Chapter 137: The 56th Pillar of Demon Gods — Gemonri
Desperation had twisted the man's already venomous face into something unrecognizable. Having lost all hope of survival, his lips moved with feverish intent, whispering blasphemies in a broken tongue—his voice low, guttural, as if something else was breathing through him. Beneath his blood-soaked hands, a grotesque sigil had begun to take shape, drawn with his own lifeblood across the cracked asphalt.
"Let's descend into hell together," he spat with a grin distorted by madness.
And then it began. The sigil pulsed. Crimson light bled into the air. A foul aura erupted, rippling across the battlefield like a poisonous tide.
Aisha's face lost every trace of color.
"Everyone, run!" she cried, her voice shrill with panic.
Too late.
From the glowing symbol, a shadow rose. It floated unnaturally—no footsteps, no sound, just presence. Then, with a sickening lurch, two enormous bat-like wings unfurled behind it, silhouetted in scarlet glow. The shape was unmistakable.
A devil. Summoned.
Aisha's heart thundered. Healing—her purpose—was her only strength. She had never trained in combat, and among those present, none bore the strength to face such a monster. Even the weakest demon would slaughter ordinary humans effortlessly.
So she acted.
Grabbing a nearby stone, she hurled it with trembling hands. It skittered across the pavement and landed near the demon's clawed feet—not far, but far enough.
The creature turned sharply, its gaze locking onto her. Eyes filled with hunger and hatred. Its lips curled, exposing sharp, obsidian fangs.
Aisha's body trembled. Her legs begged to collapse. Yet she turned and ran—not for herself, but to draw it away from the others.
But the devil was too fast.
With a beat of its wings, it closed the distance. In the blink of an eye, it was beside her—razor-sharp claws reaching for her face.
"I'll start by gouging out one of your—"
Thwack!
A fist collided with its head, cracking bone and silencing it mid-sentence. The demon was flung like a cannonball, skidding and tumbling a dozen meters before landing in a heap.
"Mr. Byakuya!" Aisha gasped.
He stood tall, expression unreadable. Not ordinary. Not even close.
"Filthy wretch," growled the demon as it staggered upright, fury surging. It lifted its hands—black flames crackling to life—and hurled them toward Byakuya.
But before the flames could reach him, an even larger torrent of black fire crashed against the first, extinguishing it entirely.
Byakuya was the source.
He conjured magic.
Aisha's mouth fell open. He could use spells… demon spells?
The summoned devil's smirk widened. "Idiot. You dare mimic demonic magic?"
Demonic magic was uniquely structured—adapted for a demon's physiology. Human spellcasters, even with abundant mana, couldn't replicate it directly. They had to analyze and restructure the formula, aligning it with human parameters.
Using a demon's spell as-is? Suicide.
"You really are a fool," the devil scoffed. "Playing with our fire? You'll burn yourself alive."
It unleashed another volley of black flame, avoiding melee range. It had learned: Byakuya was lethal up close.
Fire met fire.
Aisha flinched as she saw the veins on Byakuya's arms darkening—twisting like poisoned roots beneath his skin.
"Stop, you're hurting yourself!" she cried.
"I'll be fine," Byakuya replied calmly, eyes locked on the demon.
This time, the devil slowed its casting. A more advanced spell—an upgraded version of its earlier attack. As its hands moved, fire twisted into unnatural forms, compressing into a jagged lance.
"You're finished!"
But before it could launch—
Boom! A blast of black fire smashed into its side, throwing off its aim.
"What—? That should've fizzled!" it snarled, stumbling. The force… it was nearly identical to its own.
More flames erupted—a bombardment of spells, far too refined to be basic imitations.
Impossible.
It looked again. Byakuya's spell circle… had changed.
"Did he just—reconstruct it mid-cast?!"
Panic surged.
The demon flapped its wings violently and soared skyward. Altitude was safety. Humans couldn't fly. That would buy time.
It gathered mana once more. A jagged spear of chaos. "Now perish!"
It hurled the attack—black flame twisting with death.
But Byakuya was already moving.
His own hands glowed. The same spell, adapted. Larger. Faster.
The two lances collided and exploded midair.
"You bastard! Are you trying to humiliate me?!" the devil screamed, voice cracking.
Each time it cast something new, Byakuya copied it. Not just copied—reengineered it, made it stronger, better.
No longer a battle.
This was a lesson. A dismantling.
So it turned, preparing to flee.
The nun still lived. He was losing mana. The human might summon help.
"Consider yourself—"
It froze.
Hundreds of glowing circles bloomed below.
Byakuya's hands parted the air.
A barrage of black flame surged upward—spell after spell, rapid-fire—like an artillery strike.
The devil shrieked and twisted, diving through flame and smoke, its wings charred, its body scorched.
Crash!
It landed in a heap, twitching, barely alive.
From the smoke, Byakuya stepped forward.
His hands bleeding. His smile calm.
"Let's experiment," he said, touching the devil's chest.
One of the rings on his fingers glowed—dim, but eerie.
"No! Stop!" the devil howled.
Something was wrong.
Its bond with its summoner—shattering. The contract was unraveling.
A new one taking its place.
Its soul chained to another name.
"No! Not him! You can't be—"
"Silence."
"…Understood, my new master."
The beast bowed.
Byakuya frowned, studying another ring pulsing on his hand.
It was glowing.
Not by his will. But because his stray mana—left unchecked—had activated it.
It began to summon.
Not a demon.
A demon god.
The fifty-sixth pillar of hell: Gemonri.
Chapter 138: Kicking a Demon God Back to Hell
Far across the sea, in a small town nestled in the eastern islands of Japan—
She stood.
A girl radiant with unnatural beauty, her crimson hair gleaming like blood in moonlight. Her body, curved with divine grace, radiated a presence that cowed gods and devils alike.
Before her, a monstrosity—a hulking creature five meters tall, human only from the waist up. Below, its form contorted into something primal. Unnatural. Feral.
Yet it trembled.
Not she.
The monster stumbled backward, eyes darting to escape.
But escape was denied.
Figures flanked it from behind, blocking retreat. The sky, too, was no refuge.
And so it shrieked.
Opening its gaping maw, it spat corrosive acid toward the girl—liquid so potent it could melt flesh in seconds.
A desperate move.
It had used this before. Failed.
This time, it surged with power.
But the girl smiled.
Her eyes shimmered with flame.
She moved.
The acid struck nothing but air.
And from the shadows—
A blade sang.