Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1397: Elara Makes Daddy proud.

The arena fell into stunned silence—then erupted in a wave of disbelief that rippled through both Heaven's host and the distant fallen watchers alike.

Angels, avatars and originals alike, stared with wings half-frozen mid-flutter. Fallen sentries on the edges of Lucifer's court exchanged wide-eyed glances. Even the hellbeast sitting obediently outside the gates tilted its three heads, ears perked.

Too many reasons.

The avatar Elara had kicked into the ground was no novice—it carried the distilled experience of millennia of celestial warfare. Even scaled down to lesser-demon rank, its reflexes, timing, and instinct should have been flawless. No child, no matter how talented, should have landed a clean hit like that.

And she was nine.

But then eyes—golden, crimson, curious—dropped to the faint markings flickering across her bare arms and legs as she landed. Thin, elegant lines of pure shadow curled over her skin like living tattoos, pulsing gently with each breath.

Shadow runes.

Lucifer actually stood halfway up from his throne, wings flaring, eyes wide with genuine shock. A murmur swept his court.

Shadow runes were legend—divinely rare, impossible to fake or force. Not even angels could manifest them. Only those the cosmos itself chose, kissed by some unknowable fate, could bear them.

The last known bearer had been Lenny Tales.

Even when Lucifer had once seized that body, riding it like a stolen chariot, the runes had refused him. They had vanished rather than answer his call.

Yet here they were, etched on a nine-year-old girl in a green cotton dress.

Whispers raced through both sides.

"Is she… cosmos-blessed too?"

"Another one?"

"Impossible…"

What many people forgot was that this eight year old was part god, and grew up in the best most pampered environment possible.

Also, she was showered with many gifts from birth.

Her ability to use Shadow runes was one of them.

Of course no one knew who this her godfather was. If they did, they would be shocked.

While the universe reeled, the person in question hopped from foot to foot in the center of the sand, clapping her hands and beaming up at the Earth benches.

"I did it, Daddy! Did you see?"

But the match wasn't over.

The buried angel avatar exploded upward, silver wings snapping wide. Holy light flared brighter—almost blinding—as it wrenched itself free from the cratered wall Elara's kick had embedded it in. Sand cascaded off its armor like golden rain.

It attacked.

The hammer came down in a vertical smash that split the air with thunder. Elara darted aside, but the shockwave clipped her, sending her tumbling.

Before she could recover, the angel was on her—hammer swinging in precise, relentless arcs. One blow grazed her shoulder; another clipped her side. She blocked a third with crossed forearms, shadow runes flaring defensively, but the impact still drove her to one knee.

A final overhead strike forced her to roll. The hammer grazed her ribs.

Elara coughed—a sharp, wet sound—and a thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, bright against her cheek.

Gabriel allowed himself a small, relieved smile, wings relaxing a fraction.

"I was worried for nothing," he murmured, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "A child remains a child."

On the Earth side, Demeter's grip on Father Black's hand tightened until her knuckles went white.

Father Black just smiled—easy, confident, the same smile he'd worn outsmarting archangels a century ago.

"Relax," he told her quietly. "She's got this."

Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed across the arena, voice booming with grandfatherly mischief.

"Elara! Listen up, sprout! If you lose this one, Aunty Tomato and your godfather are gonna be real mad! No more gifts, no more adventures, no more riding on hellbeast backs! You hear me?"

Elara's head snapped up. Blood on her lip, curls wild, eyes suddenly blazing.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinned a fierce little grin, and cracked her knuckles.

"Okay, Daddy!"

Elara stood there in the cratered sand, blood smeared on her lip, curls tangled, but her eyes—those sharp, inherited eyes—burned with a mix of defiance and clever spark.

The angel avatar rose fully now, hammer reclaimed, silver wings flaring wide. Its golden aura pulsed stronger, holy light mending the cracks in its armor from her earlier kick. It charged again, hammer sweeping in a low arc aimed to sweep her legs, followed by an upward smash that thundered like judgment day.

Elara dodged the sweep—barely, her dress tearing at the hem—but the follow-up clipped her arm, sending her skidding back. She winced, another cough bringing up a speck of red. The avatar pressed the advantage, hammer raining down in controlled, experienced strikes: one to her left, forcing a roll; another overhead, cracking the sand where her head had been; a spinning backhand that grazed her shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood.

She was breathing hard now, tiny chest heaving. The angel loomed, hammer raised for the finisher, face as impassive as carved marble.

Gabriel's smile widened faintly from his central perch. "See? The folly of hubris."

Demeter's grip on Father Black's hand was iron now, digging into his skin.

But Elara looked up at the angel, wiped her mouth again, and grinned—bloody, cheeky, unbowed.

"Aunty Tomato likes brute force," she said, voice piping clear through the arena, carrying to every stunned spectator.

"She taught me all her best kicks and punches. But I know I'm still small. I'm lacking compared to you, mister angel. You're old and strong and stuff."

The avatar paused mid-swing, almost as if surprised by the chatter.

"But," Elara added, eyes twinkling, "I've got other skills too!"

The shadow runes on her body stirred—thin black lines coiling like living ink across her skin, from arms to legs to the faint ones peeking under her collar. They writhed faster, pulsing with an eerie, void-born glow.

She slammed one small hand to the ground—palm flat, fingers splayed. Shadow runes surged from her skin like spilled oil, rushing into the white sand. The arena floor darkened where they touched, cracks forming as if the ground itself was awakening.

From those cracks erupted hounds—five of them, forged from pure shadow. They weren't fluffy pups; these were nightmare beasts, sleek and feral, bodies twisting like smoke made solid, eyes glowing crimson coals. Jaws lined with teeth like obsidian shards, claws that trailed wisps of darkness. Each one stood as tall as Elara, growling low with voices that echoed from some infernal pit.

The angel didn't hesitate. It swung its hammer in a wide arc, thunder booming as the weapon connected with the first hound—sending it exploding into shadow mist.

But the mist reformed instantly, the hound rematerializing mid-leap, jaws clamping onto the angel's wing. It tore a chunk free, holy feathers scattering like dying stars. The bite sizzled—laced with dark energy that corroded the golden aura, black veins spreading from the wound like poison in veins.

The angel spun, hammer crushing the second hound's head. It dissolved too—but reformed behind, lunging for the legs. The third and fourth piled on, one ripping at the armor's seams, the other snapping at the hammer hand. Dark energy seeped from every bite, dimming the avatar's light, making its movements sluggish.

The angel fought back fiercely—experience shining through. It stomped one hound flat, light bursting from its boot to scatter the shadow. Hammered another into oblivion with a overhead smash that cratered the sand again. But they kept coming, reforming faster each time, bites relentless. One latched onto the wing joint, tearing feathers; another went for the throat, forcing the angel to block with its arm—only for the dark energy to eat through the bracer, black rot spreading up the limb.

The fifth hound circled, waiting for an opening, then struck low—claws raking the knee, dark energy buckling the joint. The angel staggered, hammer swings slowing as the corrosion spread, aura flickering like a dying bulb. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Elara stood back, hands clasped, watching with wide-eyed focus. Sweat beaded on her forehead; the runes on her skin dimmed slightly with each reformation.

The angel roared—a holy bellow—and unleashed a burst of light from its core, scattering all five hounds at once. B

ut they reformed even quicker now, empowered by the arena's shadow-infused runes, and swarmed as one. Jaws everywhere—ripping wings to shreds, tearing armor plates free, dark energy flooding every wound until the golden light sputtered out.

The avatar collapsed to one knee, hammer dropping, body dissolving into fading sparks of holy essence.

Defeated.

Elara blinked once, runes settling back on her skin like sleepy tattoos. She beamed up at the stands, waving both hands.

"I won!" she cheered, voice bright and breathless.

Then her eyes rolled back, knees buckling. She passed out cold on the sand, tiny form crumpling like a puppet with cut strings.

The arena exploded in cheers from the Earth side—warriors leaping to their feet, fists pumping.

Father Black was already moving, scooping her up in one fluid motion, cradling her gently.

Demeter rushed over, hands glowing with green healing energy.

But Elara just mumbled in her sleep, "Gifts… adventures…Godfather i want to ride hell... hounds."

Lucifer chuckled from afar, settling back with a grin.

Gabriel stared, speechless.

The first round: Earth's win.