BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Screams echoed across the spectator arena outside the alternate dimension—explosions lighting up the sky and ground, chaos reigning everywhere.
Atop the high platform, Odin stroked his beard, eyes twinkling as he surveyed the carnage. Beside him, Sirzechs wore the apologetic calm of a seasoned host.
"Sirzechs, you Underworld folk sure know how to throw a party," Odin quipped.
"My deepest apologies, Odin-sama. We've dragged you into our civil war," Sirzechs replied, bowing his head.
A handful of enemy devils hurtled toward them, only to be erased mid-flight by Grayfia's effortless spell—her face as cold as steel.
"Odin-sama, we've prepared an escape route. Please follow me."
But Odin just laughed, eyes glinting. "Hahaha! That fallen angel brat isn't half as courteous as you, Sirzechs."
"Rossweisse, lend a hand."
"Yes, Odin-sama!"
With crisp efficiency, Rossweisse transformed into her Valkyrie form and shot into the fray.
"Rare chance for some exercise, too. If I sit around much longer, these old bones will seize up."
He raised his hand; water coalesced, swirling into a golden spear—Gungnir, the legendary weapon. Odin gripped it, divine power radiating outward.
"Gungnir!"
A blade of pure energy blasted from the spear's tip, slicing through the sky—hundreds of enemies vaporized in a single stroke.
"Sirzechs, I'm off to play! Woohoo!"
Odin leapt into the battlefield, a force of nature unleashed.
Sirzechs sighed. "Odin-sama never changes…"
He shook his head, then turned to Grayfia. "Go as well, Grayfia. Make sure Odin-sama stays safe."
"Yes, Sirzechs-sama."
Grayfia vanished, a flash of silver.
Surveying the battlefield, Sirzechs's expression was utterly composed. The chaos was superficial—everything unfolded exactly as planned. Azazel commanded the defense, Serafall and Ajuka guarded their domains. Order beneath the madness.
Just as Sirzechs prepared to join the fight, a new magic circle bloomed in the sky. A long-haired man in a cloak appeared, his aura crackling with power.
"So the mastermind finally shows himself…"
Sirzechs smiled faintly, murmuring. The man's voice rang out:
"Despicable false Maou, Sirzechs Lucifer! I am Shalba Beelzebub, rightful heir to the great True King Beelzebub's bloodline!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Like fireworks, the sky erupted. A golden streak descended, revealing Tenra, sword in hand.
"Tenra-sama!"
Yubelluna and the girls regrouped, landing beside him. The teleporting devils—low and mid-class, mostly—had been slaughtered in moments. Tenra and his peerage were unstoppable.
But the enemy kept coming. More and more devils spilled from the magic circles, a tide of cannon fodder.
Tenra's brow furrowed, irritation mounting.
Endless small fry—annoying, but not dangerous. Then a thought struck him.
This isn't a Rating Game anymore. It's war. If Diodora can call for backup, so can I.
A smile crept onto Tenra's lips. He raised his hand, and a wave of figures emerged from the Sancta Diabolus Ecclesia.
Raynare, Mittelt, and Kalawarner—the fallen angel trio—followed by dozens of brainwashed sorceresses.
Raynare, after Tenra's "training," could now wield her Balance Breaker: the Black Evil King. Her power rivaled Ultimate-class devils. Mittelt and Kalawarner were a step behind, but still high-class. The sorceresses, all handpicked elites, were more than enough to mop up the small fry.
"Raynare, these pests are yours."
Tenra dismissed his sword, leading Yubelluna and the rest toward the temple.
"As you command, my Master."
Raynare licked her lips, black flames flickering around her. The air behind Tenra filled with screams and explosions—but he didn't look back. He and his peerage pressed forward, reaching the temple in short order.
A rush of wind—figures in hooded robes blocked their path. Above, Diodora's voice rang out, shrill with panic:
"Damn you, Tenra Kamiyo! You're keeping fallen angels and Khaos Brigade traitors as pets!"
Tenra's reply was ice-cold. "I use whatever power I can. Unlike some people, I haven't betrayed the Underworld or crawled to the Khaos Brigade."
"Hmph! If betraying the Underworld means I get to kill you, so be it!"
"Tenra Kamiyo, I'm waiting in the main hall. But first, let my peerage entertain you."
"I've promoted all my Pawns to Queens—and made a few… improvements. You and your girls, enjoy yourselves!"
Diodora's laughter echoed, shrill and manic—a woman's cackle in a man's mouth. The robed figures threw back their hoods, revealing Diodora's fifteen peerage girls.
Once, they'd been famed nuns and holy maidens. At the front stood Elmenhilde, silver hair falling to her waist—the Queen who had once fought Yubelluna's group.
But now? Blank faces. Hollow eyes. Not people, but puppets—stripped of will and humanity.
Tenra's brow creased. He didn't know the intricacies of magic, but his peerage did.
"Tenra-sama, they're under mind-control magic. Their consciousness is sealed, leaving only combat instincts."
Yubelluna's voice held a note of pity.
A forbidden spell—like brainwashing, but worse. It erased fear, tension, everything that made them human. Only the urge to fight remained. They'd be stronger, yes—but the damage was irreversible.
Diodora, twisted and cold, cared nothing for his own peerage's suffering. Only revenge mattered.
Tenra's gaze softened, sympathy flickering in his eyes.
A group of tragic, unfortunate holy maidens—corrupted and discarded by the one who should have protected them.
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