MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 620: Presence

Anthony’s palm swept across with blistering speed, and the Demon’s head ceased to exist.

Black blood, shattered bone, brain matter, and broken teeth rained onto the frozen desert, splattering against the ice and sand like grotesque paint upon a vast, unholy canvas.

The headless corpse toppled forward with a dull thud, lifeless before it struck the ground.

Then — it came.

The world froze.

It was as though time itself had halted, suspended in a moment of breathless anticipation. Whether this was from fear, reverence, or something far more primal, none could say, only that the flow of reality seemed to have paused.

Above, space shivered. At first, it quivered subtly, then shook more violently before it began to tremble with an ominous rhythm, as if resisting something trying to break through.

Then, at last, it shattered, splintering apart like fragile glass, unable to restrain the overwhelming force pressing against it.

From the rupture in reality, the void spilled forth, an abyssal chasm of infinite blackness. From within it, a crushing, almost godlike presence descended in an instant.

The weight of it struck without warning, halting every living thing, whether Human, Ant, Goat, Vampire, or even mighty Dragon, in their place. It mattered not what they were; all stood frozen, ensnared by an inescapable grip of raw dominance.

Then, the dying began.

Instantly, as though they were overfilled balloons, bodies erupted. They burst outward in horrific showers of blood and gore, unable to withstand the suffocating presence. Blood mist thickened the air, mingling with the stench of ruptured organs, shredded innards, and splintered bones.

The planet itself seemed to convulse within its orbit, yet, remarkably, not a single step had yet been taken from the void.

And then... a sound.

A single footstep echoed, crisp and deliberate.

Then another.

And another.

The steps sounded as though someone were walking on the very fabric of air itself. From the yawning portal, a figure emerged with an almost regal, unhurried grace.

A Demon.

She was tall, towering above seven feet, her presence an overwhelming contradiction of elegance and malice.

Her eyes glowed a deep, molten red, as though filled with fresh blood. A sinuous tail swayed behind her in an almost lazy rhythm, while two horns curved out from her forehead in dark, unholy symmetry.

Her skin was pale and flawless, as though she bathed daily in milk and honey, untouched by blemish or time.

The moment the world laid eyes upon her, her beauty seemed to ensnare them all. She was a demon, yes, but nothing about her form concealed her allure.

Her slender waist, her ample curves, the fullness of her chest, and the strength hidden in her thick, well-shaped thighs, each detail seemed crafted to command both fear and fascination.

And with her arrival, the already oppressive presence intensified a hundredfold. Natural disasters erupted across the planet, volcanoes belched fire, earthquakes rattled cities, storms brewed out of nothing, all seemingly without reason other than her existence.

One by one, knees buckled.

Every soul, be they battle-hardened soldiers, fearless adventurers, mercenaries of renown, or ordinary civilians watching the scene unfold through the StreamGhost livestream, collapsed to the ground, kneeling before her.

It was not choice, but compulsion, as though the world itself demanded reverence to this Demon Monarch.

A single presence had halted a worldwide war. Not through an army, not through words, but merely through existing. And the terrifying truth was that she had not even unleashed her aura yet. If she did, the Blue Planet itself would have shatter.

Every heart pounded. Every throat swallowed hard. Whoever she was, one truth was undeniable, humanity, and every other race present, was utterly doomed.

In the livestream chat, desperate comments streaked across the screen. Many still asked what was happening, their confusion and fear spilling out in frantic bursts of text, even as their own bodies knelt in submission.

The heads of every Racial Domain took to the skies in an instant. They understood immediately, a being on par with, or perhaps beyond, a Supreme Monarch had arrived.

And while they themselves bore the title of Monarchs, that did not make them all equals in strength.

From all corners, sonic booms split the air as they raced to the source, stopping exactly one kilometer away from the Demon Monarch.

Anthony’s gaze remained steady. He could feel the crushing weight of the Demon’s presence pressing down upon everyone, his allies, his subordinates, his teammates the world itself.

None were spared.

Yet a small smile tugged at his lips. His eyes found Vega, standing tall amidst the suffocating oppression. She did not bend, did not falter.

She stood as though this so-called Monarch were nothing more than an illusion, and as though, should she wish to leave, even this overwhelming entity could not stop her.

With that faint smile, Anthony moved. His form blurred forward, racing toward the leaders of the Racial Domains.

In barely a heartbeat, he was floating beside them, the only ones able to stand upright and meet the Demon Monarch’s gaze as the rest of the world remained on its knees.

No one greeted him. No one acknowledged his arrival. The weight of the moment was too great.

Then, she spoke.

”Who killed my pet?”

The voice was graceful. Sweet. Calm. Soothing in tone, yet unshakably unbothered, an unholy lullaby.

Her words did not merely echo; they traveled, reverberating across the entire planet.

Those watching online did not need to guess.

They knew.

The Demon’s dying words before Anthony’s strike had been clear enough.

The Racial Leaders, however, had no such certainty. So many lives had been erased in past hour that none could identify what ”pet” this Demon Monarch referred to.

And yet, they moved. Their combined presence swept outward like a vast protective cocoon, wrapping around the world.

Those who had been dying moments ago from the sheer force of her presence found relief.

The crushing weight eased; kneeling figures rose to their feet, drenched in cold sweat, lungs dragging in desperate gulps of air.

”Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first?” Aurelius Ignis, the Phoenix King, spoke at last, his tone utterly neutral.

”How rude of me,” the Demon Monarch replied with a soft, knowing smile. ”The name is Lilithra, Destroyer of Worlds. The one-hundredth Demon Monarch under the Demon King.”

The moment the words left her lips, every leader frowned, not at her name, nor her title, but at the final detail.

One-hundredth Demon Monarch.

Under a being known as the Demon King.

If she was the one-hundredth, then surely there were ninety-nine others before her.

Was the numbering based on strength? Or on the order in which they had pledged themselves to the Demon King?

Was there perhaps a one-hundred-and-first?

And who, truly, was this Demon King?

The questions burned hotter than any flame, lingering in the minds of all present.