hundred more.
Each strike blurred past so fast the air couldn't even decide where it was supposed to be.
The punches moved so quickly their silhouettes didn't cast shadows—because the light couldn't bounce off them in time.
Yet Alzareth dodged them all. Effortlessly.
Moving in and out of reach, each step an insult to the concept of effort.
"WHY. CAN'T. I. HIT. YOUUUUUUUU!" Alyknor roared, every word shaking the air.
Alzareth moved his head an inch to the side.
"Because you keep aiming for where I am," he said, ducking another swing, "instead of where I'm going to be."
"DON'T YOU DARE LECTURE ME ON COMBAT!"
"Fine, suit yourself."
Alzareth spun.
His foot whipped around in a perfect back-spin — an overhaul strike, all momentum, all disdain.
And it crashed straight into Alyknor's face.
The impact sounded like a cathedral collapsing.
A wave of dust and blue light tore through the battlefield with air pressure blowing away everything for miles.
And THIS is when I became a full-time MMA commentator.
"SPIN KICK! REVERSE SPIN KICK TO THE FACE! OH MY GOD, HIS JAW—WHERE IS HIS JAW—THAT MAN'S JAW IS GONE!"
Alyknor stumbled. His breath ragged. His body flickered:
No… my tether… it's unraveling. The connection between realms—my astral bridge—it's collapsing!
He's not just hitting me. He's striking my soul through the mortal plane! This creature defies law… defies plane… defies reason…
He tried a different gambit, roaring with demonic fury.
"Breath of Destruction!"
The sky went crimson as Alyknor unleashed a beam of pure demonic energy from his mouth.
A mountain disappeared.
A second one followed out of sympathy.
A part of the landscape looked like it got erased on accident. The air itself was bleeding ashes.
Alyknor stood on top of the wreckage, chest heaving, eyes glowing with pride.
"Perish beneath the wrath of the glorious demon empire…"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because Alzareth wasn't there.
A voice came from behind him, casual as sin.
"You missed."
Alyknor spun — too late.
A foot collided with his ribs.
The world folded around the impact as the demon was launched kilometers away — a streak of shadow crashing through trees, hills, and stone before slamming into a lake.
Water exploded sky-high — a gigantic geyser that reached the clouds.
The ripples from the shockwave blew beneath my feet.
SAM (narrating):
I don't even know what the fuck is going on anymore.
From the lake's surface, an eruption — pure darkness spiraled upward, warping gravity itself.
Alyknor rose from it like a god dragged from hell, armor fracturing, aura expanding in impossible directions.
The sky turned scarlet.
The ground started to melt.
Every molecule screamed run.
"ENOUGH!" Alyknor thundered.
"I AM DONE BEING TOYED WITH!"
His power surged, a storm of raw demon energy that cracked mountains, turning the grassland into a dead wasteland.
It wasn't an aura anymore — it was a domain.
If it wasn't for Alzareth's Protection of the Azure Flame I would have been a dried up husk right now.
Alyknor's voice echoed from every direction, layered in distortion, shaking the bones of the world.
"THIS IS MY FULL MIGHT, AZURE DRAGON! EVEN A LEGION OF YOUR MORTAL HEROES WOULD CRUMBLE BEFORE ME!"
Alzareth stared. Tilted his head.
Then yawned.
"Source?"
"DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
Then the chase began.
Alyknor shot forward, a blur of darkness.
Alzareth rushed aside.
The demon's fist split the earth in half, carving a crater that glowed with molten shadow.
Another punch — another dodge.
They moved hundreds of time faster than lightning, shadows flickering across the wasteland like dust particles.
One instant they were on the plains. The next — mountains in the background shattered from the shockwaves of their near-misses.
The entire battlefield breathed with every movement.
To Sam (yes, me), someone who had attained superhuman reaction due to his increased speed and agility stats, it was like watching the environment being destroyed by an invisible disaster.
Alyknor summoned and swung the Blade of Annihilation once again.
Alzareth slid beneath it, sparks of blue fire trailing his sandals.
"Hold still, dragon!"
"Nuh-uh."
A left jab of shadow followed by a demonic knee strike — both missed by a thread.
Alzareth's body moved like instinct sculpted into rhythm.
Every dodge was lazy perfection.
Every motion unbothered, deliberate.
Alyknor's fury only grew:
Why does he evade so easily?
His body doesn't react — it is like he moves before I strike… as if he reads the flow of my intent…
He snarled, breaking his composure.
"Cease running, coward!"
"Can't. I need my cardio."
"STOP MOCKING ME, MORTAL!"
"Then stop being so mockable," Alzareth said, weaving through another slash.
The chase blurred into chaos.
Their clashes detonated across the plains — sonic booms shaking the distant peaks, the horizon flashing white-blue-black.
Alyknor tore through the earth with every strike; Alzareth danced between the fractures.
Meanwhile, from my perspective? I wasn't seeing jack shit.
Everything was just— BOOM, crater. BOOM, bigger crater. Another shockwave trying to fold me in half like a lawn chair. I couldn't even tell where they were; for all I knew the fight was happening in twelve places at once.
I ducked behind a boulder for cover, which immediately exploded into gravel the second I touched it.
"WHA—WHAT!? HOW IS THIS REAL? WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!?" I yelled, because honestly, that felt like the only correct reaction.
Then, mid-rush, Alzareth stopped.
His foot pivoted into the dirt, energy spiraling around him.
Alyknor didn't have time to react.
A blur.
A pivot.
A kick.
The strike connected with Alyknor's sternum — a shockwave of compressed air detonated outwards.
The demon's body bent unnaturally, spinning midair before slamming into the ground.
The impact rippled like a localized apocalypse.
The silence after the kick was apocalyptic.
The wind had forgotten how to blow.
Even the shadows looked hesitant to move.
Alyknor lay in the crater, face half-buried, the black ichor of his blood sizzling against molten dirt.
"Alyknor?" Alzareth said as he placed his thumb and index finger in the shape of an L on his forehead "More like L-yknor, am I right."
Alzareth turned his head towards me.
"Did I do it right sam?"
"I'm…I'm not sure."
Alyknor then rose.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
With a face that could only be described as an expression of pure discontent.
"Are you…Are you still proceeding to make fun of me, even now?"
"I am."
"He is."
Whatever shred of mental restraint Alyknor had left has now officially vanished.
He trembled once—then rose.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
"You…you ridicule not just me… but the hierarchy of the abyss itself…"
His tone cracked between regal wrath and disbelief.
"No. I will not stand for this. I am Alyknor of the four heavenly demon generals. I am shadow's chosen hand. I don't wield the darkness. I AM THE DARKNESS!"
He raised both arms.
The world rippled.
Color drained.
Everything—sky, dirt, horizon—stretched like melted glass.
"Art of Darkness: World of Distortion!"
The air inverted.
A curtain of smoky black mist opened around him—folding into itself like a looping mirror.
Inside, the world was darker, warped, alien.
It pulsed like the inside of a lung.
Alyknor stepped into the portal.
"Even the void has echoes…
and you will hear them soon."
Then he vanished.
Alzareth stared at the empty space where Alyknor stood less than a moment ago.
"Well, that was pretty ominous. Don't you think so Sam?"
I stared back at Alzareth.
"I really hate you sometimes. I really do."