Chapter 86: The Demon King's Flight
With a sickening snap, Satan's head was torn from his body—almost as if Solomon had misjudged his own strength and accidentally ripped it off.
But in truth, Satan's body vanished the moment his head was removed, reappearing high above the arena.
His wings buzzed violently, like the frantic fluttering of a fly.
Some chief gods saw through it immediately: Solomon hadn't ripped Satan's head off. Satan had escaped—desperately flapping his wings to flee, and in doing so, tore his own head free from Solomon's grasp.
The gods were stunned.
Solomon's power had reached such terrifying heights… that even Satan now feared him.
What was this form called Goetia?
Moments ago, Solomon had layered himself with the phantom shadows of the Seventy-Two Demon Gods—and now he stood transformed.
Had he demonized himself?
No. He had become a demon god—but not just any demon god.
He had transcended all known forms.
He was the Demon King of Demon Gods.
Chapter 87: Tentacles That Suppress the Void God—Chaos
This form was no longer human. It could only be called demonic.
Before his transformation, Solomon had summoned strange shadows—echoes of the Seventy-Two Demon Gods. Had he borrowed their power?
No. He had analyzed their essence, fused it, refined it—elevated it into something far beyond.
This was not a mere demon god.
This was the absolute monarch of all demon gods.
The Demon King.
It was a form that seemed destined to command all evil beings—a body that could intimidate the cosmos itself.
"Demon King…" Brunhilde murmured, dazed.
She remembered the ancient text The Key of Solomon, which described Solomon's mastery of magic—his transcendence beyond divine limits, his ascension into a unique existence.
The book never detailed his final form, only that he had shed his humanity and become a towering figure before whom all demon gods bowed.
Now, that legend stood before them.
Solomon had revealed his ultimate trump card—one capable of overturning everything.
He had surpassed the gods.
Brunhilde turned her gaze from Solomon's terrifying form to the headless fly—Satan.
Even without a head, he lived. To kill him, one would likely need to destroy his heart.
Disgusting.
Without eyes, Satan had grown a new one on his chest—along with a mouth.
From somewhere, he produced a skull and clasped it between his palms.
"Die! Die with this space!"
He roared. The skull glowed, and a massive vortex of darkness formed around him—pulsing violently.
"That… that bastard!" Zeus's face twisted in horror.
He recognized the technique.
He teleported to the front of the Greek gods' section, shielding his kin.
The rest of the gods scattered across the arena could only fend for themselves.
"What's happening?" Ares stammered, watching the chief gods react with alarm.
"That's a forbidden technique of the Underworld. If you don't want to die, get behind me!"
Hades's cold voice made Ares freeze. He scrambled behind the seated god of death.
Then came a strange sound—one that made Ares feel dizzy, as if seasick.
He thought the arena was shaking, but it was his own equilibrium failing.
"What… is this?" Loki staggered, trying to steady himself.
A buzzing sound emanated from Satan—an auditory assault that scrambled the brain.
Loki tried to block it physically, but it didn't help.
"What forbidden technique is this?" he asked.
Though Loki knew many Underworld secrets, he couldn't identify this one.
"Void God—Chaos."
Hades's answer made Loki's face go pale.
Damn it. That one?
The Void God Chaos had once been a primordial deity.
Though dead, he left behind a single, devastating technique—classified as the Underworld's Zero-Rank Forbidden Spell.
Its name: Void God—Chaos.
If Satan unleashed it, not just the arena—but the entire Celestial Realm could be annihilated.
And if that happened, many divine factions would be cut off from reality.
Weaker pantheons lacked the power to create their own portals to the mortal world. They relied on this nexus space to travel and communicate.
If it were destroyed, they'd be stranded—like ships lost at sea, without signal or rescue.
"Bastard!" Loki cursed again as blinding light engulfed his vision.
The spell had been cast.
Now it was a race to survive.
The spell didn't destroy everything instantly. It destabilized space—like pulling key blocks from a tower, causing it to collapse outward.
Loki had to escape before the collapse consumed him.
As the white light faded, he saw a massive black sphere swallow the arena.
The protective barrier around the spectators shattered like paper.
Gods and mortals behind it were devoured by darkness—erased from existence.
"Wha…?"
Loki wasn't the only one stunned.
The black sphere should have continued expanding—but it stopped the moment it shattered the barrier.
That wasn't right.
Loki's pupils shrank.
Reflected in his eyes was the black sphere—bound by enormous tentacles, like those of a giant octopus.
And those tentacles… were covered in countless crimson eyes.