Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 341: TWO AGAINST ONE

"You are the first arrogant human we have seen in a long time," Mammon declared calmly, his voice smooth as polished gold yet laced with ancient disdain.

"But like the others we have faced, you are going to be put in your place."

"Are you going to fight or lecture me?" Greg asked, his tone dripping with boredom.

He shifted his weight casually, Heaven Defier resting lightly in his grip as if the two demon lords were nothing more than mild distractions.

Belphegor struck first, his massive jaws unhinging with a grotesque crack.

He inhaled deeply, swallowing a mouthful of the thick, sulfur-laden air around them.

The atmosphere itself seemed to warp inside his maw, compressing and twisting.

When he opened his mouth again, the air had transformed into a devastating shockwave, visible ripples of raw force hurtling straight toward Greg like an invisible battering ram.

The blast slammed into Greg’s chest with the force of a collapsing mountain.

Dust and debris exploded outward in a ring.

Yet Greg didn’t even flinch.

The shockwave passed through him harmlessly, scattering harmlessly into the wind.

Mammon launched next, wings unfurling in a blur of gilded scales.

He shot forward like a golden missile, claws extended and gleaming with greedy hunger. His aim was simple: rip Greg into bloody shreds.

The claws raked across Greg’s torso with savage power, sparks flying where metal met flesh.

But again, the attack caused no harm.

Mammon’s talons slid off an invisible barrier, leaving the demon lord’s expression twisting in momentary confusion.

"My turn," Greg said, a sharp smile slicing across his face.

He exploded into motion, wings snapping open as he closed the distance in a heartbeat.

Heaven Defier sang through the air, slicing a clean, deep gash across Mammon’s chest.

Black ichor welled up instantly, sizzling where it touched the ground.

Mammon groaned, one clawed hand rising to counter.

But the pain locked his muscles, and the counterstrike never came.

Belphegor rushed in to aid his ally, scooping up a fistful of the scorched earth.

He chewed the dirt with wet, crunching sounds, grinding it between jagged teeth until it transformed.

Then he spat it out, a barrage of diamond-hard earth bullets screaming toward Greg faster than sight could follow.

The projectiles struck true... and phased straight through Greg’s body without leaving a scratch.

"Hmm. It seems Azazel’s words were true," Belphegor muttered, drifting to Mammon’s side. "We can’t hit him with simple concepts."

"So it appears," Mammon replied, his voice steady despite the bleeding wound. "Well then, let’s make use of the one thing that can hurt him."

Mammon closed his eyes for a single heartbeat.

When they opened, a vast, golden portal tore open behind him, the legendary Vault of Greed.

Inside lay every treasure he had ever stolen: ancient weapons, forbidden skill books, trapped souls, and even stolen talents, all shimmering in endless rows of opulent light.

From the vault, he drew a single bow.

The weapon radiated crushing pressure, as if one arrow could fracture the very fabric of the realm.

It was both solid and translucent at once, an impossible contradiction that made the eye ache to look at it directly.

"Of course," Belphegor muttered, slapping a palm to his forehead in exasperation. "It had to be the Shooting Star you stole."

"I didn’t steal it," Mammon corrected smoothly, poker face unbroken. "I simply kept it for safekeeping."

"Hmm?" Greg murmured, genuine surprise flickering across his features.

Heaven Defier suddenly vibrated in his hands, the blade humming with urgent intensity.

The ego sword pulled at him like a compass needle drawn to true north.

The ability known as Compass was awakening, guiding him toward weapons once wielded by the first beings of other races.

The closer he came, the stronger the resonance.

"That bow... I want it," Greg stated, his voice low and possessive.

His movements sharpened instantly, speed and aggression doubling as he surged toward Mammon.

Belphegor refused to yield the path. He activated his signature ability: Stomach of Gluttony.

Every creature, object, or essence he had ever devoured now fueled him.

His skin hardened in seconds, coated with layers of earth denser than diamond, gleaming like black obsidian armor.

"You are of no interest to me," Greg said coldly, eyes locked only on the bow. "Be gone."

He swung Heaven Defier in a brutal arc.

The blade connected with Belphegor’s reinforced chest, the impact ringing like a hammer on anvil.

The demon lord flew backward, tumbling across the cratered ground in a spray of dirt and sparks.

Mammon watched Greg approach without a trace of fear.

He nocked an arrow that materialized from pure golden light, drawing the translucent string back until the bow creaked with cosmic strain.

The arrow screamed as it flew, a blazing comet that scorched the sky itself, trailing fire hot enough to melt stone.

It streaked straight toward Greg’s heart.

Greg raised his free hand instinctively, ready to block if his talent somehow faltered.

But the arrow curved at the last instant, missing him by a hair’s breadth and vanishing harmlessly into the distance.

A wide, satisfied smile spread across Greg’s face.

His talent remained supreme.

He appeared before Mammon in a flicker of shadow, stabbing forward with surgical precision.

Heaven Defier sank deep into the demon lord’s stomach, twisting once for emphasis.

Then Greg activated the Authority of Envy, not on Mammon, but on the fallen Belphegor.

[Congratulations! You have acquired the ultimate ability of Belphegor: Stomach of Gluttony]

Greg’s mind flooded with new knowledge as he instantly browsed the stolen power.

The endless hunger, the perfect digestion of anything, seful or useless, now belonged to him.

"You are quite the eater, aren’t you?" Greg called out to Belphegor with a mocking smile, the words dripping with casual amusement.

Opening his mouth wide, Greg unleashed a devastating dragon breath.

This time, it wasn’t the familiar roar of abyssal flames or the crushing surge of Nyx’s drowning waters.

Instead, raw streaks of lightning, twisted with the hungry darkness of the abyss itself, erupted from his throat.

Black-violet bolts crackled and hissed, laced with void energy that warped the air around them.

The storm roared like thunder trapped in a cage, ozone and emptiness burning the nostrils of everyone nearby.

The lethal barrage streaked straight toward Belphegor, hungry for the demon lord’s hardened flesh.