MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 877: Not Ideals

Within the Abyss, where everything was either black or red, each hue representing the endless darkness and the ceaseless blood that flowed throughout this separate plane, a massive, colossal castle could be seen stretching endlessly toward the sky, as though attempting to pierce the heavens themselves.

Everyone already knew whom the castle belonged to. It was the stronghold of the Demon King, the ruler of the Abyss, the strongest Demon in existence, the oldest Demon known to all Demons, and the absolute sovereign whose name alone carried immeasurable weight.

Within the depths of the castle, the Demon King sat upon his throne with a calm, unreadable expression upon his face. His figure was seated with perfect posture upon a black throne carved from an unknown abyssal material, its surface faintly reflecting a crimson glow. His eyes were closed, as though he were deep in thought, or perhaps patiently waiting.

The hall in which he sat was vast beyond comprehension, its ceiling lost in shadow. Gigantic windows lined the walls, all of them open, allowing calm winds to flow gently through the hall, causing faint ripples in the dark banners that hung motionless otherwise.

Suddenly, a faint, shadowy figure appeared before the Demon King. There was no visible sign of movement, no distortion of space or sound, yet the figure had undoubtedly arrived. One moment, the space before the throne was empty; the next, it was not. The Demon King slowly opened his eyes, his crimson gaze settling upon the subordinate standing before him.

“So,” he spoke calmly, his voice low yet heavy with authority, “brief me on what you found out?”

His tone carried the effortless dominance of someone who had ruled for millennia, a being accustomed to absolute power and obedience, someone for whom hesitation and failure simply did not exist.

Without wasting even a moment, the shadowy figure began to explain. The information relayed was, for the most part, familiar, general intelligence regarding the Arcanis Galaxy and its various races, particularly their relationship with the Divinora Galaxy. As the report continued, the Demon King found himself growing increasingly shocked. The more he listened, the more his expectations were overturned, and the more the situation deviated from what he had previously considered trivial.

Naturally, the Demon King had long been aware of the gatherings held by the top races of the Arcanis Galaxy. Not just the most recent meeting, but even those that had occurred far in the past. However, he had never bothered to spy on them or listen in. In earlier ages, he had done so on occasion, but to someone of the Demon King’s caliber, it had proven to be nothing more than a waste of time. There was never any information useful to a being of his standing. As a result, he had eventually stopped paying attention to the affairs of the top races entirely, treating them no differently from lesser existences.

Even the Starborn Tournament was something he was aware of. While the majority of Demons knew nothing of it, the Demon King himself had never cared. The rewards were meaningless to him, utterly useless. There was no reason to involve himself in an event that offered nothing of value and benefited no one of true power.

One of his black-red claws slowly rose, a single finger tapping rhythmically against the armrest of his throne. His Demons had recently brought word of a battle between the races of the Arcanis Galaxy and a group of unknown white-winged beings. The moment he heard of it, he had ordered an immediate investigation.

‘A God, huh?’ he mused silently, a faint, amused laugh echoing within his mind. He had already concluded that whoever this so-called God was must be foolish, if not for anything else, then for daring to call themselves a God.

‘I need to meet him,’ his thoughts continued, ‘or at the very least, a Twelve-Winged Angel.’

Although he had already labeled the God as foolish, the Demon King was not arrogant enough to underestimate them. He knew that the being would be extremely powerful, and more importantly, cunning.

‘He has taken a step toward my goal,’ the Demon King thought, his red eyes slowly closing once more. ‘I need information.’

His thoughts snapped one after another, calculations stacking upon calculations, moving at speeds far surpassing even the most advanced supercomputers. The Demon King’s goal had always been the same, to leave this Galaxy. To him, the Arcanis Galaxy was nothing more than a prison, a vast cage that he had been trapped within for far too long. Until now, he had seen no viable path to escape it.

But now, Angels had crossed over.

That fact alone changed everything.

The Demon King needed to speak with this God, or at least with a Twelve-Winged Angel, to understand how such a feat had been accomplished. The method, the cost, the conditions, he needed to know all of it.

He was already aware that one of the Angels’ missions was to hunt down Demons. However, the Demon King did not particularly care. To him, Demons were infinite in number. Their deaths were meaningless unless their continued existence provided him with some form of benefit. Sentimentality had no place in his calculations.

As for the possibility of the God attacking him on sight simply because he was the Demon King, that too did not concern him. Reality was not some child’s fantasy tale where Evil and Justice clashed for moral reasons. The Demon King understood the true nature of the Galaxy. If the God stood to gain enough benefits, they would work with anyone, literally anyone. Even the Demon King himself would be acceptable.

Reality functioned on benefits, not ideals.

Although the Demon King was accustomed to taking whatever he desired by force, defeating his opponents outright and ignoring negotiations, he knew he could not afford to act that way in this situation. There were too many variables to consider, too many unknowns. A single misstep could cost him everything.

For now, he did not bother thinking about how he would meet this God. When the time came, he believed he would be capable of making it happen.

‘So many powerful individuals appearing within the Arcanis Galaxy,’ he mused silently. His thoughts briefly shifted toward Anthony, Lucian, and Aaaninja, lingering for just a moment before moving on.

His crimson gaze then lowered, focusing on a large injury upon his chest. It was not a physical wound. His outer body was flawless, untouched. However, deep within his internal essence, a long diagonal slash was etched permanently into his being, a mark left by none other than Klaus himself.

He had attempted to heal it countless times, employing every method he knew. All attempts had failed. Klaus had told him that the injury was permanent, an unhealable wound. The Demon King had not believed him at the time, though he now begrudgingly acknowledged the truth. Thankfully, his combat power remained unaffected.

‘I wonder…’ he thought slowly, a dangerous glint flickering through his mind, ‘if I could use that Human against this God.’

Although he was weaker than Klaus, he was still a Demon King. And when had a Demon King ever played fair?

Whether he could manipulate a man of that caliber was another question entirely. And whether he could even survive executing such a death-courting plan was yet another matter altogether.

______

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey everyone, thanks to y’all’s support and love, I was able to get this far and win an award. And the award… Well, it’s a Comic Adaptation. Yes, Cleaver of Sin, Asher Wargrave, the Tenth Sun will now be adapted into panels by the year 2026… Look forward to it.

Also, I should be in my country by the 23rd, so by the 24th, expect stable updates, and I will try making up all missed chapters before December runs out… Thanks for the love and support, and I hope you don’t stop, after all, we’ve stepped onto a bigger stage, and I need you now more than ever.

Thank you once more. Love y’all to the abyss and back.