After crossing a vast stretch of the Underworld through the dimensional rift, Sirzechs emerged into a realm utterly different from the Devil territories.
The Greek Underworld was oppressive in a way that even Hell was not.
The sky was a perpetual dusk—ashen clouds hanging motionless, heavy with the weight of countless souls. Rivers of Styx-like black water carved through the land, carrying whispers of regret and despair. The air itself felt judging, infused with divine authority meant to suppress anything not sanctioned by Olympus.
Sirzechs stepped forward, unfazed.
There was a pressure that would have restricted Demon Kings, Saints, or even lesser gods simply slid off him like mist against a mountain. His presence alone caused the surrounding space to distort subtly, Aether unconsciously reinforcing reality to accommodate his existence.
"This place hasn't changed," he muttered, crimson eyes sweeping across the horizon.
With God-View Vision, the entire Underworld unfolded before him.
He saw Tartarus—its deepest pit reinforced by countless divine seals.
He saw Elysium, bright yet hollow, filled with souls bound by artificial peace.
He saw the domain of The death god, trembling faintly as his gaze brushed past it.
And then—
He saw her.
Deep within a heavily warded facility carved into obsidian bedrock near Tartarus, surrounded by layers of divine formations, soul-locking chains, and authority-based suppression fields.
Lilith.
Her essence flickered weakly, not because she was broken, but because she was being harvested. Her power was being siphoned repeatedly—her blood, soul fragments, and origin essence forcibly extracted to create artificial Devil soldiers twisted by divine interference.
Sirzechs' expression went Flat.
The air around him fractured.
"So even after Lucifer," he said softly, "they still didn't learn."
A death god's authority swept toward him—an automated defense reacting to an intruder of impossible magnitude. Divine chains of concept-bound death surged from the ground, attempting to bind his existence to the laws of the Underworld.
Sirzechs raised one hand.
Power of Destruction flared—not violently, but with absolute precision.
The authority shattered.
Not resisted.
Not overpowered.
Erased.
The chains disintegrated at the conceptual level, their very function removed from reality. The land screamed as divine runes collapsed, and the distant palaces of lesser gods trembled violently.
Hades noticed.
"Show yourself The one who Infiltrates Hell," a deep, echoing voice reverberated through the realm, layered with the authority of death itself. "This realm is under my domin—"
Sirzechs took a single step forward.
Space folded.
He was gone.
And in the next instant, he stood directly outside Lilith's prison, staring at the layered divine seals with eyes that no longer saw them as obstacles—only inconveniences.
"Experimenting on a Primordial devil," he said calmly, Aether beginning to flow.
"Using her to manufacture soldiers."
His lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile.
"You shouldn't have done that to her."
The seals began to unravel, not from force, but from inferiority.
Far away, as alarms wailed across the Greek Underworld, squads of Hell's Grim Reapers surged toward the facility that imprisoned Lilith.
Sirzechs spared them a single glance.
In that instant, every Reaper froze mid-motion. An indescribable dread seized them—the primal terror of being seen by an existence that could erase them utterly, without effort or resistance. Not one dared to move. Even thought itself felt dangerous.
Then Sirzechs turned away, no longer acknowledging their presence.
He walked calmly toward Lilith, who floated unconscious before him, bound by fading restraints. Reaching out, he gathered her into his arms with unexpected gentleness, as though handling something infinitely precious rather than a being forged from primordial darkness.
She had a delicate, almost unreal appearance.
Lilith's complexion was pale, unmarred by blemish, as though carved from moonlight. Her hair—an almost colorless shade of soft gold—was woven into a loose braid that rested along her back, while two gentle bangs framed her flawless face. Even in unconsciousness, there was a quiet dignity to her features, a beauty untouched by time or suffering.
Her figure was one that could stir envy even among goddesses. Full, voluptuous curves flowed naturally into wide, fertile hips, a narrow, perfect waist, and long, graceful legs that seemed sculpted rather than born. There was no excess, no imperfection—only a lithe, athletic body that radiated primordial elegance.
Yet her closed eyes told a different story.
She looked weak.
Not broken, but drained—like a great flame reduced to embers by relentless theft. Her breathing was shallow, her aura dim, flickering unsteadily as if struggling to remain whole.
Sirzechs studied her in silence.
"How tragically beautiful… Mother?"
The word left his lips before he fully understood why.
He paused, brow faintly furrowing. Perhaps it was because she was the Mother of all Devils. Perhaps it was because they shared the same primordial lineage. Or perhaps it was something deeper—an instinct written into his very existence.
He did not know.
But as he held her, the title felt right.
Aether flowed instinctively from him, wrapping around Lilith in soft, radiant currents. The divine contamination clinging to her soul evaporated on contact, erased as though it had never existed. Broken soul-fragments returned to her core, knitting themselves together under the influence of a higher law.
Her breathing steadied.
Her essence stabilized.
She would live.
But what had been done to her would not be forgotten.
Sirzechs turned slowly, Lilith still cradled in his arms.
Space behind him rippled.
Hades arrived.
The God of Death emerged clad in black and gold, his divine authority surging outward in waves strong enough to annihilate nations. Countless souls screamed as his presence anchored itself into the Underworld, reinforcing its laws.
His eyes fell upon Lilith.
Then upon Sirzechs.
Silence stretched.
Around them, the facility shook violently. alarms screamed, their sound warped as reality itself struggled to maintain coherence. Formation after formation collapsed, unable to withstand Sirzechs' presence now that his restraint had slipped even slightly.
Sirzechs didn't rush.
He rose into the air, Lilith secured against his chest, one arm supporting her effortlessly as if her weight meant nothing. Crimson hair drifted upward, stirred not by wind but by the sheer distortion of space around him.
Hades steadied himself.
Even stripped of his earlier composure, the God of Death was still a god. The Underworld answered him instinctively. Rivers of souls surged upward, condensing into spears of necrotic divinity. The ground split open as skeletal colossi clawed their way out, each one carrying the condensed authority of death and judgment.
"YOU DARE—" Hades roared, staff slamming into the air.
The sky fractured.
An ocean of black mist poured forth, death given form, eroding space itself. Anything caught within it—matter, soul, concept—was dragged toward annihilation.
Sirzechs tilted his head slightly.
"A nuisance."
He shifted Lilith gently to one side and extended his free hand.
Power of Destruction pulsed—not as an explosion, but as a presence.
The death mist evaporated instantly, erased down to its defining principle. The skeletal colossi froze mid-roar before collapsing into harmless dust, their animating authority severed like cut strings.
Hades' eyes widened.
Sirzechs stepped forward.
Each movement carried the weight of inevitability. Space folded beneath him, compressing reality so tightly that the Underworld itself groaned in protest. With God-View Vision active, The Satan saw it—every weakness, every flaw, every fragment of authority holding Hades existence together.
"You're panicking," Sirzechs observed calmly.
Hades screamed and unleashed everything.
A thousand years of divine authority erupted at once. Time slowed. Death concepts overlapped. Finality, entropy, judgment—layered spell arrays formed a collapsing sphere meant to erase Sirzechs from existence across all possible outcomes.
Sirzechs didn't dodge.
He walked through it.
The spells unraveled on contact, their logic failing to recognize him as something they could define. Aether flowed naturally, reinforcing his existence beyond the concepts reach.
"You are not Strong Enough God of death," Sirzechs said.
He vanished.
Hades barely registered the displacement before Sirzechs appeared behind him.
A single strike.
Not enhanced. Not exaggerated.
Just a punch.
The impact shattered divine space, sending Hades hurtling across the Underworld like a broken star, crashing through layers of reality before slamming into the obsidian plains. Entire regions folded inward from the shockwave.
Hades tried to rise.
Sirzechs was already there.
A foot pressed down.
The God of Death was pinned effortlessly, his divine core under pressure.
"You ruled because no one challenged you," Sirzechs continued, voice calm, almost instructional. "Not because you were the strongest."
Hades reached for death.
Nothing answered.
Sirzechs raised his hand.
Power of Destruction condensed into a razor-thin line and pierced straight through Hades' divine core—not destroying it, but severing it from every higher law it was connected to.
He Extracted The Divine Authority of Death From him.
[Divine Authority of Death Detected. Does the Host want To Bind The Divinity?]
'Later', He Thought in his mind.
Hades screamed.
The sound echoed across realms.
Sirzechs withdrew his hand and stepped back, cradling Lilith again without looking at the fallen god.
"Remember this moment," he said quietly. "You will for the rest of eternity in Mortality."
The Underworld trembled as Hades was dragged screaming into Tartarus, rejected by death, stripped of divinity, reduced to something lesser than mortal.
Sirzechs turned away.
The fight was over the moment it began.
With a ripple of space, he ascended—leaving behind a broken realm and a legend that would haunt gods for eternity.