A radiant light, pure and sacred, descended like a divine judgment.
It dispelled all darkness within the decrepit church, driving away the filth that had festered there for years. The gloom that had blanketed the interior moments ago evaporated in an instant beneath the brilliance, transforming the once-ominous sanctuary into a hall of divine punishment.
For the demons that had taken shelter here, the light was a nightmare incarnate.
The Witch Heart Demon and the Wind Demon recoiled in agony as the light touched them. Their skin erupted in grotesque blisters as though boiling water had been poured over their flesh. Putrid black blood oozed from the sores, hissing as it hit the stone floor.
"Damn it!" the Witch Heart Demon howled, his voice laced with venomous pain. A dense cloud of corrosive black smoke exploded outward in self-defense, enveloping him like a shield.
From behind the veil of toxic fog, the Wind Demon's eyes widened in realization. He recognized that aura—cold, sacred, and terrifying.
"It's you…" he muttered, panic creeping into his voice. "The woman in Basai Town… You're the Goddess of Judgment!"
Years ago, in the remote town of Basai, the Wind Demon had orchestrated a horrific massacre. His plan had nearly succeeded, but at the last moment, a mysterious woman clad in black and wearing a V-shaped mask had intervened. He had only seen her from afar, and her current form—armored in black without the signature mask—looked different. But that aura was unmistakable.
The Witch Heart Demon, hearing the Wind Demon's gasp of recognition, snarled with fury. His already-twisted face, now further deformed by burns and festering sores, contorted into something utterly monstrous.
"You—damn you!" he roared. "You destroyed everything! My perfect plan! My sacrifice!"
The black magic surrounding him surged in response to his rage. Ancient demonic incantations echoed from his throat, sending tremors through the earth. The Wind Demon flinched, stunned by the intensity.
The Witch Heart Demon was unleashing power far beyond normal. If he continued, his actions would surely draw the attention of either humans or Mephisto himself.
Has he truly lost control just to kill this woman? the Wind Demon thought, anxious.
But Bella—known to some as the Goddess of Judgment—did not stand idly by while her enemy chanted.
She acted.
Only a few meters separated her from the Witch Heart Demon. She stepped forward, her black-metal boots crushing the wooden floor beneath her.
BOOM!
A sonic boom erupted from her step, sending shattered pews flying through the air. Dust, debris, and splinters filled the church like a storm. In a heartbeat, Bella launched forward like a cannonball.
With speed that defied reason, she crossed the distance and slashed at the Witch Heart Demon with her Black Oath of Victory, a massive sword glowing with destructive light.
WHOOSH—BOOM!
The golden arc of energy that followed the blade was cataclysmic.
It tore through the town beyond the church, a tsunami of power ripping apart everything in its path—crumbling houses, dead trees, abandoned cars. Nothing was spared.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions echoed like thunderclaps across the ghost town. The church's ancient wooden cross was hurled skyward, then impaled into the earth upside down like a grim monument.
The battlefield was now consumed by swirling smoke and settling ash.
"Aaarghh! CURSE YOU, HUMAN!"
The agonized screech sliced through the air like a jagged blade. It was no longer a cry of anger—it was the wailing of a broken, bleeding animal.
A dark figure emerged from the cloud of debris, staggering and clutching what remained of his body. It was the Witch Heart Demon.
Once a proud, sinister figure clothed in elegance, now he was reduced to a half-shattered shell. His upper body was all that remained visible. His lower half was lost in a thick mist of black smoke that hissed as it dripped burning blood onto the earth.
Each droplet sizzled and corroded whatever it touched.
His pain was overwhelming.
His face was twisted and swollen, his facial features distorted as if they were melting under his rage. And yet, it was not the physical pain that terrified him most—but the looming sense of death.
The son of Mephisto—once a calculating, smug mastermind—was reduced to this.
His cunning had always protected him. He never fought on the front lines, always pulling strings from the shadows. Injury had been a foreign concept to him.
But now?
Now he was suffering.
And worse—he was afraid.
His glowing red eyes locked on the silhouette emerging from the ruined church. Bella, the armored executioner, stood beneath the moonlight with her enormous black sword resting on one shoulder.
Even the Witch Heart Demon's corrupted soul recognized the danger. That sword didn't just hurt his body—it attacked his soul.
That power… it's like holy light. If that last slash had been just a bit closer... I would have been annihilated.
Hatred bubbled in him like magma.
But that ancient demonic instinct for self-preservation kicked in.
Run.
He didn't hesitate.
Like a shadow fleeing from sunlight, the Witch Heart Demon transformed into a thick plume of black smoke and fled into the night sky.
Cowardice? Perhaps.
But in Hell, survival trumps honor. There is no shame in running—only shame in dying.
Yet...
SHINK!
A black blade pierced the sky.
SWOOSH!
The sword sliced through the fleeing smoke and speared the Witch Heart Demon in the chest, sending his mangled body careening backward.
CRACK!
His body slammed into the fallen wooden cross that once crowned the church, now impaled deep into the ground.
And like a twisted mockery of holy iconography, the demon was crucified.
One arm hung limp. His other clawed desperately at the black sword, trying to pull it free.
But the moment his fingers touched the hilt, a searing hiss erupted.
Zzzzzzt!
His charred hands recoiled in agony, fingers blackening and smoking.
He tried again. The same result.
His demonic flesh was burning away like coal.
But he didn't stop. Because now, he felt it—his life was draining.
The Black Oath of Victory, forged for Bella by the dwarven kingdom, was no ordinary weapon. It was engraved with hundreds of enchantments, many of them designed specifically to target and destroy dark beings. Among them was one from the famed enchanter Nonuo, a master of anti-dark magic.
This sword didn't just cut flesh—it seared the soul.
It was tailored to channel Bella's power and stored her magic like a reservoir. When unleashed, it became a beacon of divine destruction.
The fact that the Witch Heart Demon still clung to life was testament only to his royal bloodline. Any other demon would have been reduced to ash upon the first touch.
But even his blood could only delay the inevitable.
Step by step, Bella emerged from the rubble of the church. Her armor gleamed under the broken moonlight. Her cape fluttered gently behind her, streaked with ash and holy light.
Her boots crunched on scorched earth and shattered glass.
The scene was surreal: a ruined church, a shattered town, a demon nailed to a crucifix, and a black-armored knight calmly walking through it all.
She did not speak.
She did not gloat.
She simply looked up at the pinned demon with cold, unwavering eyes.
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This was judgment.
This was retribution.