Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1396: The First Bout.

Demeter felt a sudden tug on her blouse, soft but insistent, like a vine seeking sunlight.

She glanced down to see their daughter—little Elara, nine years old with wild curls like her mother's and eyes sharp as her father's—clutching the fabric, tiny knuckles white.

Demeter knelt slightly, leaning in close. "What is it, sprout?"

Elara whispered, voice tiny in the vast void, "Mama... I'm scared."

The words hung there, fragile amid the glowing arena and the staring hosts. Demeter's heart twisted, but she smiled gently, patting her daughter's head with a hand that still smelled faintly of earth and wheat.

"Don't worry, love," she murmured. "Your daddy—Father Black—has everything under control. He's the smartest, strongest man in all the worlds."

Elara's gaze shifted, big eyes locking onto Father Black. "Daddy..."

Before the assembled angels, with their golden auras and unblinking stares, Father Black turned. His long white beard swayed as he crouched down, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He reached out, patting her head with the same casual affection he'd use to ruffle a hound's ears.

"Hey there, kiddo," he said softly, voice rumbling like distant thunder. "What's on your mind?"

Elara's fear melted a bit, replaced by a shy smile. "Daddy, are Uncle Perseus and Aunty Tomato really coming?"

He nodded, beard bobbing. "You bet. They wouldn't miss this for all the realms."

"And what about Godfather?" she pressed, twisting a finger in her hair.

Father Black chuckled low. "Him too. He's got our backs, always."

With that, he scooped her up effortlessly, placing her on his broad shoulders. Elara giggled, grabbing fistfuls of his robe for balance as her legs dangled on either side of his neck. She looked tiny up there, like a crown on a king, but her grin was fearless now.

Father Black straightened and, without a second glance at the stunned celestial ranks, strolled right into the rune-infused arena.

His boots—simple leather things, worn from a century of planning—crunched faintly on the shimmering white sand, even in the vacuum. The shadow runes from the hellbeast pulsed darker where he stepped, as if acknowledging their master.

Gabriel hovered nearby, tapping that trumpet at his side, mouth slightly agape, as if he was contemplating something.

His wings twitched once, feathers ruffling in silent disbelief.

'Who in all creation brought their daughter to what might be the apocalypse? A child, perched like a mascot, at the edge of cosmic war? It was... absurd. Human. Utterly baffling.'

The other Earth fighters followed in his wake—Athena in her phoenix armor (feathers shifting like living flames, helm crested with a golden beak that gleamed under the arena's holy lights), Kanada with her terrifying holiness (skin like polished marble veined with shadows, eyes that promised salvation or doom in equal measure), King Alexander striding with his eternal conqueror's swagger, and the hundred young warriors trailing behind, auras buzzing with blue-sun energy harvested from orbital crystals. A few devils slunk along too, horns curling, smirks wide.

Some of the humans sneered openly at the angels as they passed—lips curled, eyes defiant. "Pretty wings, huh? Hope they don't melt."

"Look at 'em staring—like they've never seen real guts before."

For a split second, Gabriel was truly flabbergasted. What had these mortals been fed on Earth these past hundred years? Demon milk? Holy steroids?

They strutted into potential death like it was a schoolyard brawl, no fear, just fire in their gaze.

Regardless, the angels' avatars moved in after.

They were thousands of human-sized clones gliding silently, wings folded, golden auras syncing in perfect harmony.

They took their seats on one half of the cloud-tiered benches, faces serene masks of judgment.

The humans claimed the opposite side, sprawling out with casual energy—some stretching, others cracking knuckles, a few even munching on energy bars pulled from pockets.

Gabriel floated to the central platform, his massive form casting a warm glow over the sand. He raised his voice, resonant as a choir.

"Each bout begins now and ends only when one party yields... or perishes."

He waved a hand, and from the angels' side, a single avatar detached. It flew down gracefully, landing on the battlefield with barely a whisper.

Unlike the multi-winged archangels, this one bore only a single pair—broad and feathered in soft silver, fluttering gently. In its grip swung a massive hammer, easily twice the avatar's size, head forged from star-metal that hummed with latent thunder, handle wrapped in glowing script that promised divine smiting.

This was Heaven's representative for the first rank: the lesser demon equivalent, a being of raw, unyielding force.

Gabriel turned his burning gaze to Father Black, who still had Elara giggling on his shoulders.

"Will you send forth your champion, Regent?"

Father Black nodded once, slow and certain, then turned to the little girl still perched on his shoulders.

"Elara," he said, voice warm but firm, "you're up. Go out there and make me proud."

Elara's eyes widened for half a heartbeat, then she nodded with the serious determination only a nine-year-old can muster. She slid down his arm like it was a playground pole, landed lightly on the shimmering sand, and straightened her simple green dress—plain cotton, hem a little muddy from helping in the garden that morning. She brushed off invisible dust, squared her tiny shoulders, and marched straight to the center of the battlefield.

The arena went dead quiet.

Gabriel's trumpet nearly slipped from his fingers. His perfect composure cracked; wings flared in genuine shock. "This… this is a jest," he said, voice actually cracking. "Regent, remove the toddler from the field at once. This is not amusing."

Far away on his dead-sun throne, Lucifer sat up straighter, one brow arched high in open curiosity.

On Earth, billions watching the live cosmic broadcast choked on their drinks. Screens froze on the image of a little girl in a sundress facing a seven-foot angel with a thunder-hammer.

"Is he insane?"

"That's his daughter!"

"She's nine!"

Father Black's aura flared—cosmic energy crackling like blue lightning around his robes, beard whipping as if in storm wind. The pressure rolled across the arena, heavy enough to make lesser auras flicker.

"She," he said, voice low but carrying to every corner of creation, "will defend Earth in the first round."

Gabriel's gaze darted subconsciously to the Earth side—Athena, face calm; King Alexander, arms folded, nodding faintly; Demeter, clutching her husbands hands

But eyes shining with quiet pride.

None of them objected. Not one.

Gabriel's lips thinned. He turned back to the angel avatar waiting on the sand—a towering figure with silver wings and that massive hammer resting on one shoulder.

"Very well," Gabriel said coldly. "If the Regent sacrifices his own child so willingly… there is no issue."

He looked down at the angel. "Show no mercy. Child or not, she is human."

The angel avatar wasted no time. It lunged forward, hammer swinging in a blinding arc of holy thunder, the weapon howling as it cleaved the air toward the tiny girl.

Elara took one calm breath, planted her feet, and shifted into a stance—knees bent, small fists raised, looking almost playful.

Just as the hammer descended to crush her, she moved.

A twist.

It was graceful, effortless. One tiny foot pivoted, body spinning like a dancer. The hammer smashed into empty sand, sending up a geyser of white grains and a shockwave that rattled the barriers.

Before the angel could recover, Elara was already airborne. She twisted mid-spin and drove a kick straight into the avatar's chest.

The impact wasn't loud. It was wrong.

Dark energy—thick, coiling shadows—exploded from her little foot, slamming into the angel like a cannon made of night. The avatar rocketed backward, crashing into the arena floor hard enough to crater the adaptive sand. Cracks spider-webbed outward. The hammer flew from its grip, spinning away into the barrier.

The entire arena froze.

Angels' golden auras flickered in unison, as if the host itself had skipped a heartbeat.

Lucifer leaned so far forward he nearly slid off his throne, eyes wide, a delighted grin slowly spreading.

On Earth, jaws hit floors. Commentators forgot words. Children watching with their parents pointed at the screen and whispered, "Did… did the little girl just…?"

Only four people in the entire cosmos didn't look shocked:

Father Black, smiling proudly, beard twitching with suppressed laughter.

Demeter, hand over her mouth, eyes shining with tears and fierce maternal pride.

Athena, nodding once, as if to say the girl was doing a good job.

King Alexander, arms still crossed, muttering under his breath, "That's my niece."

Elara landed lightly, brushed a curl from her face, and waved cheerfully up at her father. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"Daddy, did I do okay?"

Father Black's grin could have lit the old sun.

"Perfect, sprout. Absolutely perfect."

But everyone who saw this move knew that perfect was far from it.

This girl had done something unbelievable.

But more the art, it was in understanding how she was capable of doing such a thing.

And then they looked at her body. They were covered with shadow runes..