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The clash tore the air. Power met power with a shriek of pressure, and the Demon King slid backward across the shattered flagstones. His face twisted, and he let out a harsh snarl.
“Is this how far you have fallen, gods?” he shouted toward the empty heavens. “I am the Demon King, and you are gods. If you mean to kill me, you should stake your lives and come yourselves!”
He struck the ground with his heel, fury crackling from him like heat.
“Then why?” he roared, “why did you hand your power to this outsider?”
He hurled a fist like a black star, and Ketal met it with the full sweep of his axe. In the past, every time their blows had met, the Demon King had forced Ketal back ten steps while yielding only five himself. There had always been a gulf between them—a difference in raw, unrelenting power that Ketal could never deny.
Not this time. The impact thundered through the world, and the ground itself buckled. The ruined castle groaned as the shattered plains of Hell folded like paper under the weight of their clash. Ketal met the blow head-on and did not give an inch. His wrist turned, the axe handle rolling smoothly through his palms as he guided the Demon King’s fist past him and slipped into the opening. His step bit into the ground, and the follow-through carved a sharp...
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