NOVEL WEB Chapter 136: Chapter 136
The sacred peak of Azarath.
The mountain stood 30,000 meters tall, piercing the sky itself. Above, the swirling mass of dark clouds wrapped around layers of scarlet mist, flashing ominously. The peak breathed, as if the entire mountain were alive.
The black and red storm churned, pulsing like the labored breath of a monstrous being, swallowing the planet in its suffocating evil.
The air was thick with a madness-inducing presence, a suffocating, all-consuming evil.
A single glance at it was enough to drive the weak-willed insane, their minds breaking under its sheer oppressive force.
Countless distorted, malevolent energies radiated outward, clawing at the psyche, whispering of bloodlust, cruelty, and violence, an unrelenting call to destruction.
At the very top, where the summit had been severed, a blood-red radiance surged into the heavens.
The sky above was stained crimson, the very air thick with the scent of fresh blood.
Two massive stone corridors hung in suspension, stretching across the abyss.
Narrow, with no railings or barriers, just endless emptiness on either side.
A bridge leading into nothingness, as if daring the foolish to cross.
The floor was streaked with blackened blood, the once-flowing streams now congealed into a thick, tar-like substance, forever glued to the stone.
To walk upon it was to feel insignificant, like an ant teetering on the edge of oblivion.
The corridors intersected in a cross, spanning the gaping crater of the mountain. The cavern beneath glowed red and black, illuminated by the infernal light below.
But there was no lava in this abyss.
Instead, tens of billions of corpses burned in a sea of crimson fire.
The dead—devoured and incinerated—had become the fuel of this unholy place.
Their blood churned and boiled, a flaming ocean of death that flooded the hollowed core of the mountain.
It burned endlessly.
From within the sea of flames, crimson essence and energy surged skyward, illuminating the storm clouds with an eerie glow.
From the outside, the flashing red light within the clouds pulsed like the heartbeat of a fetus in the womb.
An unnatural, monstrous breathing could be heard, thick with malice.
At the center of the cross-shaped bridge, at the very heart of the sacred peak, a throne of stone stood tall.
It was the highest point of Azarath.
The cross, once a symbol of holiness, light, and divinity, had been desecrated.
A colossal figure sat upon the throne, its form glaring red, its flesh exposed and raw, as though it had been flayed of its skin, leaving only glistening muscle.
Trigon.
He towered 100 meters high, his body an overwhelming monument of terror.
A mountain of flesh and sinew, his physique was flawless in form, every muscle sculpted with unnatural perfection, yet terrifying in its sheer, monstrous scale.
Each finger was larger than a man.
Each toenail could crush a building.
Even a single strand of his hair stood as tall as a human being.
His very presence was enough to break the mind.
Demons did not care for luxury, for armor, or for vanity.
They needed no finery, only power.
And he was power incarnate.
He wore nothing.
Seated upon his stone throne, his crimson form radiated a boundless aura of malevolence, pressing ruthlessly upon the world below.
From his forehead, six golden eyes opened.
Their piercing, burning gaze swept across existence, filled with playful cruelty, glinting with a cold, merciless light.
And with those six eyes, he stared down upon the world.
His expression unreadable.
Amused.
Cruel.
Arrogant black hair cascaded behind him, resting against the back of the stone throne.
He sat there casually.
Reclining, as if sitting upon a star.
His massive, blood-red body sprawled lazily across the enormous stone chair. One leg stretched outward, his other arm rested against the throne's right armrest. His elbow propped up his face, his fist pressing lightly against his cheek in what appeared to be relaxed indifference.
Yet even the smallest shift of his hand caused the very air to tremble.
A single, effortless movement could collapse the vacuum itself, suffocating all life in an instant.
He was the Lord of Hell.
The Demon Monarch.
Trigon.
He had existed for countless eons, sweeping across the cosmos, subjugating worlds, and crushing civilizations.
Wherever his gaze landed, only darkness and ruin remained.
All demons and spirits bowed before him, either as his servants or as his prey.
And now, he was displeased.
His daughter had deserted him.
Had run away.
So he had fed an entire planet to the flames of Hell.
His demonic legions had razed Azarath, slaughtering its people and gathering their corpses to fill the hollowed peak of the sacred mountain.
Every last one of them was cast into the fires of damnation, their blood boiled into a crimson elixir.
Even the demons who had followed him were not spared.
He had used them as seasoning, a mere ingredient to enhance the richness of the blood feast before him.
And yet—
Now, he felt it.
He sensed it.
His daughter had returned.
This pleased him.
Leaning against his throne, shirtless, his massive fingers curled against his jawbone, he smiled.
Six piercing yellow eyes flickered with pleasure, cruelty, and malice.
His lips curled, revealing razor-sharp white fangs.
He had found her.
Through the thick, polluted darkness, through the layers of swirling, cursed clouds he saw.
His vision pierced beyond the stars, beyond the void of space.
If he so wished, he could narrow his gaze and see the surface of Mars as easily as one might glance across a room.
Gradually, a small figure emerged.
A Raven, draped in a heavy cloak, her sorrowful face concealed beneath its hood.
Step by step, she moved forward, appearing within Trigon's sight.
Behind her—
A vast, endless sea of dark clouds churned, thick and heavy, filled with twisting, writhing evil.
In the boundless blackness, she was prey, a fragile offering in the abyss, a lone morsel of despair delivered to his doorstep.
She was alone.
Climbing the steps in hopelessness.
Emerging from the depths of ruin.
The hooded head of the trembling figure was the first thing to rise into view, then—little by little—her thin, fragile body followed.
She ascended.
Until she finally set foot upon the blood-stained, blackened stone of the cross-shaped corridor.
Each step trembled beneath her weight.
She felt the stench of burning blood, the overwhelming stench of Hellfire, the flickering red glow of the abyss rising beneath the stone bridge.
Everything about this place reeked of suffering and destruction.
Raven's grief burned within her.
Trigon's smile widened.
His fangs pressed against his lower lip, his six golden eyes glinting with amusement.
Like a child discovering a new toy.
"You… are very good."
His deep, resounding voice filled the abyss.
A voice so vast it echoed through the starry void, vibrating through the bones of the universe itself.
Even sitting, his massive figure exuded an overwhelming presence, a force that suffocated the cosmos.
His very existence forced the stars to bow.
A mere whisper from him could collapse entire civilizations.
Bardi's heart sank.
Trigon was far more powerful than he had anticipated.
The evil aura radiating from him alone was enough to shatter the will of all existence.
He was the weight of domination,an entity that crushed life itself beneath his grasp.
Even looking at him risked sinking into the abyss.
"Let Earth go. I will surrender. I will be your puppet."
The Raven trembled, the cloak around her quivering.
Her voice was hoarse, thick with sorrow.
Her hooded head lowered, her frail body convulsing with grief.
Trigon's six eyes gleamed with delight.
He watched the trembling Raven—
And grinned.
"Your soul… is interesting."
***
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