As the corrupted souls were stripped away one after another, Blackheart could feel his strength plummeting—his level dropping rapidly until he returned to what it once was.
The three thousand evil souls—each one steeped in sin and darkness—swirled in Leon's palm like a black vortex. Within that mass of twisting shadows, faint silhouettes writhed and wailed, their cries echoing faintly like whispers from the abyss.
Leon had forcibly separated the fused souls from the Saint Venganza Contract—without harming himself in the slightest.
Blackheart was utterly shocked.
Even his father, Mephisto, could never have performed such a feat.
But fear quickly overcame any resentment he might have felt. He knew better than to let even a flicker of hostility cross his mind. If Leon caught it—if the God King so much as noticed—the result would be unspeakable.
In Hell, the strong rule and the weak obey. That was the law. Simple. Brutal. Absolute.
Blackheart accepted his fate.
Wanda's gaze lingered on the swirling black smoke in Leon's hand, her expression thoughtful.
The Saint Venganza Contract was a dark secret—one known only to a handful of beings. Not even Kamar-Taj or the Sanctuary had it in their records. Only five people truly understood it: Mephisto, Blackheart, Old Carter, Leon, and Wanda.
The first three had been directly involved.Leon knew because of his past-life memories.Wanda knew because she had tracked Blackheart for years and, through her psychic powers, had read Old Carter's memories.
The truth was grim.
The Saint Venganza Contract had been forged when Mephisto deceived a village of three thousand devout believers. For centuries, he nurtured their faith—encouraging them to worship the divine with pure devotion. Then, in a single night, he twisted that faith into corruption and bound their souls within a dark covenant.
Those three thousand sanctified souls, once holy, had been defiled—and that transformation gave them terrifying power. When Blackheart later found the contract and absorbed those souls, he was instantly elevated to the rank of demon lord.
Such was the cruel cunning of devils.
It was no wonder demons became the stuff of humanity's darkest nightmares. Yet, in truth, the so-called "angels" of Heaven weren't much better.
For beings on that level, humans were nothing—just resources, currency, and food.
Leon smiled faintly and turned his gaze back to Blackheart.
The demon barely had time to react before a vast power wrapped around him, dragging him backward as if the world itself had swallowed him whole. The light vanished, replaced by choking darkness and a twisted forest that stretched endlessly in every direction.
When Blackheart stumbled to his feet, mud clinging to his hands and face, the air reeked of rot and death.
To a demon, it almost felt… familiar.
Through the gray mist above, he saw a pale moon hanging in the sky. In the distance, jagged black mountains loomed, encircling the land like prison walls.
"This is…" Blackheart muttered, eyes narrowing, "…the Realm of Death?"
It looked like the Underworld—akin to Hell, but different. Both realms shared a similar essence, yet they were governed by distinct powers.
So Leon had exiled him here?
He remembered who ruled this place—the Goddess of Death herself.
Blackheart frowned, wondering what purpose this served. Just as he was about to move, a majestic female voice rang in his ears, carrying an edge of amusement:
"Little guy, you seem to be lost."
A thunderous sound filled his head.
The world around him spun violently—the trees, the mountains, the mist all melting into darkness—until he found himself standing in an enormous hall.
Gothic chandeliers burned with eerie green flames, casting ghostly light across the stone walls. Ancient banners hung between pillars, each embroidered with symbols of death and eternity.
But Blackheart's attention was drawn to the throne at the far end of the hall.
There, sitting with effortless authority, was Hela, the Goddess of Death.
Clad in a magnificent dark-green gown, her black crown gleamed faintly under the ghostly firelight. When she rose, her presence filled the entire chamber. Each step she took down the marble staircase echoed like a heartbeat of the underworld.
Her long skirt trailed behind her, brushing the cold floor, as she stopped before the kneeling Blackheart.
"Blackheart…" she murmured, tilting her head slightly, her emerald eyes gleaming. "Ah, I see. So you're the one who caused all that trouble."
She smiled faintly as understanding dawned. Fragments of divine knowledge surfaced in her mind, revealing what had transpired—the failed plot, the opened gates, the near-apocalypse.
"So," she continued, her voice half amused, half scolding, "you almost triggered the Apocalypse, tried to drag the Sanctuary into a three-way war, and thought you could manipulate Hell and Heaven at once?"
Her lips curved in a smirk. "How… ambitious."
If it had been the old Hela, she might have admired him. After all, she too had once been a "filial child"—rebelling against her father, Odin, for similar reasons.
But now? She merely sighed.
"Well," she said lazily, waving her hand, "since he banished you here, you might as well make yourself useful. Do your part."
Before Blackheart could reply, the same overwhelming force enveloped him once more.
The world twisted again—his vision blurred—and suddenly, he was somewhere else entirely.
When the fog cleared, he realized he was back in what looked like the Origin Library, surrounded by floating light and dense spiritual energy.
But something was different.
He could feel new power pouring into him—powerful souls merging with his essence, fusing seamlessly into his being. His strength rose rapidly, climbing past his old level until he once again stood as a full-fledged demon lord.
Blackheart was stunned.
What was happening?
Leon had taken the Saint Venganza souls from him—so why give him new ones?
Before he could make sense of it, a brilliant golden vortex opened behind him.
From the swirling light stepped a young man—barely more than a boy—dressed in a sleek combat vest and black tactical pants. His eyes gleamed gold over green, and an aura of fighting spirit burned around him like a sun about to erupt.
The vortex closed with a hiss.
Blackheart turned, every instinct screaming danger.
The boy cracked his neck, golden energy flaring from his body, and the air itself trembled as a Small Cosmos—a microcosmic universe—exploded from within him.
That fighting spirit… was suffocating.
And at that moment, Blackheart finally understood why Leon had sent him here.
End of Chapter)
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