Devil Slave (Satan system)

The crowd gasped in shock at the appearance of the demons, those closest to them trying to flee. It was all becoming chaotic, but Enel was not deterred by this.

Demons were not a threat in his eyes.

Enel raised his hands, his voice carrying a clear, commanding tone that resonated throughout the arena. "Citizens of the great High Elven city of An’Thalara... behold your loving, cowardly Prince." His eyes drifted over to Nate with a scornful look. "See how he has stained this sacred city with the presence of the demons from the Abaddon royal family—all for a taste of power, for a throne he has not earned."

He gestured toward Nate, his voice dripping with mockery. "Demons aren’t cheap, everyone knows that. Tell me, brother," he smirked, "what did you promise them? Your life? No... that’s far too cheap. It has to be something much more valuable." His gaze swept over the crowd as he continued, "Perhaps... you sold out your own people."

Nate’s lips twisted into a sadistic grin as he stepped forward, undeterred by Enel’s taunts. "Even I wouldn’t stoop so low as to sacrifice my subjects. After all, what’s a king without his people?" His smile widened, his voice dropping to a near hiss. "Once I become king, I shall share a part of the treasure with my allies—the Eternal Spring and its priceless blessing that creates it."

A collective gasp spread through the crowd, rippling in waves of disbelief and horror. The Eternal Spring—the lifeline of the High Elves, the source of their strength, longevity, and survival—was to be traded away for power. Murmurs of disgust and curses began to stir as some turned their anger toward Nate, viewing him now not as a prince but as a traitor willing to sell out their very survival.

Nate’s face hardened at the backlash, but before he could respond, a powerful voice thundered across the arena. "Enough of this!" The ground trembled slightly as Belakor, the demon leader, strode forward, his eyes blazing. His voice was a sinister rasp, carrying a cruel edge as he addressed Enel. "Surrender the Command Law, child, and perhaps I’ll consider making your end between my teeth... swift."

Enel chuckled softly, a spark of defiance glinting in his eyes. "Oh, ’little demon boy’, that’s not quite how it works." He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "You’re not the only one here who has a claim on me or what I hold. And certainly not the only one interested in the Command Law." His head tilted toward a specific part of the arena, his voice goading, "Isn’t that right? Or do you wish to remain in hiding? In case you’ve forgotten…" Enel sniffed the air deliberately, a faint wolfish smile spreading across his face. "You can’t hide from me."

A dark, melodic laugh echoed from above, sending a chill through the arena. Silhouettes appeared, hovering in mid-air, their forms shrouded in a foreboding glow.

As they descended, it became clear—these were fallen angels, their wings white, tattered but majestic, veined with dark crimson lines that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Their features were sharp, almost ethereal, with an unnatural beauty marred by an aura of corruption. They wore white armor that shimmered with an unearthly light, their eyes glinting with cruel intelligence and amusement. Feathers fell from their wings like dying embers, burning faintly as they touched the ground.

The crowd watched in terror as the fallen angels floated above, their powerful auras clashing with that of the shadow demons. Known to be no one’s allies, not even to other demons, these fallen angels had a reputation of allegiance to nothing but their Morningstar.

They moved like predators, circling the arena with a predatory grace, their eyes trained on Enel, Nate, and the Demons.

Yet amidst the chaos, Enel’s expression was calm, calculating. He observed both the demons and fallen angels with a keen, unyielding gaze, his mind already at work.

There was a plan brewing—and for the first time, the glint in his eyes spoke of something far more dangerous than power alone. It spoke of a will unmatched.

After all, he was not of sufficient strength to battle these foes, but who said that he needed to fight by himself?

Enel lifted his head, staring up at the fallen angels with a thinly veiled contempt that nearly twisted his face into a sneer. But he masked it with a smirk, his tone deceptively casual. "Let me guess, you’re here for the treasure too." He glanced toward the demons, a sly gleam in his eye. "In that case, you can come get it—if they’ll let you." He pointed at the shadow demons, stirring the already tense air between the two dark factions.

As he spoke, the Command Law glowed brightly on Enel’s forehead, pulsating with raw energy. Without another word, he slammed his hand onto the ground, and the ancient runes embedded throughout the arena responded instantly. In a burst of blinding light, the people of the arena—the citizens, their fear and outrage still lingering—were whisked away, transported by Enel’s command to safety outside the conflict. Left behind were only his siblings, the elders, and the formidable forces of both demons and fallen angels.

Enel turned back to the angels, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I’m right here—catch me if you can." In a flash, he pivoted and sprinted forward, darting toward the edge of the arena as if attempting an escape.

The fallen angels immediately took to the air, light wings unfurling as they dove after him. The demons, not to be outdone, surged forward with their own twisted fury, their leader Belakor at the forefront, his eyes locked on Enel.

Belakor lunged, reaching out a clawed hand, so close he could feel the energy radiating off Enel’s body.

But just as his fingers brushed the edge of Enel’s cloak, Enel vanished, slipping through the air like a shadow.

The demon stumbled forward, momentarily stunned, eyes widening in frustration. He snarled and whipped around, only to see a pair of gleaming white wings hurtling toward him.

Instinctively, Belakor raised his hands, summoning streams of darkline magic from the shadows, twisting them into whips of black energy that lashed out toward the oncoming angel. The magic hissed through the air, crackling with the stench of burnt sulfur.

The angel’s eyes narrowed, and with a single graceful motion, he swept his wings forward. The tips of his feathers glinted like silver blades, slicing through the dark magic with ease. Each swing of his wings sent arcs of radiant energy slicing through the shadows, neutralizing Belakor’s attack as the two forces clashed.

The demons and angels had barely begun to focus on each other when Enel reappeared at the far end of the arena, watching the chaos with an almost amused glint. His plan was working—turning his enemies against each other, letting them fight his own battles.