Chapter 926: Metatron vs Orous
Hazon and Barkial frowned as they watched Vlad halt the march. Every muscle in their bodies screamed to press forward. All they wanted was to reach the tomb, seize the corpse of the Primordial God, and leave this cursed sacred dimension behind. Every step of the journey had been torment, and now their bodies were shattered—wounded to the core, sustained only by raw fury and stubborn pride.
For them, the sooner it ended, the better.
The Legendary Devils offered no objection because there were none left to speak. Each and every one of them, including the Sector Masters, had fallen along the way. One by one, chamber after chamber, they had been crippled by wounds and finally devoured by Vlad’s Eye of Gluttony. Their souls had become fuel, their memories reduced to fragments within the furnace of his being.
Vlad paid no mind to the smoldering resentment in the Devil Lords’ eyes. His face remained solemn, his grip firm upon his sword. He did not stop out of hesitation. His senses, augmented by the A.I. Chip, had pierced the veil of distortion cloaking the circle ahead. What he saw made his heart tremble.
Metatron stood within the vast circle, his golden radiance cold and merciless. At his side, ever silent, was the butler-like figure, Emanon. The Archangel was searching, probing for the way forward, when another presence stormed into the vast circle like a falling star.
It was Orous, the Master of Sector Three, his obsidian body wreathed in streams of solar fire, flanked by Moroir and Skeler. The instant Orous beheld the Archangel, shock flickered across his soul. The Archangel, by contrast, only sharpened his gaze. His expression remained unreadable, his will unshaken.
With a single motion of his hand, Metatron summoned hundreds of golden portals that spun into existence around him. Each glowed with destructive brilliance, and from each emerged a god-weapon forged to pierce worlds.
Orous reacted with equal swiftness, raising his arms and conjuring an ocean of golden fire. The infernal tide surged forward, crashing against the descending storm of divine weapons. For a moment, the battlefield became an impossible clash of creation and destruction.
But soon it was clear who held the advantage. Slowly, inexorably, Metatron’s god-weapons gained ground. They burned through the sea of flames, pushing closer and closer to the Devil Lord.
Orous snarled, his aura flaring. His hands trembled as he poured more power into the tide, but even he could feel it—he was being driven back.
Hatred ignited in Orous’s heart, and without hesitation he unleashed the most ruthless weapon at his disposal. Golden streams burst from his back and lanced into Moroir and Skeler.
The Devil Lords had no time to react. Their eyes widened in horror as the streams pierced their chests. Agony twisted their faces as they felt their very life force and souls being drained, devoured by the master they had summoned. Their screams echoed through the chamber, a blend of fury and despair.
Orous cared nothing for their suffering. Thrill rose in his heart as their essence surged into him, bolstering his strength. His aura swelled, flames roaring higher, power climbing toward its zenith.
"Take this, you pigeon!" Orous roared, his voice carrying across the battlefield.
From his sphere-shaped head erupted a storm of star-fire, blazing forward with the power to boil suns. It surged across the chamber like a cosmic tide, the very air igniting under its touch.
For the first time since entering the Sacred Dimension, Metatron frowned. A flicker of seriousness crossed his face as he regarded the incoming infernal blaze.
The Archangel’s eyes gleamed with killing intent. He raised his right hand and clenched his fist.
"Gigantomachia."
A single golden portal, larger than mountains, opened behind him. From it emerged a weapon of divine legend—a spear forged to end the race of giants, radiant with the wrath of Heaven.
"Spear of Athena!" Metatron’s voice thundered, carrying authority that shook the chamber.
The colossal spear descended like judgment incarnate. It tore through the flames of Orous, splitting the infernal tide in two and detonating everything in its path. It marched forward, unstoppable, its light blinding, its edge absolute.
Shock flickered across Orous’s face. He concentrated every ounce of his flames into his right arm, shaping a colossal burning limb, and thrust forward to meet the divine spear.
"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!"
The spear of the gods and Orous’s burning arm collided, detonating into an explosion so vast it consumed the entire circle. A storm of divine power and infernal fire raged outward, obliterating stone, cracking the bedrock, and filling the chamber with blinding radiance.
For a moment, everything was light and fury.
Then, with a mere wave of his hand, Metatron dispelled the chaos. The remnants of fire and golden energy were swept aside as though they had been smoke. His face was dark with anger. He gazed upon the battlefield, his eyes narrowing as he saw the Spear of Athena shattered, broken in half.
His wrath sharpened as he caught sight of Orous, already retreating, flashing through the distance of the vast circle. The Devil Lord’s body smoked with burns, yet his defiance burned hotter than ever.
Metatron’s wings unfurled, blazing with divine power. With a flash, he surged forward, golden light trailing behind him like a comet of vengeance.
Emanon followed in silence, his presence as cold and relentless as shadow.
From the shadows of the labyrinth, Vlad forced himself to breathe evenly, though his chest rose and fell like a drumbeat of thunder. He had seen it all through the A.I. Chip’s scan. The battle had lasted less than five seconds, yet the destructive power unleashed in that instant was greater than anything he had ever witnessed.
Had he been there—had he been caught between the two—he would have been obliterated. No trick, no law, no regeneration would have saved him. The duel between Orous and Metatron was a battlefield far beyond his current reach.
But retreat was no longer an option.
The Nightmare Universe’s kin still walked at the Archangel’s side. Whatever plan it pursued could not be allowed to succeed.
"I cannot move forward while worrying about being stabbed in the back," Vlad muttered under his breath, his killing intent rising like a storm.
As his rage condensed, two more hollow eye sockets opened upon his forehead.