Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1400: The Next Battle.

The loss stung like salt in an open wound. The arena's golden light felt mocking as the freed weaver bowed once—deep, graceful, silent—and walked off the battlefield without another word.

Her golden strings were gone, dissolved into nothing by the horn's note, but she moved with the same serene dignity, as if defeat were merely another thread in a larger tapestry.

Backstage, in the shadowed tunnel beneath the stands where most of Father Black's runes pulsed faintly like breathing veins, Father Black and Kanada waited.

The air was cooler here, thick with the scent of scorched sand and lingering holy ozone.

The weaver emerged, still featureless save for that small, calm mouth. She stopped before them and bowed again, deeper this time.

Kanada stepped forward immediately. "Young one… did you get it?"

The weaver's hand opened slowly. In her palm lay a single feather—Gabriel's own, pristine silver-white, now stained at the tip with faint golden blood that shimmered like liquid sunlight. Thin threads of her fate strings still clung to it, delicate and stubborn.

Kanada took the feather carefully, turning it over once before passing it to Father Black.

He examined it, eyes narrowing with quiet satisfaction. "More than enough."

The weaver bowed once more, mouth curving into the faintest smile. "I am happy to have been of service."

Kanada placed a gentle hand on the weaver's shoulder. "Return to the plane of precedent. Finish the other preparations. We'll call when we need you again."

A portal bloomed behind the weaver—soft gold rimmed with shadow, humming like distant bells. She stepped through without hesitation, vanishing as the rift closed with a soft sigh.

Kanada raised her head to Father Black, voice low. "And the gods? Ares wasn't the only one who shifted allegiance today. They've been watching. Some are already whispering about 'pragmatic alliances.'"

Father Black tucked the feather into the folds of his robe, beard twitching with a wry smile. "Let them whisper. If the enemy needs a few wins to believe they've already won the war… give them the illusion. It makes the final blow sweeter."

Kanada gave a small, approving nod.

They turned together and walked back toward the arena seats.

As Father Black stepped into the light, little Elara launched herself from Alexander's shoulder like a missile. She landed on her father's chest with a delighted squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Alexander didn't even flinch—just smirked and folded his arms, clearly used to being treated like furniture by the nine-year-old terror.

Demeter rose quickly, concern etched in her features. "What happened back there? The weaver looked… diminished."

Father Black ruffled Elara's curls with one hand while settling her more comfortably on his hip. "Nothing we didn't plan for. The girl just needed a little scolding for getting too cocky. She'll be fine."

He smiled—easy, grandfatherly, utterly unconcerned.

Elara giggled against his beard. "Did she get in trouble, Daddy?"

"Only a little, sprout," he murmured. "Only a little."

The arena thrummed with tension as the next bout was announced—the second Archdemon rank challenge. Whispers rippled through the Earth benches, the sting of the weaver's loss still fresh. Father Black called forth another divine ally from Earth's pantheons: Poseidon, god of the seas, earthquakes, and horses. The deity materialized on the sand in a swirl of brine-scented mist, his form muscular and towering, skin glistening like wet marble under the arena's glow. His trident—forged from ancient coral and divine bronze—dripped with ethereal water that never quite touched the ground. Beard wild and sea-foam white, eyes stormy blue, Poseidon slammed his weapon down, sending a harmless ripple of waves across the white sand.

His opponent descended from Heaven's ranks: not the usual winged humanoid, but something far stranger. The angel avatar was a colossal eyeball—easily ten feet across, its iris a swirling vortex of golden light, pupil deep as an abyss. Smaller eyeballs, each the size of a human head, orbited it like malevolent moons, their gazes darting independently. No body, no limbs—just this floating ocular horror, radiating an aura of unblinking judgment. Its unique power: the Gaze of Revelation. Any being caught in its stare would have their deepest weaknesses exposed—illusions shattered, strengths inverted, secrets laid bare in flashes of debilitating holy insight. The orbiting eyes amplified this, creating overlapping fields of vision that could predict and exploit flaws with terrifying precision.

Gabriel signaled the start. The eye-angel hovered silently at first, its central pupil dilating as it fixed on Poseidon. The god felt it immediately—a piercing scrutiny that burrowed into his mind, revealing flashes of his ancient rages, his vulnerabilities to drought and stillness. The orbiting eyes spun faster, beams of golden light lancing out like lasers, each one aimed at a "revealed" weak point: one targeted Poseidon's trident arm, inverting his strength to make it tremble; another hit his legs, exposing a momentary hesitation and slowing him to a crawl.

Poseidon roared, the sound like crashing waves. "You think to unravel the sea with a stare, watcher?" He thrust his trident forward, summoning a torrent of water from thin air—briny, churning, infused with divine fury. The flood surged toward the eye-angel, but the orbiting eyes predicted the wave's path, firing counter-beams that evaporated chunks of it mid-air. One beam grazed Poseidon's shoulder, forcing a vision of his past defeats (the Titanomachy, losses to mortals) that made him falter, coughing salt water as doubt crept in.

The central eye pulsed, its Gaze intensifying. Poseidon's form flickered—his watery aura weakening, strengths flipping to fragility. He felt his command over seas draining, body stiffening like parched earth. The orbiting eyes closed in, beams converging to pin him down, exploiting every exposed flaw: a strike to his heart revealing emotional tempests, slowing his pulse; another to his eyes, blurring his vision with forced revelations of betrayal.

But Poseidon was no novice to chaos. He countered by embracing the sea's unpredictability. With a bellow, he slammed his trident into the sand, earthquake power rumbling through the arena. The floor buckled, shadow runes flaring as cracks formed—then erupted with geysers of summoned ocean water, chaotic and untamed. The floods swirled wildly, defying prediction; the eye-angel's gazes couldn't fully map the randomness, beams missing or diffusing in the spray. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Poseidon dove into his own maelstrom, body merging with the water—becoming fluid, intangible. The Gaze tried to lock on, but he was everywhere and nowhere, weaknesses hidden in the flow. An orbiting eye fired blindly, only to be engulfed by a wave and shattered, holy shards dissolving in salt. Another beam inverted a tidal surge, but Poseidon reformed it mid-air, turning the inversion against the angel—flooding its central pupil with brackish truth, clouding its vision.

The god rematerialized behind the avatar, trident thrusting. The eye spun, beams lancing out, but Poseidon anticipated—his seas had eroded prophecies before. He parried with a water shield, then struck true: the trident pierced an orbiting eye, exploding it in a burst of light. The central eye wavered, its Gaze fracturing without full orbital support. Poseidon pressed, waves coiling like ropes to bind the remaining eyes, squeezing until they popped one by one.

Finally, only the colossal central eye remained—blinded, weakened. Poseidon raised his trident high, channeling a final tsunami that crashed down, drowning the avatar in divine depths. It shuddered, pupil dilating in panic, then burst in a spray of holy essence, defeated.

The Earth side erupted in cheers. "The sea god triumphs!" "Take that, eye-ball freak!"

Surprisingly, Earth had clawed back a win—Poseidon's chaotic waters proving the perfect counter to rigid revelation.

But the momentum didn't last. After this victory, two more gods stepped up for the following Archdemon bouts… and fell.

First was Thor, Norse thunderer, hammer Mjolnir crackling with lightning. His angel opponent wielded chains of binding light, wrapping and grounding his storms until he was pinned and forced to yield. Father Black frowned deeply, eyes flicking toward Odin sitting a distance away in the stands— the Allfather's one eye unreadable, Gungnir resting across his knees.

Next came Ra, Egyptian sun god, falcon-headed and radiant. His foe: an angel with mirrors for wings, reflecting and amplifying his solar blasts back at him until he was scorched and diminished, coughing embers before conceding.

Again, Father Black's frown sharpened, gaze locking on Odin once more—the old god merely stroked his ravens, expression enigmatic.

Suspicion brewed in the Regent's eyes. The gods' losses felt… too convenient.