The Demon Monarch System

Chapter 159 - Wrath Sundering The Skies (III)

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Outside the Dark Ruin Labyrinth, 

"What the hell is that?" Sirius exclaimed with widened eyes. As he gazed down at the images, one scene, in particular, grasped his attention. In fact, nearly all of the spectator's attention fell onto the event below. In addition to a person from a Supreme Family seeking out an unknown individual, another mind-boggling scene followed directly after.

"I'm not sure. There seem to be many anomalies this year with the trial. Is this something we should look into?" Gabriel uttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. For some reason, an unsettling feeling crept up his spine as he looked at the ordeal unfold below.

On the other hand, Irauk's eye shimmered with a piercing amber light as he gazed at the protective formation surrounding the labyrinth. Although it was taking some time, his efforts in breaking through it were nearly complete. Unlike his usually lax demeanor, something told him to act quickly.

"I believe we shou- WHAT?!" Sirius paused, then had an outburst. Before their eyes, the image of the screen presenting Apollo and the others became distorted. No, in fact, it blackened completely. In other words, for reasons unknown, their view of the happenings below was blocked!

Upon noticing this, many of the spectators' faces became solemn. First of all, inside that screen were the talents existing within the top 100 spots. If surveillance of them was lost, who knows what could happen. After all, down the path was the most treacherous of enemies. Even if they were strong, their power was immature. 

Furthermore, there was an air of hostility that could be sensed. It couldn't be discerned through other means, but all it took was a look at the expression of all the individuals. Each one of them possessed features contorted by rage. Hence, not much needed to be said about the animosity being passed around that space.

"The youth these days are quite the ruthless tyrants, don't you say? I wonder what will happen when the image of the scene is restored. Imagine the looks upon everyone's faces if some type of miraculous feat is performed. In fact, should we make some bets?!" Cyr said excitedly, jumping out of his seat.

"B-bets?! You babbling buffoon. Does your insignificant mind not understand the implications of not being able to surveil those kids below? With that level of malice, someone is ought to die!" Sirius seethed, glaring at Cyr who fell quiet.

"Oh, so...no bets then?" Cyr mumbled with a slightly disappointed expression. Crossing his arms, he sat down and glanced at the blackened screen. 'Tch, what does it matter. You all act like you don't possess treasure in your families.'

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Meanwhile, back inside the Dark Ruin Labyrinth,

Apollo utilized a technique foreign to even him. A huge blanket of blackened crimson aura spread out, encompassing all of them within a dome that prohibited any outsiders from interfering. Moreover, that same dome seemed to interact with everyone's emotions.

A thin ribbon attached to the top of the dome cascaded down and attached to Apollo's forehead. After doing so, it disappeared. But, in its stead, Apollo felt connected to this dome and what it provided—an obscene supply of Wrath from those around him. 

At the same time, another snippet of foreign information entered his mind. However, it was something Apollo was familiar with. Except, the concept it contained was something that eluded his understanding. Even with his irrational mind, something told him not to invoke this technique. 

Thus, he held back and remained apprehensive while gazing at his opponents before him. As they looked at each other, he tightened the grasp of his scythe which bolstered the amount of Hellfire flowing through it.

Once again, he made his move. At first, he used wide-arc slashes to deal with as many opponents' attacks as he could, but he soon realized this wasn't ideal. Just the sheer number of attacks he was facing counteracted his intentions. Not to mention, the upkeep of these movements wasn't tolerable in the slightest.

The only thing sustaining him at the moment was the pure hatred running rampant in his mind. Frankly speaking, by the moment, his reasoning was slipping away from him. Continuously, he was tempted to use that technique—the one he was doing his best to refrain from.

"Kill him! Or, at the very least, render him immobile," Lazaro roared, tanking Typhir's blow head-on. Surprisingly, whereas Typhir wielded an extremely large greatsword, Lazaro wielded two short swords. More importantly, the surprise lay in the fact he suffered no losses from Typhir's heavy blows.

To be precise, there wasn't even a change in expression. Naturally, this wasn't due to their strength being equal. After all, Typhir had activated his Heavenly Bronze Body that bolstered his strength by almost threefold for a short period. What Lazaro was doing was shifting the force elsewhere.

One reason why no one liked to do battle with the Astartes was in light of their crafty techniques. They all specialized in the redirection and countering of force. In other words, they didn't seek to attain large amounts of Zuls, but rather use their enemies Zuls in accordance with theirs. In a sense, they were the worst type of enemies to face. One who borrowed strength from others, to give their damage back to them.

"Damn vermin! Fight like a man and stop with the insignificant tricks!" Typhir bellowed as the cryptic runes on his arm shimmered with a bronze hue. Once again, he landed a monstrous blow. Unfortunately, this time, it was him to suffer the brunt of the force and rebounded into a wall.

"Idiot, showing your brutish ways only leaves more openings for me to take advantage of you. You must come to realize, I don't need to best you in speed nor strength," Lazaro chuckled, tapping his head, "As long as I best you here, you can never win."

Soon after, Lazaro changed his gaze to Aaron on the floor. Since a significant amount of time had passed, he regained a shred of consciousness. He reached for his sword and attempted to stand with a faltering posture.

"W-where is he," Aaron muttered with blank eyes before continuing, "I didn't...say I admit defeat. Come, let's fight again."

He continued to look around the battlefield, however, his vacant eyes didn't seem to be looking at anything. On the contrary, the golden light within continued to deepen. Unbeknownst to Aran, Aaron dropped his posture and took a spear stance with a sword in hand.

It was shocking, to say the least; to treat a sword as a spear was to seek defeat! Their shapes and styles of use were completely different. Be that as it may, sometimes shocking happened. Unconsciously, Aaron utilized his faint Sword Intent to form a spear.

With a powerful step, he dashed forward at incredible speed. He didn't have a target, but he traveled in a linear path and only one person remained in the line he was transversing—Lazaro. 

By replicating what he experienced, Aaron tried to perform the technique Aran inflicted on his body. At the same time, Lazaro was already defending against Typhir's additional blow. As a result, his body contained two forces already.

Alas, when he noticed Aaron enclosing, a terrible scene took place. Due to Typhir having utilized his specialty—scorching winds—Lazaro's daggers were imbued with this attribute. After activation of the "Absorption" rune on them, it retained the ability to hold foreign Natural Essence for .5 seconds before releasing it.

Naturally, this meant when Aaron attacked, it was time to release. Before doing so, a creepy smile appeared on his lips, "Begone, you insignificant cretin!"

A torrential yet focused beam of scorching violent winds pierced towards Aaron.

In the meantime, an audible thumping could be heard as Apollo turned to witness this scene. Time slowed, and everything entered his eyes. This dreadful moment became appallingly clear to him. The vacant look in Aaron's eyes, the fright within Typhir's, and the ecstasy within Lazaro's—Apollo saw and focused on it all.

His body felt frozen and also like it was falling apart. But immediately after, it felt like it was bubbling with nefarious power. 'No… cease your actions,' Apollo thought. Surprisingly, almost as if he heard him, Lazaro looked in his direction with a faint smirk.

Clearly, he didn't have any intentions of withdrawing his blow. A moment later, the slowing of time seemed to elapse. Afterward, a muffed thud could be heard. Aaron dropped to his knees, but his right arm was nowhere to be found on his body!

At the last moment, he turned his body, avoiding certain death but lost his arm in the process. Next to him, his arm laid, burning to dust.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Apollo never blinked and it also looked like his breathing halted. He continued to look at them with madness filling his mind. 

All the while, as he fell, Aaron shook his head, "Don't...Apollo." Just after leaving this message, he fell forward, laying at Lazaro's feet.

"No! NOO!!" Apollo bellowed. At this point, the notion of reasoning was a foreign concept to him. He bit his finger and drew the rune apparent in his mind. Once it was done, he slapped his hand over his heart and roared.

"I sacrifice thy Sin to the Stigmata! Sin Armament: Tartarean Fiend Regalia!"

A wave of Hellfire burst from Apollo's body, encapsulating him within a black cocoon whilst a dark beam pierced upwards, past even the protection barrier itself.