When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!
Only I can summon those!
Chapter 9 : the four Demon kings!
Kieth stood in the center of the shattered battlefield, the triumphant roar of the human alliance echoing around the ruins of Kurakabe. His suit's blue repulsor glow was the only bright light in the smoke-choked air. He was preparing to engage the demoralized remnants of the demon army when the ground suddenly stopped shaking beneath him—and then began to tremble again, with a deeper, more ominous pulse.
The human cheers died instantly, replaced by a paralyzing silence.
Kieth's gaze snapped to the horizon. Four massive shapes plummeted from the bruised, purple sky, descending not with the uncontrolled trajectory of cannonballs, but with the calculated, heavy grace of falling mountains.
THWUMM!
They landed directly in front of him, the combined impact tearing new, deep fissures into the already ravaged earth. Lava geysered from the cracks, and a shockwave of raw, malignant mana slammed into Kieth's armor, momentarily flickering his power readings.
Standing before him were the Four Demon Kings, their presence eclipsing the fear Kurakabe had ever inspired.
* To the far left stood Aamon, the Demon King of Carnage (North), his gargantuan frame armored in jagged black metal, his face a mask of brutal, anticipatory excitement.
* Next was Azazel, the Demon King of Cruelty (South), a whip-thin figure whose shadow seemed to writhe with silent pain, a chilling, pleasure-filled grin stretching across his pale, aristocratic face.
* In the center pulsed Astaroth, the Demon King of Fury (West), a churning vortex of pure, uncontrolled rage, surrounded by a volatile aura of red and black lightning that instantly incinerated the ground around him.
* Finally, on the right was Mephistopheles, the Demon King of Incarceration (East), shrouded in dark, complex robes, his eyes glowing with an intelligent, calculating malice that promised a fate far worse than death.
Kieth, inside the cockpit of the smoking, battle-worn suit, felt the air sucked from his lungs. The sensors in his HUD screamed warnings that transcended mere physical threat; they felt like a spiritual shriek. He instinctively raised his glowing gauntlets.
Kieth's external speakers crackled. "Oh, boy."
A low, calm voice, a synthesized whisper from the suit's operating system, answered in his helmet's internal comms:
[METATRON CHIM IN] "You gonna ask?"
"Ask what?!" Kieth mentally retorted, his palms sweating inside the gauntlets.
[METATRON CHIM IN] "Which one is the one who enjoys capturing and long-term misery? Just so you know which direction to not get punched into."
It was Aamon, the one of Carnage, who broke the suffocating silence. He tilted his massive head, his voice a gravelly, delighted boom that made the Hulkbuster's chassis vibrate.
"Searching for fun?!" Aamon roared, slamming a clawed fist against his own chest plate, the sound like a continent shifting. "I am happy to provide! The appetizer was delicious, but the main course has arrived to savor your despair!"
Astaroth's rage flared, his lightning aura sparking. "WE WILL SCATTER THE DUST OF THAT METAL CAN ACROSS TEN THOUSAND WORLDS! WE WILL HAVE VENGEANCE FOR KURAKABE!"
Azazel merely chuckled—a dry, rasping sound like bones grinding together—and took a small, almost polite step forward. "Oh, no, brother. No mere vengeance. Cruelty is a dish best served slowly. I, for one, would love to see what little spark still remains when we are done breaking him."
Mephistopheles didn't move, but his voice, deceptively silken and calm, wrapped around Kieth like an icy chain. "The time for toys and games is over, little hero. Your performance was adequate, but now you face true power. Surrender, and I guarantee a most exquisite cage."
Kieth took a deep, shuddering breath, locking his suit's servos. His armor integrity was at 75%. His energy core was already taxed. Four simultaneous threats. Four Demon Kings.
"Alright, Metatron," Kieth said, his voice now steel, overriding the terror. "New plan. We're on 'Run Away and Die Another Day' mode, or are we going for 'Take One Down With Us'?"
[METATRON CHIM IN] "Considering they just called you the main course, I suggest you aim for the one whose name means 'Carnage' first. The others look like they enjoy foreplay."
Kieth ignored the chilling voices, focusing entirely on Aamon, the one who sought immediate Carnage. If he was going to die, he'd take the brute with the biggest target profile first.
"Metatron! Give me everything! Max power to thrusters and all defensive systems! Let's show the cannibal what an actual knuckle sandwich tastes like!" Kieth screamed.
The Hulkbuster-like suit roared to life, its reactor core spiking. Blue repulsor light flared from every seam and thruster port. Kieth didn't back down; he initiated a full, impossible charge directly at Aamon.
WWRRROOOMMM!
Aamon roared back in challenge and met the charge. The Demon King's massive, black-iron fist collided with Kieth's armored gauntlet.
CRACK-THOOM!
The impact was cataclysmic. Kieth's suit, already damaged, was driven back twenty yards, carving a trench in the earth. The [ARMOR INTEGRITY] plummeted to 55%. Kurakabe's punch was a tap compared to this.
Before Kieth could recover, Astaroth, the Demon King of Fury, appeared in a blink, his form a blur of red lightning. He didn't punch; he grabbed. His superheated hands clamped onto the Hulkbuster's already weakened chest plate and leg joint.
"RIP HIM!" Astaroth shrieked, his voice pure, volatile static.
KRRRKKK-SSHHRRRAAANNKK!
The Hulkbuster's armor groaned in agony. Metal twisted and tore, unable to resist Astaroth's furious, concentrated mana. [ARMOR INTEGRITY: 40%] The molten fissure Kurakabe had started widened into a critical, glowing seam.
Kieth fired twin repulsor blasts point-blank into Astaroth's torso, managing to force the Demon King back with a desperate cry of pain.
But the moment of respite was immediately filled by Azazel, the Demon King of Cruelty. He didn't attack physically. Azazel merely lifted a slender, black-nailed finger. A wave of sickening, invisible force—pure psychic agony mixed with soul-searing cold—slammed into the suit.
Inside the cockpit, Kieth screamed, clutching his head. The HUD blazed with nonsensical error codes, his consciousness briefly overwhelmed by visions of the human alliance being flayed and tortured. The suit's motors twitched erratically as Azazel toyed with his mind and the suit's complex electronics.
[METATRON CHIM IN] "Psychic attack! Stabilize! The South King is prioritizing misery over destruction!"
During that crucial second of incapacitation, Mephistopheles, the King of Incarceration, moved. Without a word, he conjured three massive, shimmering black chains from the ground. They wrapped around the Hulkbuster's limbs like titanic pythons, locking the suit in a vice grip of pure binding magic.
"End this charade," Mephistopheles commanded, his voice cold and final.
The four kings pressed their attack simultaneously. Aamon delivered a brutal volley of blows to the head and shoulders. Astaroth hammered the suit's back with bursts of electrical energy. Azazel continued his crippling psychic assault. Mephistopheles tightened the magical chains, crushing the metal.
CRREEEAAAASHHH!
The Hulkbuster's massive, beautiful frame twisted into scrap. The main reactor containment failed. [CRITICAL: CORE BREACH]. The suit went dark, its blue glow extinguished in a plume of dying, superheated steam and sparks. The four kings had ripped apart the machine.
"TIN CAN DESTROYED!" Astaroth howled in triumph, kicking the crumpled wreckage.
Azazel peered down at the twisted mass of metal, a look of disappointment on his face. "How vulgar. The suffering was too brief. Where is the pilot?"
Mephistopheles frowned. "I sense a residual mana signature, faint, but still… human."
Just as Aamon prepared to smash the cockpit for the final kill, a sudden, blinding flash of golden-red light erupted from the interior of the wreckage.
WOOOSH!
A slender, highly advanced figure launched itself out of the collapsing Hulkbuster shell. It was Kieth, not crushed or dead, but clad in a second, infinitely more agile and sophisticated suit of armor—the legendary, nanotech-powered Mark 85 Iron Man armor, its gold and crimson plating already fully formed and operational.
Kieth hovered twenty feet above the Demon Kings, the Mark 85's arc reactor pulsing with a vibrant, fierce light. He rotated his wrists, the repulsor emitters charging instantly.
He looked down at the four Demon Kings, his voice, clear and sharp through the new suit's speakers, ringing with pure adrenaline and rage.
"That was close." Kieth's helmet eyes narrowed. He looked at the smoking wreck of his Hulkbuster—his "knuckle sandwich machine"—and his voice dropped to a dangerous snarl. "Now it's pay back time!"
The air crackled with hostility. The four Demon Kings stared up at the sleek, golden-red Mark 85 armor, their confidence momentarily fractured by Kieth's sudden escape.
Aamon recovered first, his molten eyes blazing. "A trick! A smaller cage! No matter, it burns just as well!" He lunged, a massive, crushing blow aimed at the comparatively fragile-looking Mark 85.
Kieth was faster. He deployed the suit's back-mounted repulsors, dodging the blow with a blinding lateral thrust that left a shimmering gold streak in the air. The Mark 85 was an acrobatic phantom compared to the Hulkbuster's brute force.
"You want fast? You got fast, big boy!" Kieth's repulsor beams, focused and intensified by the new suit, slammed into Aamon's shoulder. The Demon King roared in pain—the strike hadn't penetrated, but it had staggered him.
Then, the full, coordinated might of the Kings descended. Astaroth covered the ground in a carpet of volatile lightning, forcing Kieth to ascend. Azazel cast wide-net psychic anchors, attempting to snag Kieth's mind and paralyze the suit. Mephistopheles began weaving intricate binding spells that shimmered like black nets in the air, creating a death trap of mystical restraints.
Kieth weaved through the attacks, firing rapid, targeted repulsor blasts, but he was alone, outnumbered, and playing defense against beings of pure malice and immense power. His advanced suit was taking hits—a glancing blow from Astaroth's lightning, a near-miss from one of Mephistopheles's chains. The Mark 85's [ARMOR INTEGRITY] stabilized at 95%, but his energy consumption was spiking.
"Metatron, they're boxing me in! I can't sustain this many simultaneous attacks!"
[METATRON CHIM IN] "Confirmed. Odds of survival: low. Initiating calculated retreat parameters—"
Suddenly, four distinct, powerful surges of energy—not demonic, not mechanical, but heroic—slammed into the perimeter of the battlefield.
KRA-SHING!
Four figures landed in quick succession, each surrounded by a burst of colored light and impact energy. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their stances radiating aggressive readiness, wearing suits far different from Kieth's.
First was Josh, clad in a sleek black and green suit, its visor shaped like a stylized beetle. Next, Vismond, his armor a brilliant metallic blue, covered in subtle, flowing ridges. Cain stood strong in a fiery red and silver suit, his chest armor adorned with a distinct lion emblem. Last was Chris, in pure white and gold armor, looking more streamlined and swift.
They were Kieth's friends, and they were all clad in suits reminiscent of the legendary Masked Riders.
Josh raised a gauntlet, his voice booming with infectious confidence. "Need a hand, brother?!"
Kieth risked a second of distraction, an enormous grin splitting his face inside the helmet. "You guys are fashionably late, but I'll take it!"
The four Demon Kings paused, their attention torn between the elusive golden suit and the quartet of new, energetic arrivals.
Aamon snarled, assessing the new threats. "More human vermin! You all simply rush to your deaths!"
Astaroth merely bellowed and unleashed a wide-area burst of molten fire.
A New Generation of Heroes
The four riders moved as one. Josh initiated a powerful Jump Kick, a spinning maneuver that deflected the brunt of Astaroth's fire. Vismond, with impossible speed, zipped around Aamon's legs, laying down shimmering Blue Energy Mines. Cain roared, extending a massive Red Energy Claw that slashed a deep furrow into the ground, cutting off Azazel's advance. Chris fired a barrage of White Energy Bolts from a mounted shoulder cannon, pinning Mephistopheles in place.
The tide of the battle hadn't turned, but it had stabilized. It was now five heroes against four Demon Kings.
Inside the Mark 85, Kieth's HUD lit up with a final, momentous notification.
[METATRON CHIM IN] "External power draw from allied hero mana signatures registered. GUNDAM SUMMON IS NOW OPERATIONAL. You can summon them again."
Kieth looked at the four Kings, at his four friends buying him precious seconds, and at the smoking wreckage of the Hulkbuster. His repulsors charged to maximum.
"Hot damn," Kieth muttered, his voice full of the fighting spirit that had just defied death. He activated the external speakers again, his voice ringing with pure, unrestrained menace.
"Just what I'm waiting for!"
Kieth threw his arms wide. From the heavens above, five immense, mechanical silhouettes, their metallic hulls scarred but their energy cores blazing, began their descent—the heroes' last-ditch, ultimate war machines. The sky was about to shatter again.
To be continued..