Chapter 79: The Awakening of the Sixth Day Demon King
Despite the overwhelming carnage, the Supreme Four Pillars held a nearly unshakable advantage. The remaining Prajnas struggled to defend, barely fending off strikes—let alone launching counterattacks.
Their answer? To devour themselves.
But self-cannibalization came at a price. Several fell mid-process, their bodies torn apart during attempted fusions.
"Is that all, you bottom-feeders?"
"Just four of you left?"
Two of the Supreme Pillars taunted the struggling Prajnas, their mocking voices slicing into the demons' pride.
Earlier, in the artificial world of the sand table, it had been Prajna who scorned the demon gods—calling them weak, calling them filth.
Now the tables turned.
"Fine… fine!"
"I can't hold back anymore!"
"If that's how it is, then take all three of us!"
Three Prajnas snarled and lunged toward a fourth. In a flash, the targeted Prajna jabbed his hands into the hearts of two, while his gaping maw closed viciously around the chest of the third.
He consumed them.
The crowd recoiled, scalp prickling with terror. But what followed was even worse.
The fused Prajna's aura grew grotesque. Something about it made onlookers want to flee—to be anywhere but near the arena.
He doubled over, body trembling violently.
"Yes… this feeling…"
He roared upright, voice thundering across the coliseum. Sonic waves rippled through the stands.
"This is the power to slaughter you!"
The moment the words left his mouth, the earth itself shuddered. Screams erupted from every direction.
The Supreme Pillars didn't flinch—they attacked.
Their combined might collided with the evolving Prajna, shaking the entire divine battleground.
"D-Did he block it?"
Heimdall practically launched his glasses from his face.
Indeed, the Supreme Pillars' four fists had landed—but not the way anyone expected.
Prajna didn't catch them with his hands. He took the blows directly—his face, chest, waist, and spine dented and cracked under impact.
And then…
"Got two of you. Heheheheh."
That voice crawled out of his twisted, smashed face.
From the bruised flesh spread black tendrils—binding themselves around the arms of four demon gods.
The Four Pillars grimaced, pulling back quickly. But it was too late.
Two arms detached entirely—ripped clean off.
Prajna opened his massive jaws and swallowed them whole, not bothering to chew.
"What is he doing now?"
Everyone expected the battle to explode into even more ferocity—yet Prajna leapt toward Beelzebub's pillar instead, eyes burning with violent hunger.
A chill seized Heimdall's spine.
Prajna had shown rebellious intent before. Had he grown strong enough to break free of his creator?
"You can't control me anymore. Hand it over. I can sense more fragments of myself on you. Give them to me—and I'll grant you a merciful death!"
The pressure surrounding Beelzebub became audible—air whined, energy screamed. Even the stone column beneath his feet began to crack.
Despite the threat, Beelzebub's gaze remained unyielding. A glint of cruelty flickered beneath his calm.
"So… you've fully awakened?"
"Yes. My mind is clear. I remember exactly who I am—The Sixth Day Demon King: Prajna."
He had named himself once before. But this time, it was different.
Back then, he was fractured. His memory incomplete, his mind sluggish.
Now, he remembered everything. He had been the war beast of the underworld—the berserker who had nearly razed it to extinction.
"I see."
Beelzebub exhaled wearily, sounding almost relieved.
He threw off his cloak.
A cascade of glass jars clattered to the ground.
Inside each was a grotesque lifeform—horned, fanged, tailed, and writhing.
These were Prajna seeds. Creations of Beelzebub.
Each one squirmed, drawn irresistibly toward their true body. They wanted to merge. To become whole.
Once complete, Prajna could finally kill him.
As for the sponsor whose terms he'd previously accepted? Beelzebub had never truly believed in it.
It wasn't that he didn't want his friend revived.
But to live again only to become someone else's puppet—life and death controlled from afar—was no salvation.
Better to die. Better to fall with that friend and let Prajna end it.
That's why Beelzebub had hidden the truth of his experiments.
Because the sponsor... was that man.
"No!"
Hades turned pale, realizing what was about to happen.
But it was too late.
The coliseum's barrier protected the spectators—he couldn't intervene.
All he could do was watch.
CRACK—!
Prajna shattered every glass container in an instant. The creatures inside flew like darts, latching onto his body.
Then—like leeches—they burrowed deep inside.
The monster who had once almost destroyed the entire underworld… had now fully awakened.
Chapter 80: The Heart's Rebellion—Prajna's Internal Collapse
Goosebumps blanketed every onlooker. What they were seeing could haunt dreams.
Fist-sized creatures, horned and fanged with wormlike tails, clawed their way into Prajna's flesh—biting and tunneling like parasitic leeches.
"What… what are those?"
"Disgusting…"
"What the hell has Beelzebub been researching?!"
Every faction—mortal or divine—looked nauseated.
Even the gods felt unease. Were these the only specimens? Or had Beelzebub unleashed more across the heavens?
Was this madman setting traps for them while they slept?
How had the gods ever allowed him to represent their realm?
Perhaps this tournament was a necessary wake-up call.
Had Beelzebub refused to participate, his horrific secrets would have remained buried.
Preventing him after discovery was one thing. But catching him before? Nearly impossible.
Eyes locked on Prajna's form.
His skin bulged hideously. The buried creatures twisted beneath the surface, sliding like worms under translucent film.
And Prajna? He looked delighted. Ecstatic.
His body suddenly ballooned—larger, heavier, stronger.
Muscles bulged like carved stone, veins turned black, markings crept across his form.
But it wasn't his physique that worried the gods—it was his rapidly rising aura.
"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORHHHHH!"
Prajna lifted his fists and bellowed toward the sky.
"BOOM—!"
A deafening crack split the heavens. A bolt of lightning as powerful as Thor's smote the arena—striking Prajna dead-on.
Gasps followed. Such divine punishment couldn't be summoned easily.
Had Solomon cast it?
"Is that all, worms?"
Prajna flipped his middle finger toward the heavens.
As though insulted, the sky roiled in fury. Lightning serpents danced through the clouds.
Then—all at once—they converged.
"That—That's heaven's judgment!"
Someone finally recognized it.
Heaven's Judgment and Divine Judgment were often confused—especially by mortals.
But they were vastly different.
This punishment came from the World Tree itself. A primal force sensing danger to the world, reacting instinctively to annihilate the threat.
And yet—
RIIIIIP—!
The Judgment shattered.
Split in two as it struck Prajna.
Even the chief gods flinched.
"Wh-What did he just do?"
"No… this must be a joke…"
"He… he tore the lightning apart!"
Eyes bulged. Screams rang out.
Prajna hadn't merely endured the bolt—he had split it.
The thunderclouds above? Torn as well. Dispersed into chaos.
The storm could no longer reform.
"He's… completely awakened now."
Hades' tone was grim.
"What—What do we do?! Lord Hades, should we end the battle?!"
Ares had no answers. Panic surged through him.
Hades had said it himself: Prajna once nearly destroyed the entire underworld.
And the underworld wasn't a mere pocket realm—it included Hell, the Demon Realm, the Land of Roots… everything beneath creation.
To nearly erase all of it?
That was unthinkable.
"Calm down. You're acting like a novice god."
Hades' rebuke hit hard.
Ares flushed red—not from anger, but embarrassment.
Even inside, he didn't dare object. His respect for Hades ran too deep.
"But…"
Hades stopped speaking, instead initiating mental dialogue with Zeus.
Preparations were needed. This was no longer Beelzebub's battle.
He watched Beelzebub on the stage. That man smiled faintly, eyes calm.
Hades sighed.
So this was his goal all along.
With the Judgment torn apart, Prajna lowered his gaze—his head no longer tilted to defy the sky.
He stared at Beelzebub.
A wicked smile curled across his face.
And then—
Splurt—!