Devil Slave (Satan system)

Outside the warped prison of bone and blood, Perseus stood with jaw clenched, his gaze locked on the colossal angel that loomed like a second moon. Its wings stretched wider than mountains, casting an eerie glow that rippled across the void. For a moment, the armies hesitated, awaiting his signal.

Perseus exhaled sharply. "Attack!"

His order cracked like thunder, and the field erupted. Devils shrieked with guttural war cries, gods bellowed in divine tongues, and otherworldly beings surged forward, riding nightmare beasts and spectral mounts once thought to exist only in myth. The charge was magnificent, a tide of flesh, fire, and steel surging upward against the unfathomable angel.

But then—

A sudden flare.

From the angel's central eye burst a ray of white light, pure and prismatic, stretching across the battlefield like a rainbow woven from divine wrath. The moment it touched the rushing army, the world turned upside down.

Screams rang out.

Soldiers staggered, clawing at their heads as madness took them. Some convulsed mid-flight before turning on their comrades, rending and tearing with savage brutality. Others wept uncontrollably, slashing at themselves as if their bodies carried unbearable guilt.

Perseus gritted his teeth so hard they nearly cracked. He steadied his breath, forcing his mind to remain anchored.

A divine mental attack… He recognized it instantly. A strike that didn't wound flesh but broke the soul.

It affected those that their souls were blue and below.

If not for the hell he'd endured in life—the betrayals, the torture, the endless nights clawing his way out of despair— as well as guidance from lenny that forged his soul growth, he would have fallen like the rest. His scars had hardened his mind into steel.

And his soul had long reached the Red Soul level.

But even so, the devastation horrified him. Humans fell first, their cries filling the void. The gods avatars followed, staggering, collapsing, their divine glow sputtering like candles in a storm. Only the devils still raged forward—but their eyes burned wild, their movements erratic. The corruption hadn't broken them, but it had made them more feral, more unstable.

Now, he was seeing the advantage in training one's soul.

And yet, Perseus's body trembled under the strain. His vision blurred. Then—

Smack!

A heavy slap crashed against his back, sending him forward and knocking the breath out of him. He coughed violently, and to his shock, the mental fog shattered, dissipating instantly. His head snapped up.

Standing over him, with a grin sharp enough to cut glass, was Tomato. Her long devil tail swayed lazily behind her, flicking left and right like a predator's.

"You need help, little man?" she asked with a cheeky smile, fangs glinting in the void.

Perseus blinked, stunned. She stood utterly unaffected by the angel's divine pressure. Then he remembered—Tomato was naturally magic-resistant. Not just resistant—immune, even to divine magic. And unlike most devils, her raw strength wasn't something that could be ignored. She was Arcane rank—one of the rarest, most dangerous beings alive.

Before he could speak, another presence stepped beside her. Morgana. Her expression was sharp, her aura dark and venomous. She too stood untouched, her eyes calm where all others raged or wept.

"I don't like this bitch," Morgana said coldly, her gaze flicking at Tomato, "but right now, only three of us can take that thing out."

It was true. From when Tomato arrived, she and Morgana did not get along, and even looked like they were going to battle. Right now, they were standing side by side. Which was a very rare sight indeed. After all, Morgana was usually strike first and ask questions later.

Perseus raised a brow. "What of the gods—"

His words cut short as he glanced behind him. The gods had fallen back. Not broken like the humans, not crazed like the devils—retreating. Deliberately. His frown deepened. His gaze locked on Odin, who stood far in the rear, issuing orders with his ravens circling like patient vultures. A seed of suspicion coiled in Perseus's chest, but there was no time to unravel it.

Morgana pressed two fingers to her ear, her eyes suddenly brightening. "They're ready to fire the weapon."

Perseus turned to her sharply. "Which weapon—"

He hadn't even finished the question when the heavens split.

A colossal red beam, thick as a country, shot up from the Earth below. It roared through the void like a god's vengeance, lancing straight toward the angel the size of the moon.

The sky itself split as the red beam tore upward, searing through the heavens before colliding with the angel's massive form. For the first time, its vast single eye widened, stretching unnaturally, the pupil dilating as though in shock. The white fire that coiled around its celestial body blazed brighter, bleaching the very firmament with holy brilliance.

Then came the explosion.

A blast roared outward, a detonation so violent it seemed as if a second sun had been born. The battlefield shook; devils, gods, and eldritch beasts alike were hurled back, tumbling like ragdolls across the scorched plains. The sky thundered with shockwaves that split mountains, and oceans far below buckled in tides.

Perseus braced himself. He thrust both arms forward, cosmic energy bursting from his palms and weaving into a vast shield. Its shimmering, prismatic dome wrapped around himself, Tomato, and Morgana. The force battered against it like a hurricane made of fire, and Perseus gritted his teeth so hard his jaw almost snapped. Cracks spiderwebbed across the shield before it finally stabilized.

When the flames at last began to dissipate, a dreadful silence fell. The smoke peeled back, the blaze withdrawn—yet the angel was still there. Its body, though strained, still loomed, its unblinking eye now glowing hotter, brighter, as if amused that anyone dared to test it.

Perseus' frown deepened. His knuckles whitened around his sword hilt.

Father Black had given him the task of defeating this thing. But even such a weapon had not been able to destroy it?

And then, cutting through the tension, a wild, echoing laugh split the air.

"Pffft—hahaha!" Tomato doubled over, clutching her belly, her long devil tail swishing like a whip in sheer amusement. The battlefield, still trembling from the aftermath, now had her laughter rolling across it like thunder.

Those who had survived the blast turned their eyes toward her. For a heartbeat, they thought her madness had finally overtaken her. But her laughter was so raw, so ridiculous, that it broke the suffocating dread. Even the wounded, bloodied devils nearby chuckled through gritted teeth, as if compelled by her absurd mirth.

To laugh at such a moment—at such a foe—she seemed insane. And yet, somehow, it shook the paralysis from the army's heart.