Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 201: Act IV, Scene IX: A Dreamer’s Last Nightmare

Castella reemerged from the dissolution like a fractured mirror, piecing itself back together. Its streets and buildings were restored, but scarred, with cracked walls etched with the memory of flames, and charred patches where infernos had bitten deep before vanishing into nothingness.

The air hung heavy with smoke and the faint, acrid tang of burned stone, but the blaze itself was gone, snuffed out as if it had never been.

Everyone found themselves scattered in confusion, dispatched to different locations across the town.

Maël blinked on a side street, his golden aura flickering as he glanced around at bewildered civilians rubbing their eyes, murmuring disjointed questions to the empty air.

Astros materialized in a marketplace, his Celestial Mandalas dissolving mid-spin, leaving him among a crowd of citizens who staggered, whispering in bewilderment, their faces pale under the lingering violet haze.

"What... what happened?" one muttered, clutching a singed cloak.

Aurus landed hard on a rooftop, sword drawn, his face pale as he scanned the horizon, breath ragged from the void's grip.

Bel stood in the central plaza, his wings folding as he assessed the scene, the town partially destroyed around him, rubble strewn, walls split and smoldering, but the flames extinguished in the dissolution's wake.

The dragons remained, however, wyverns and drakes circling overhead, their massive forms casting intermittent shadows over the recovering city.

Their wings beat in uncertain rhythm, roars echoing with a disoriented edge, as if awaiting orders that hadn't come.

Vauldron led them, his colossal shadow dominating the skyline, but the swarm hovered protectively, not aggressively.

Bel felt a surge unlike any before, a massive influx of demonic essence flooding his core, replenishing his reserves in a torrent that made his veins hum with raw power. Thousands of points poured in, born from the chaos Novaria had wrought: the fear, the destruction, the raw energy of her rampage feeding back to him as her creator, amplified by the army's presence.

His system flashed warnings, the numbers climbing relentlessly:

[Demonic Essence: 1,899 / 2,000 → Overflow Detected. Capacity Expanding...]

[New Capacity: 3,000]

[Demonic Essence: 3,000 / 3,000 → Overflow Detected. Capacity Expanding...]

It stabilized at last, his body adapting, essence cap stretched like a vessel reforged in fire.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"What the...?" he murmured, his system notifying the spike.

But more startling was the sight above, his army unleashed, drakes and wyverns filling the sky, and at the center of the town, Novaria's giant red wyvern form.

It was the first time he saw her in this form. He had summoned her as a support for later, but her appearance and his army being out meant she was fighting, and something had pushed her over the edge.

Through their bond, Bel sensed her rage like a telepathic storm, boiling grief, unchecked wrath, centered on a name: Dusteria.

It was enough; she was easy to read despite all her changes. He could even figure out who had brought her to that extent.

He reached out mentally.

Novaria. Enough.

Her massive form shuddered, her golden eyes widening in shock. The roar caught in her throat, transforming into a gasp.

My... my King?

Her mental response was a mix of shock, worry, and relief, the fury fracturing immediately under his presence.

Calm yourself, Bel commanded. The battle is shifting. Recall the army. You've done enough.

Yes... my King, she replied, voice trembling with fear and relief.

I... I lost myself. That monster... Elysia... she spoke of Dusteria, of you... I couldn't stop...

She was deeply ashamed, but beneath it, relieved.

To her, Bel was everything, master, creator, the axis of her world. His voice alone grounded her, pulling her back from the brink.

The other dragons followed suit, their aggressive circles easing into protective hovers, roars turning to low rumbles of obedience.

They sensed their lord's will through her, the bond rippling outward like a command from the apex. Vauldron and the others dipped their heads, acknowledging the King's presence through her.

Novaria shrank, her wyvern form compressing back to her hybrid state, scales receding, wings folding. She knelt amid the ashes, head bowed.

Forgive me, my King. I will await your command.

The dragons descended, landing in scattered plazas and streets, their massive forms perched on ruins without further destruction.

Civilians gasped, backing away, but the beasts remained still, eyes glowing faintly as they awaited orders.

Bel opened his eyes; the essence surge had stabilized. He felt... fuller, his power brimming at new heights. But there was no time to dwell.

The King was still here, hidden in the restored city. He needed to locate him.

He inhaled deeply, centering himself. Then, he unleashed his aura.

It started as a pulse from his core, a subtle thrum that vibrated through his veins.

Purple light flickered at his edges, then expanded, slow at first, like ink dripping into water, but accelerating into a flood.

The wave burst outward, drowning the city in an instant. From his vantage point high above, it turned into a violet tsunami: streets awash in a glowing haze, buildings outlined in a purple shimmer, every corner, alley, and shadow submerged in the light.

It seeped through walls, under doors, into basements and attics, illuminating hidden nooks where survivors huddled. The air filled with it, a low resonance that made hearts stutter and breaths catch.

Civilians froze, stunned. The light wasn't harmful, but overwhelming, like staring into the sun during an eclipse.

It pressed gently, a radar sweep mapping every soul, every source of energy.

Bel's senses expanded with it, the city unfolding like a blueprint in his mind.

He felt traces, faint echoes of the Crimson Bloom's, scattered and fading, as if she'd slipped away during the dissolution, her chaotic essence dissolving into the air.

She left... Good.

Then, stronger signatures: Crest and Airi, back in the library's depths, their presences tense amid shadows.

They're back... are they facing Mammon?... No, I can't feel his presence.

But more than anything, he felt the boy.

A pulsing core of that special energy, hidden yet immense, like a sleeping volcano beneath the surface.

However, there was a special scent in it. It was oozing with fear.

Bel's radar latched onto it, pinpointing the location in a ruined plaza not far away. The King's true form, exposed and vulnerable.

A free kill.

Bel stepped forward, the world seemed to move around him, streets whipping by in elongated streaks, buildings compressing into lines of color, and then... he was there.

No descent, no approach, just sudden presence, landing softly a few meters from the boy, his boots touching the cracked stone without a sound.

The air rippled faintly in his wake, settling like disturbed water.

The boy, the Slumbering King, stood frozen, his long white hair draping like a shroud over his fragile frame.

Pale skin gleaming unnaturally in the fading light, his delicate features twisted in a mask of raw terror.

His white eyes, wide and unfocused, locked onto Bel as if seeing not a man, but a thing.

To him, Bel was like the shadow of death itself.

He couldn't see anything other than Bel, but soon, more things became visible only to him. Skeletal visions, phantoms of those he'd slain rising like waiting for him to join them.

He saw his predecessors, ancient demons fallen in the previous wars, their forms crumbling under invisible blades, faces mirroring his own dread.

Not me, his mind screamed. Not me, no, no, no, no... I'm the favorite for the throne. How? Why me? Why should I die first?

His body trembled, slightly and involuntarily, like a blind, weak child stumbling in the dark, face to a monster who had crossed an ocean of pain to see him dead. The King stuttered, his voice fragile and laced with desperation.

"Y-You... you're like me. A Demon Lord. We... we don't have to do this. I-I've done nothing to you. No wrong, no slight. Why kill me? Why sparing Mammon ?! We could... stand together. Equals. No reason for this... please."

Bel's expression remained impassive, his purple-slit eyes unyielding.

"I'm not against you because I hate you," he said simply, voice calm as still water. "It's a condition."

The King's fear deepened, confusion twisting his features.

"A... condition? For what? What could possibly—"

Bel murmured a name, soft as morning wind.

"Echidna."

The King was frozen for a moment, then his eyes widened.

His fragile body stiffened, then convulsed with rage.

"Echidna... Echi.... Echidnaaaaa!!!!! Damn... Damn you!!!!..."

His face contorted, the mask of fear switching to a mask of rage.

"You... Damn... Traitor! You?! YOU?!! For your... How dare she... how... how, how, how, how, HOW?! I'll crush her, I'll... " His voice cracked, his hands clawing at his face.

Bel's tone remained even.

"She gave me another gift." He paused, then whispered: "Belphegor."

The revelation was the first sign of doom.

Belphegor's reaction was instantaneous: eyes bulging in horror, body arching as if stabbed.

The true name, spoken aloud, unraveled his veil.

Pain spread through his body, a terrifying metamorphosis beginning.

His skin split like overripe fruit, white hair writhing like serpents as flesh bubbled and reformed. Bones cracked and elongated, his slender body bloating into a grotesque bulk, horns curling from his skull, limbs twisting into clawed appendages, a tail uncoiling like a serpent from his spine, coiling lazily even in pain.

When the true form solidified, Bel raised his void orb, transforming it into a scythe that gleamed purple with his essence.

Belphegor's eyes bulged in terror. Cut in this form, he would die for real, no layers to hide behind, no puppets to sacrifice.

Death, to him, was not a mere end; it was the ultimate sloth, an eternal stagnation where ambition rotted, conquests faded to dust, and the throne became a forgotten dream.

A new surge of fear gripped him, his eyes darting in panic, seeing the scythe as the reaper's blade, promising oblivion where even dreams ceased.

"N-No... not like this... I am eternal... invincible..."*

Bel swung. The motion was slow in Belphegor's perspective, a long, arcing slash that built like a gathering storm.

The violet essence coiling along the blade amplified into a radiant crescent that distorted space itself.

As it descended, the air screamed, reality fracturing in its wake: purple ruptures blooming like wounds in the fabric of existence, exploding outward in cascading bursts of annihilating light.

The slash connected with Belphegor's body, shining, then followed an explosion of violet fire erupting in geysers that consumed the air.

The force expanded, shockwaves pulverizing nearby ruins, the ground splitting in radiant fissures as the purple rupture widened, swallowing his screams in a vortex of oblivion.

The explosion climaxed in a blinding pillar of violet energy, searing the sky and echoing like thunder around the whole town, leaving afterimages burned into the retinas of distant witnesses.

For several seconds, no one moved. After the chaos of Novaria's rage and the dragons' arrival, no one expected to see the sun the following day.

To them, the blast was just a reminder that another cataclysm was about to happen.

At the location of the destruction, Bel stood facing the devastation: a cratered plaza, scorched and empty, with no trace of Belphegor remaining.

No residue, no essence, just a void where a Demon Lord had been. Alone, Bel exhaled, the thrill fading to calm analysis.

Belphegor seemed physically weak; Bel could cut him effortlessly. He was truly dangerous when he used his layers of worlds, but without them, any sword could cut his real body.

Then, a slash across his chest.

"Uh?"

Another followed, then several more, carving deep gashes, and before he could even process it, a wide slash tore through him, splitting once again his body in half from shoulder to hip.

W... What?