Every demon in the reception hall stared at Azrael with mounting confusion, their expressions shifting from curiosity to growing unease. Only the ancient demon remained unmoved, his weathered features betraying no surprise at the unfolding revelation.
"You are not the butler of the Zhu family," the old man stated with quiet certainty, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.
The words carried the weight of absolute conviction rather than mere suspicion. He had lived too long and seen too much to be fooled by surface appearances, especially when survival instincts honed over millennia screamed warnings about the predator hiding among them.
In response to his declaration, Azrael allowed Pride's shapeshifting disguise to dissolve like melting wax. His borrowed features flowed and reformed, revealing his true human appearance beneath the demonic facade. The transformation was seamless yet deeply unsettling, speaking of capabilities that transcended normal biological limitations.
Simultaneously, his assembled cards materialized around him with practiced precision, Artoria in her pristine white armor, Luffy with his rubber frame radiating contained energy, Yoriichi with his hand resting casually on his zanpakutō's hilt, and Unohana Retsu maintaining her serene smile despite the gathering tension.
The sight of such a diverse and powerful collection rendered every demon present speechless. Their minds struggled to process the implications of what they were witnessing, an infiltrator whose capabilities extended far beyond anything they'd anticipated.
"Since Kael's elimination, you've been operating within our sanctuary," the old man continued with grim acknowledgment. Though his words carried the structure of a question, his tone conveyed absolute certainty about the timeline of deception.
Without waiting for confirmation, he turned his withering gaze toward the Zhu family's leadership. "If it weren't for you two fools and your constant internal scheming, his presence might have remained undetected indefinitely."
The accusation struck like a physical blow, highlighting how their political maneuvering had created the very vulnerabilities their enemy had exploited. Originally, the ancient demon had believed Kael's death represented a contained incident with manageable consequences. The reality was far more devastating, their infiltrator possessed shapeshifting abilities that rendered traditional security measures completely obsolete.
In the span of mere hours, this surface-dweller had successfully impersonated at least three different identities, penetrating their deepest defenses while gathering intelligence that could destroy everything they'd built.
The Zhu family patriarch and his son exchanged horrified glances as understanding dawned. Neither could comprehend how their carefully planned political maneuver had transformed into an existential catastrophe.
The young master's face went ashen as the full scope of his vulnerability became clear. During their private meeting in the study, this creature had been close enough to kill him without resistance. The realization that he'd been completely at the mercy of someone whose true nature he couldn't even detect sent terror coursing through his veins.
The old man's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he studied Azrael's confident posture. "It really is you outsiders," he said with bitter recognition. "The surface-dwellers have finally found us."
His voice rose with sudden fury as tactical assessment gave way to outrage. "But you dare display such arrogance while operating alone?!"
The challenge echoed through the reception hall like a declaration of war. Immediately, every demon present responded to their leader's call, spiritual pressure erupting from their positions as they prepared coordinated assault.
The chamber filled with crackling energy as magical techniques activated simultaneously. Claws extended, fangs gleamed, and supernatural abilities manifested in preparation for overwhelming their isolated opponent.
Unfortunately for their ambitions, they had gravely underestimated their target's defensive capabilities.
"Bakudō #81: Dankū."
Unohana's voice carried clearly through the chaos, her incantation delivered with the precise timing of someone who had mastered such techniques across centuries of combat. A massive transparent barrier materialized before Azrael's position, its crystalline surface gleaming with supernatural resilience.
The demons' concentrated assault struck the spiritual wall with devastating force, their combined techniques creating explosions that shook the underground complex's foundation. Yet despite the tremendous impact, the barrier remained perfectly intact, an immovable obstacle that rendered their most powerful attacks completely ineffective.
The old man's pupils contracted with shock as recognition dawned. "This level of defense..."
The sight triggered memories he'd spent decades trying to suppress. Before their current desperate circumstances, his clan had been a proud and powerful civilization. They'd commanded respect throughout their realm, their warriors feared across multiple dimensions.
That golden age had ended when the surface-dwellers arrived.
These strange beings from the outer world possessed abilities that defied conventional understanding. Where his people required enormous effort to manifest supernatural techniques, the outsiders wielded such power with casual ease. It often took multiple veteran warriors to match a single enemy, and even then victory was far from guaranteed.
The defensive barrier before him exemplified everything he'd learned to fear about these creatures. The sheer efficiency with which it had been deployed, the absolute nature of its protection, it spoke of a power system his people could never hope to match through conventional means.
"Attack with everything you have!" he roared, desperation creeping into his voice despite his attempts at authoritative command. "We cannot allow him to escape with what he's learned!"
But even as his subordinates responded to the desperate order, the old man felt the cold touch of inevitability settling over his heart. They were no longer the hunters in this scenario, they had become the prey.
Across the chamber, Azrael's expression shifted into something approaching predatory amusement. "I've been waiting for you to deploy your trump cards," he said with dark satisfaction. "What exactly are you waiting for?"
Before the old man could process the implications of that ominous question, movement from Azrael's formation drew every eye in the chamber.
Artoria stepped forward with fluid grace, her hand closing around the hilt of a blade that seemed to pulse with inner light. Despite the makeshift nature of her current weapon, a simple training sword rather than the legendary Caliburn, the spiritual energy gathering around her spoke of power that transcended material limitations.
"Caliburn!" she declared, her voice carrying the authority of someone born to command legends.
Golden radiance erupted from the blade with intensity that rivaled the sun itself. The brilliant light pierced through the underground chamber's ceiling with devastating force, carving through stone and earth as if they were paper.
The entire subterranean complex began to tremble as the massive beam of concentrated energy continued its destructive ascent. Rocks rained down from the damaged ceiling while structural supports groaned under the stress of supernatural forces they were never designed to withstand.
"Stop her! Stop her now!" The old man's voice cracked with terror as he watched their sanctuary being systematically destroyed. Despite his decades of experience and accumulated wisdom, he found himself powerless to prevent the catastrophe unfolding before his eyes.
The other demons needed no encouragement, they could see their underground refuge collapsing around them. Multiple figures launched themselves toward Artoria with desperate courage, their survival instincts overriding any tactical considerations about facing such overwhelming power.
Unfortunately, their Bronze and low Silver-level capabilities proved laughably inadequate against the might of the Sword of Promised Victory. The golden beam carved through their defensive techniques like a hot blade through butter, its purifying light rendering their dark magic completely ineffective.
Even Meng Po, one of the underworld's most formidable entities, had been utterly destroyed by this technique during Azrael's encounter with Crowley. These lesser demons stood no chance whatsoever against such concentrated divine power.
The massive column of light reached its peak before beginning its inevitable descent, carrying enough destructive force to reshape the landscape itself. The scorching heat preceded the beam's arrival, instantly vaporizing anything unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.
When the devastating attack finally concluded and the blinding radiance faded, silence settled over what remained of the reception hall like a funeral shroud.
Dozens of charred demon corpses littered the floor, their forms twisted into grotesque sculptures by the intense heat. The elegant furniture and expensive decorations had been reduced to ash and melted slag. Only one figure remained standing among the devastation, the ancient demon himself, his clothing torn and his body bearing numerous wounds that wept dark blood.
"You survived?" Azrael asked with genuine surprise, studying the old man's battered but living form. "Impressive."
The elderly demon opened his mouth and immediately coughed up a substantial amount of blood, his internal injuries clearly severe despite his continued consciousness. His spiritual pressure had dropped dramatically from its previous levels, suggesting whatever technique he'd used to survive had come at enormous cost.
"Some form of emergency defensive ability," Azrael diagnosed with clinical detachment. "Probably a one-time technique that sacrificed permanent strength for temporary protection."
He refused to believe that this ancient creature could have withstood Artoria's ultimate attack through simple durability. The laws of physics and spiritual energy didn't work that way, regardless of how powerful one's cultivation might be.
"Take advantage of his weakened state," he decided with tactical pragmatism.
Azrael prepared to order Unohana to finish their opponent with a Kurohitsugi, but suddenly frowned as his enhanced senses detected new complications. The moment his infiltration had been exposed, he'd extended his mental energy throughout the underground complex to monitor for additional threats.
Multiple spiritual signatures were now approaching their location at high speed, reinforcements that could dramatically complicate their tactical situation.
His thoughts raced through available options with lightning efficiency. Artoria's Caliburn had entered its twenty-four hour restoration period, temporarily removing his most powerful offensive capability from consideration. Without that devastating technique, his remaining cards would need to rely on conventional combat methods against unknown numbers of enemies.
The approaching demons might include additional Silver-tier threats or worse. While Azrael felt confident about facing reasonable opposition, charging blindly into an ambush seemed like unnecessary risk when strategic withdrawal remained viable.
"Discretion remains the better part of valor," he murmured, already implementing his extraction plan.
Using his mental energy manipulation, Azrael collected the materials that had condensed from the deceased demons' forms, thirteen Silver-level components of varying quality that would fund his advancement for months to come. Artoria efficiently gathered the scattered resources while his other cards prepared for immediate departure.
Pride's enhancement flowed across his form as muscular wings erupted from his enhanced frame. With powerful beats that stirred the ash-laden air, Azrael launched himself through the massive hole Caliburn had carved in the chamber ceiling.
Within moments, he was soaring through the underground complex's upper reaches, putting distance between himself and whatever reinforcements were converging on the destroyed reception hall.
As his black and red form disappeared into the shadows above, the sound of multiple impacts echoed from the ruined chamber below. Several demons landed among the devastation with the harsh whistle of rapid descent, their voices immediately filling the air with urgent questions.
"Ancestor!"
"What happened here?!"
"Who could have done this?!"
The overlapping inquiries painted a clear picture of shock and disbelief as the newcomers processed the scope of destruction that had been visited upon their leadership.
The ancient demon struggled to remain upright as he addressed his subordinates, his voice hoarse with pain and exhaustion. "Surface-dwellers," he gasped between labored breaths. "One of the outsiders infiltrated our sanctuary. Everything you see here... was accomplished by a single enemy."
He gestured weakly toward the charred remains scattered across the chamber floor. "Except for myself, every family head who attended tonight's gathering is dead."
Horror spread across the reinforcement demons' features as they processed this catastrophic intelligence. Their eyes moved from corpse to corpse, recognizing the blackened remains of individuals who had represented the backbone of their political structure.
Several demons cast nervous glances toward the massive crater overhead, their imaginations supplying vivid details about the attack that had created such devastation.
"That golden beam we witnessed from a distance," one demon said with dawning comprehension. "It came from here?"
The old man nodded grimly, confirming their worst fears about the enemy's capabilities.
"Perhaps the outsider cannot deploy such techniques repeatedly," another demon suggested with desperate optimism. "If they possessed unlimited access to that level of power, surely they would have launched additional attacks rather than withdrawing."
The ancient demon's bitter laugh crushed their hopes with ruthless efficiency. "While the technique cannot be used continuously," he explained with the weight of hard-earned experience, "the enemy showed no signs of significant exhaustion. Their power reserves remain largely intact."
His knowledge came from decades of studying these surface-dwellers and their incomprehensible abilities. Where demons of their realm treated ultimate techniques as desperate final measures that consumed everything they had, these outsiders wielded such power as standard operating procedure.
"Then what should we do, Ancestor?" one of the survivors asked with barely controlled panic. "How can we possibly defend against such overwhelming force?"
Blood trickled down the old man's weathered face as he stared at the gaping wound his sanctuary had suffered. "We wait for death," he said with flat acceptance. "We've known this day would eventually arrive, haven't we?"
The moment they had accepted service to that entity, every demon present had understood that their lives might be forfeit for purposes beyond their comprehension. They were pawns in a cosmic game whose rules they could barely understand, and pawns were ultimately expendable.
He had already given up any pretense of resistance. While the outsider had withdrawn temporarily, probably out of tactical caution rather than inability, it was only a matter of time before they returned to finish what they'd started.
Stunned silence greeted this admission of defeat from their supposed leader. The assembled demons had expected strategic planning or desperate countermeasures, not philosophical acceptance of inevitable destruction.
One of the younger demons broke the oppressive quiet with desperate defiance. "I refuse to wait here for death," he declared through gritted teeth. "I'll escape to the surface. There has to be some chance of survival out there."
Without waiting for permission or acknowledgment, he sprinted toward the exit passage, his footsteps echoing through the damaged chamber as he fled toward what he hoped would be safety.
Meanwhile, Azrael had completed a wide circling maneuver that brought him back toward the massive metal door he'd observed during his initial reconnaissance. His tactical mind had quickly identified this location as the optimal position for conducting the remainder of his mission.
The fortified gateway controlled the only known entrance to whatever lay beyond, making it a natural chokepoint where retreating demons would be forced to cluster. More importantly, the defensive positions there would provide excellent tactical advantages while preventing his opponents from coordinating large-scale counterattacks.
"Time to close the net," he murmured with predatory satisfaction as the metal barrier came into view.
The garrison stationed around the entrance appeared to be maintaining their standard watch rotation, suggesting news of the leadership's destruction hadn't yet reached the rank-and-file troops. Their ignorance would work perfectly for his planned ambush.
A terrifying smile spread across Azrael's features as Pride's enhancements made his appearance even more nightmarish than usual. Banking sharply, he descended toward the unprepared demon forces like a meteor carrying their doom.
BOOM!
The earth-shaking impact of his landing sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, creating a crater where he touched down before the astonished garrison. Dust and debris erupted skyward while the sound echoed through the underground complex with the force of thunder.
"What's happening?!"
"Enemy attack!"
"Form defensive positions!"
Chaos erupted among the demon troops as their training warred with the terror inspired by his otherworldly appearance. Dozens of Bronze and Black Iron-level demons scrambled to organize resistance, their varied forms creating a bizarre parade of supernatural soldiers.
"It's one of the surface creatures!" someone shouted with dawning recognition. "The same type that destroyed our homeland!"
"Several of our commanders went back to the gathering place earlier," another voice added with growing panic. "Could something have happened to them?"
The speculation was closer to the truth than they realized, though none would live long enough to have their fears confirmed.
"Kill the invader!" The bravest among them overcame their terror and charged forward, their battle cries echoing across the defensive positions as they sought to overwhelm their isolated opponent through sheer numbers.
But Azrael had positioned himself here for specific tactical reasons that extended far beyond simple geography. Watching the demon forces converge on his position, he activated a capability he'd been saving for exactly this scenario.
"Shinobu, I leave this to you," he called out with dark satisfaction.
A graceful figure emerged from the shadows at his side, the vampire princess whose beauty concealed appetites that transcended simple bloodlust. Her elegant form seemed almost delicate compared to the charging demon horde, but appearances in supernatural combat were invariably deceiving.
"At last," she purred with anticipation that made several demons falter mid-charge. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about me entirely."
Someone observing this scene might question the tactical wisdom of deploying a Bronze-level card against such overwhelming numbers. After all, what could a single vampire accomplish against dozens of armored demons backed by coordinated support?
The answer lay in the specific nature of Shinobu's abilities, particularly one trait that had been designed for exactly this type of scenario.
[Mystic Charm]: Entities below Silver-level cannot resist the vampire's supernatural allure and will willingly offer their lives as tribute.
The moment Shinobu's presence registered fully among the charging forces, the demon army's cohesion shattered like glass. Black Iron-level warriors stopped dead in their tracks, their weapons turning with mechanical precision toward their own vital points rather than their intended target.
Across the battlefield, gruesome suicide scenes began playing out with horrifying efficiency. Swords pierced hearts, claws opened throats, and magical techniques turned inward to destroy their own casters. The coordinated assault transformed into a massacre of self-destruction that left the surviving Bronze-tier demons paralyzed with terror.
"Monster! She's a monster!" The cries echoed across the killing field as the higher-ranked survivors watched their subordinates methodically eliminate themselves.
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" Those with sufficient spiritual strength to resist the charm broke ranks entirely, abandoning their weapons and fleeing toward the gathering place without looking back.
Azrael observed this rout with professional satisfaction while activating his Mark III armor's weapon systems. The integrated machine guns provided excellent target practice against the routing demons, their rapid-fire bursts cutting down fleeing figures with mechanical precision.
This represented one of the few opportunities he had to deploy his complete arsenal without restraint. Within the Empire of Aetherlight's borders, using Crimson Oath Society equipment would create complications he preferred to avoid. But here in an uncontrolled secret realm, such concerns were irrelevant.
As he methodically eliminated the scattered survivors, Azrael's enhanced senses detected a new spiritual signature approaching their position, a single figure whose power level immediately marked them as significantly more dangerous than the garrison troops.
"Someone's actually brave enough to investigate," he observed with anticipation. "Perfect timing."
Within moments, a demon clad in ornate armor appeared at the edge of the battlefield, his expression shifting from determination to horror as he processed the carnage spread before him.
Dozens of demon soldiers lay motionless around the metal gateway, their cause of death immediately obvious to anyone with battlefield experience. The systematic nature of their self-inflicted wounds told a story that chilled him to the bone.
"Welcome to the tomb I've chosen for you," Azrael's voice carried across the silent battlefield like a death knell, his words echoing off the metal barrier behind him.
The Silver-level demon spun toward the source of that menacing whisper, his eyes widening as they focused on the towering black and red nightmare studying him with predatory interest.
"You deserve to die!" he roared, fury overcoming terror as he charged toward Azrael with his weapon raised for a killing blow. Whatever had happened here represented an atrocity that demanded immediate vengeance.
Unfortunately for his noble intentions, the charging demon had made it barely halfway to his target when another voice interrupted his assault.
"Hadō #90: Kurohitsugi."
The massive black coffin materialized around the Silver-tier warrior with supernatural swiftness, its dark walls crackling with destructive spiritual energy. Countless phantom blades pierced through the enclosed space, each one carrying enough power to devastate normal defenses.
When the technique finally dissipated, the demon lay motionless on the ground, his armor shattered and his body bearing numerous wounds that leaked dark blood across the stone.
"Commendable courage," Azrael acknowledged as he approached the fallen warrior. "Unfortunately, this has become a one-way passage. Entry is permitted, but departure is strictly forbidden."
The irony wasn't lost on him. These demons had retreated to their underground sanctuary seeking protection from surface-dwelling threats, but their refuge had become a trap that would claim every life within its walls.
Extending his mental energy across the battlefield, Azrael began the systematic collection of materials from the deceased demons. The process yielded an impressive harvest that would have been impossible to obtain through conventional means.
"Such profitable troubles," he murmured while organizing the accumulated resources into manageable categories.
Most of the materials were Black Iron-grade components that offered limited utility for his current advancement needs. However, their sheer quantity represented substantial economic value when converted through trading networks. Among university students, such resources would generate considerable goodwill and useful connections.
The logistical challenge lay in transportation rather than value assessment. Traveling light had seemed prudent for infiltration purposes, but now he found himself unable to collect everything his victory had produced.
After gathering all Bronze and Silver-tier materials, Azrael selected only the highest-quality Black Iron components for extraction. The remainder would have to be abandoned, an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice to operational mobility.
"I absolutely must create a storage card when I return," he muttered while making his final selections. "Inventory management is becoming a critical limitation."
Despite such minor inconveniences, this expedition had already exceeded his most optimistic projections. The Black Iron and Bronze-grade materials alone were sufficient to purchase a modest estate in Pixar, while the Silver-tier components would fund his advancement for months.
The only disappointment lay in the quality distribution of Silver-level materials. Most were Blue or Green grade rather than the Gold-quality components he preferred. The ancient demon probably possessed the highest-grade resources, but pursuing him immediately after such a devastating technique seemed unnecessarily risky.
Still, the overall results had to be evaluated within proper context. This was supposed to be a training exercise for university students rather than a major military operation. The fact that he'd encountered so many Silver-level entities was already beyond normal parameters for solo assignments.
His material wealth would create new opportunities regardless of individual component quality. Whether through Wolfgang's trading network or Alice's academic connections, acquiring the specific resources for his next Silver-tier card was now simply a matter of negotiation rather than desperate accumulation.
"Now I wait," he decided with satisfaction, directing his cards to establish defensive positions around the metal gateway.
The remaining demons would either attempt to escape through this passage or launch counterattacks to reclaim their strategic position. Either scenario would bring them directly into his prepared killing field, where superior positioning and tactical preparation would compensate for any numerical disadvantages.
Over the next several hours, Azrael intercepted two additional Silver-level demons who attempted to flee through the controlled gateway. Unfortunately for their escape plans, Artoria's restored Caliburn technique eliminated both before they could mount meaningful resistance.
By the second day of his vigil, no demon dared approach the metal barrier that had become synonymous with death and destruction. The smart ones had either found alternative exits or were huddling in whatever hiding places the complex could provide.
Opening his eyes from extended meditation, Azrael rose to his feet with renewed purpose. "In that case, I'll come to you," he announced to the silent battlefield.
Storing all his cards and allowing Pride's enhancement to flow across his form, he launched himself skyward with explosive force. His destination was obvious, the gathering place where his enemies had clustered for their final desperate stand.
During his flight, he extended his mental energy to maximum range, ensuring no Silver-level demon would escape his attention. The systematic hunt that had begun with infiltration would conclude with complete extermination.
As the ruined gathering place came into view, Azrael's eyes lit up with predatory satisfaction. "Perfect. The survivors have gathered together, saving me the trouble of hunting them individually."
Banking sharply, he descended toward the underground complex with the whistling sound of air being torn apart by his enhanced velocity. The black and red meteor that carved through the sky carried death in its wake, and the demons below were about to discover exactly what that meant.
The final act of this deadly drama was about to begin, and Azrael intended to savor every moment of their destruction.