"But I must say you look very confident, Leon," phisto remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You do realize this is my world."
The demon king's words carried an air of authority, yet his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. Though confident in his dominion over Hell, phisto couldn't dismiss the unease creeping through him.
In Hell, phisto's strength was unparalleled. Unlike in the mortal realm, where dinsional shifts diminished his powers, here in his domain, his might was near-absolute. Leon, too, had crossed dinsions to be here, aning his power would face similar suppression. Logically, the gap between their strengths should favor phisto.
And yet, Leon's calm composure unnerved him. What gave this mortal such confidence?
Leon said nothing, his silent, unwavering gaze adding to phisto's mounting tension. The oppressive atmosphere pressed down on the demon king, who knew that rejection of Leon's demands would lead to an inevitable battle.
Internally, phisto seethed. He was the master of Hell, yet this human dared treat him with the condescension of a superior addressing a subordinate.
A glint of ferocity flashed in phisto's fiery eyes. But Leon, unshaken, had already anticipated it.
BOOM!
A monstrous burst of energy erupted from Leon, centered around his figure like a tidal wave of raw power. The sheer force cracked the ground beneath him and sent tremors through the air. The walls, floors, and ceiling of the demon's castle splintered under the pressure, unable to withstand the overwhelming might.
Caught off guard, phisto faltered montarily, the intense force rendering him briefly disoriented. But in the blink of an eye, he regained his composure—just in ti to face a golden-lit boot re milliters from his face.
Ti seed to freeze.
phisto's eyes widened in disbelief.
BOOM!
The golden strike connected with a deafening roar, sending phisto hurtling through his castle like a blazing cot. Walls crumbled, debris scattered, and the demon king's body tore through mountains and hills, carving a path of destruction millions of kiloters long before embedding itself in the side of a massive peak.
A crater thousands of ters wide ford where phisto landed, the impact shattering the landscape and sending dust and rubble skyward.
Slowly, phisto erged from the debris, his fiery aura flickering angrily. Hovering in the distance, Leon stood calmly in midair, his black trench coat and tousled hair rippling in the wind.
"So," phisto growled, his voice laced with fury, "you intended to start a war all along?"
Leon's voice was steady, carrying over the chaos. "I don't trust the promises of devils. I trust only in power."
phisto snarled, his rage exploding outward in a torrent of hellfire. The ground shook violently, and the air warped with heat as flas ignited across the desolate landscape. The inferno spread like a living thing, consuming everything in its path. These flas weren't ordinary—they burned not just flesh but also the soul, extinguishing life at its very essence.
Leon gazed down at the sea of fire without flinching, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Keisha," he murmured.
A chanical voice sounded in his mind. "Scanning subject: phisto. Height: six feet, six inches. Weight: three hundred and ten pounds. Estimated age: approximately two billion years. Power level: Sky Father tier."
The voice continued, delivering vital data. "Primary abilities: omnipotence within Hell's domain. Power is directly proportional to the domain's size and the number of souls tethered to it. Weakness: significant reduction in power if separated from Hell or its soul connection."
"How long will it take?" Leon asked, his tone calm.
"I can construct an anti-phisto space—a complete inversion of his domain—within sixty seconds."
"Begin," Leon commanded.
"Understood. Initiating anti-phisto space module. Countdown: sixty seconds."
The countdown began.
phisto's fiery eyes narrowed as he observed the subtle shift in Leon's deanor. Though furious, a growing unease gripped him, warning him to tread carefully.
"What are you doing?" phisto demanded, his voice tinged with suspicion.
Leon smirked. "Just waiting."
"Waiting for what?" phisto pressed, his anger montarily overshadowed by anxiety.
"Maybe for you to attack ," Leon replied, his tone light, almost mocking.
The unease clawing at phisto's core deepened. Sothing about this man's confidence was suffocating, and as each second passed, the sense of impending doom grew stronger.
Damn it!
Realizing the danger, phisto decided retreat was the only option. Pride ant little to him when his survival was at stake. In a flash, his form flickered, vanishing as he attempted to flee.
But Leon was ready. His aura, like an unyielding tether, locked onto phisto's presence. With a burst of golden light, Leon's figure blurred, tearing through space in pursuit.
In an instant, he was upon phisto, twisting his body midair and channeling his energy into a single, devastating strike.
BOOM!
The blow shattered the space around them, and Hell itself seed to quake under the sheer force of Leon's attack.
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