## Chapter 2: Unwelcome Committee
Leo slumped back on the cold obsidian throne, a sigh of profound relief escaping his lips. "Okay," he murmured, a small smile touching his face. "Demon Lord. Weird. Scary title. But... level nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine? Maybe this won't be so bad after all. Just gotta keep my head down, enjoy the creepy castle, maybe find a decent spectral internet connection..." The thought of peace, of simply being left alone, was incredibly appealing.
**BOOOOOOM!**
The entire fortress jolted .Dust rained from the high ceiling. The obsidian throne vibrated beneath him like a tuning fork. Leo shot upright, eyes wide. "What the—?!"
A fraction of a second later, pure, unadulterated annoyance surged through him, hot and bright. It wasn't fear – his stats screen still glowed reassuringly in his mind's eye – it was the sheer, infuriating rudeness of it. His peaceful fantasy evaporated.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" The roar wasn't intentional. It tore from his throat, deeper and more resonant than the explosion itself, fueled by frustration. As he shouted, raw power – his sheer, uncontainable presence – pulsed outwards in an invisible wave, rattling the very stones of the fortress harder than the blast had.
***
Outside the foreboding gates of the Obsidian Reach, the air still shimmered with heat and the acrid smell of scorched earth. A disciplined army of knights in gleaming white plate armor stood arrayed. Their faces were grim, determined, but a low murmur ran through their ranks.
"...heard he's the weakest of the Nine...barely holds his territory..."
"Hahaha! with the Holy Hero's power, today is the day..."
"...the Light will cleanse this blight..."
At the very front stood two figures. Sir Gareth, Captain of the Luminous Guard, his armor slightly more ornate, his expression one of seasoned caution. Beside him, radiating an aura of barely contained power and disdain, was Elara, the Holy Hero. Sunlight seemed to cling to her, glinting off her golden hair and the intricate filigree of her pure white armor. Her beauty was sharp, cold.
Gareth cleared his throat, addressing the imposing, silent fortress. "Demon Lord Azrael! By the decree of the Holy Church and the will of the Heavens, you are charged with—"
Elara cut him off, her voice ringing with arrogant certainty. "Enough formalities, Captain. Come out and face judgment, coward! Or I will tear this pitiful fortress down around your ears!"
Gareth opened his mouth, perhaps to counsel patience, but the words died before they were born.
**CRUNCH.**
It wasn't a sound, but a feeling. An immense, suffocating weight slammed down from the fortress. It hit Gareth first, driving him instantly to his knees, his armor groaning against the stone. Elara gasped, her divine aura flaring instinctively, but even she buckled, one knee hitting the ground hard, her arrogant sneer replaced by wide-eyed shock. Behind them, the entire army crumpled like puppets with cut strings. Horses screamed and fell. Weapons clattered. A collective groan of terror rose.
"What... what is this?!" Elara gasped, struggling to breathe under the pressure. "This... this can't be him! The reports said..."
Gareth could only grit his teeth, fighting the instinct to press his face into the dirt. The pressure wasn't malicious; it felt like indifference given terrifying, physical form. It was the weight of a mountain casually resting upon them.
"Hero!" Gareth managed to choke out.
Elara's eyes blazed with golden fire. "LUMINOUS BARRIER!" She thrust her holy sword skyward. A dome of shimmering golden light erupted from her, expanding to cover the front ranks. The crushing pressure lessened marginally within the dome. Groaning knights staggered back to their feet, trembling, their faces pale with terror.
Before relief could settle, a new sound cut through the heavy silence. A soft pop, like a bubble bursting, high above.
Every head snapped upwards. The sky directly above the fortress... ripped. A jagged tear of pure darkness opened, swirling with impossible colors at its edges. A collective gasp, laced with primal fear, rose from the army. Even Elara's golden barrier flickered violently.
A figure stepped casually out of the tear. A young man, perhaps twenty, dressed in simple, dark trousers and a tunic that seemed utterly mundane against the backdrop of the impossible portal. He drifted down, landing lightly on the air itself, a dozen feet above the battlefield, directly in front of the gates. He looked... ordinary. Unremarkable. Human.
But the pressure intensified a thousandfold. The golden Luminous Barrier flared blindingly bright, then shrieked like tortured metal. Hairline cracks spiderwebbed across its surface with audible *snaps*.
Leo Evans – Azrael, the Ninth Demon Lord – looked down at the army, the Hero, the cracked golden dome. His expression wasn't one of rage, but profound, bone-deep irritation. Like someone woken too early on a Sunday.
He sighed, the sound somehow carrying over the groans of the barrier. "Seriously?" His voice was calm, almost bored, yet it vibrated in their very bones. "I just sat down. I don't like distractions."
Elara, defiance warring with the dawning horror in her eyes as her holy shield visibly fractured under his mere presence, raised her sword, its light flickering wildly. "Demon!" she spat, her voice trembling despite her effort. "I am Elara, Holy Hero! I am here to end your existence!"
Leo just stared at her, his eyes flat. "Yeah," he said, utterly unimpressed. "Good luck with that."