Devil Slave (Satan system) Chapter 1396 1396: The First Bout.

A gentle yet persistent pull on her blouse caught Demeter's attention, reminiscent of a vine reaching for the sun's rays.

Looking downward, she spotted their nine-year-old daughter, Elara, with untamed curls mirroring her mother's and piercing eyes like her father's, gripping the cloth tightly, her small knuckles pale from the effort.

Demeter bent down a bit, drawing nearer. "What's the matter, little one?"

In a hushed tone, barely audible in the immense emptiness, Elara murmured, "Mama... I'm frightened."

Those words lingered delicately amidst the radiant arena and the watchful crowds. Demeter's chest tightened, yet she offered a soft smile, stroking her child's hair with fingers that carried a subtle scent of soil and grain.

"No need to fret, darling," she whispered. "Your father—Father Black—has it all handled. He's the cleverest and mightiest figure across every realm."

Elara's eyes turned, her wide gaze fixing on Father Black. "Daddy..."

In front of the gathered angels, surrounded by their radiant halos and unwavering gazes, Father Black pivoted. His flowing white beard shifted as he lowered himself, a kind smile etching lines around his eyes. He extended his hand, tousling her hair with the easy warmth he'd show a loyal dog.

"Hello, little one," he spoke gently, his tone rolling like far-off thunder. "What's troubling you?"

Elara's anxiety eased somewhat, giving way to a timid grin. "Daddy, are Uncle Perseus and Aunty Tomato truly on their way?"

He inclined his head, his beard nodding along. "Absolutely. They wouldn't skip this for anything in the universes."

"And Godfather as well?" she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Father Black let out a deep chuckle. "Yes, him too. He's always watching over us."

With ease, he lifted her into his arms and settled her atop his sturdy shoulders. Elara let out a joyful laugh, clutching handfuls of his robe to steady herself while her legs swung on both sides of his neck. Perched high, she appeared like a jewel on a monarch's crown, her smile now bold and unafraid.

Father Black rose to his full height and, ignoring the astonished heavenly assembly, walked boldly into the arena etched with runes.

His sturdy leather boots, scarred from a hundred years of preparation, made a soft crunch against the glowing white sands, despite the airless space. The shadow runes of the hellbeast throbbed more intensely in his footsteps, as though recognizing their lord.

Gabriel lingered close by, fiddling with the trumpet at his hip, his mouth hanging open slightly, lost in thought.

His wings fluttered briefly, plumes stirring in quiet astonishment.

'Who among all beings would bring their child to the brink of possible doom? A young one, positioned like a symbol, on the verge of universal conflict? It was... ridiculous. So very mortal. Completely perplexing.'

The rest of the Earth combatants trailed after him—Athena clad in her phoenix armor (feathers flowing like alive fire, helmet topped with a golden beak that sparkled beneath the arena's sacred glow), Kanada radiating her intimidating sanctity (skin resembling smooth marble laced with darkness, eyes offering redemption or ruin alike), King Alexander advancing with his timeless victor's confidence, and the group of a hundred youthful fighters following, their energies humming with blue-sun power drawn from space crystals. A handful of devils crept in as well, horns twisting, grins broad.

A few humans shot scornful looks at the angels while passing—lips sneering, stares challenging. "Nice wings, eh? Better not let them burn."

"Check them out gawking—like they've never witnessed true courage."

For a brief moment, Gabriel stood utterly stunned. What kind of sustenance had these Earth dwellers consumed over the last century? Infernal nectar? Sacred enhancers?

They marched toward likely demise as if it were a mere playground skirmish, devoid of dread, only flames in their eyes.

Still, the angels' projections advanced afterward.

Thousands of life-sized duplicates drifted quietly, wings tucked, golden lights aligning in flawless unity.

They occupied half of the cloud-layered seats, expressions calm veils of verdict.

The humans seized the other section, lounging with relaxed vigor—some limbering up, others popping joints, a couple even nibbling on snacks fished from their pouches.

Gabriel drifted to the middle dais, his enormous shape spreading a soothing radiance over the sands. He lifted his tone, echoing like a chorus.

"Every match starts immediately and concludes solely when one side surrenders... or falls."

With a gesture, he summoned a lone avatar from the angels' ranks. It descended smoothly, touching the combat ground with scarcely a sound.

Differing from the many-winged high angels, this figure had just one set—wide and adorned with pale silver feathers, waving lightly. It wielded a gigantic hammer, double its own stature, its head crafted from celestial alloy that vibrated with hidden storms, shaft bound in luminous inscriptions heralding godly strikes.

This served as Heaven's entry for the initial level: matching a minor demon's might, an entity of pure, relentless power.

Gabriel directed his fiery stare toward Father Black, Elara still chuckling on his shoulders.

"Do you dispatch your fighter, Regent?"

Father Black dipped his head deliberately, steadily, then addressed the child balanced above.

"Elara," he stated, tone affectionate yet resolute, "it's your turn. Head out and do me proud."

Elara's eyes grew large for an instant, then she responded with the grave resolve unique to a nine-year-old. She descended his arm like a slide, touched down softly on the lustrous sand, and adjusted her basic green frock—simple fabric, edge slightly soiled from morning garden chores. She swept away nonexistent dirt, set her small frame upright, and strode directly to the battlefield's heart.

Silence enveloped the arena completely.

Gabriel's trumpet almost tumbled from his grasp. His flawless poise shattered; wings spread in real surprise. "This… surely a prank," he uttered, tone breaking. "Regent, take the young child off the field immediately. This isn't funny."

Distant on his barren-star seat, Lucifer straightened up, eyebrow raised in evident interest.

Back on Earth, billions tuned into the live stellar feed sputtered on their beverages. Displays halted on the sight of a young girl in a light dress confronting a seven-foot heavenly being armed with a storm-hammer.

"Has he lost his mind?"

"That's his kid!"

"She's only nine!"

Father Black's presence surged—vast power sparking like azure bolts around his garments, beard fluttering as in gale force. The force swept over the arena, potent enough to dim weaker energies.

"She," he declared, words deep yet reaching every expanse of existence, "shall protect Earth for the opening bout."

Gabriel's eyes flicked instinctively to the Earth group—Athena, expression steady; King Alexander, limbs crossed, giving a subtle nod; Demeter, holding her spouse's hands

Yet eyes gleaming with subdued joy.

Not a soul protested. Zero.

Gabriel's mouth pressed into a line. He faced the waiting angelic form on the sands again—a imposing shape with silver wings and the enormous hammer propped on its shoulder.

"Fine then," Gabriel replied icily. "If the Regent offers his offspring so readily… no problem."

He glanced at the angel. "Hold nothing back. Kin or no, she's mortal."

The angelic form didn't hesitate. It charged ahead, hammer arcing in a dazzling sweep of sacred lightning, the tool roaring as it sliced through the void toward the small figure.

Elara drew a steady breath, rooted her stance, and assumed a pose—legs flexed, tiny hands up, seeming almost whimsical.

Right as the hammer plunged to smash her, she acted.

A pivot.

It flowed smoothly, without strain. One small foot turned, form whirling like a performer. The hammer struck vacant sand, erupting a fountain of pale particles and a blast that shook the shields.

While the angel struggled to regain balance, Elara launched upward. She rotated in flight and unleashed a kick right into the avatar's torso.

The collision lacked volume. It felt off.

Shadowy essence—dense, writhing darkness—burst from her petite leg, striking the angel like a midnight barrage. The avatar hurtled rearward, slamming into the arena base with force enough to gouge the shifting sands. Fractures spread like webs. The hammer escaped its hold, whirling off into the edge.

The whole arena halted.

Angelic golden lights wavered together, like the collective pulse had faltered.

Lucifer tilted forward sharply, almost tumbling from his seat, eyes broadened, a pleased smile gradually forming.

On Earth, mouths dropped. Analysts lost their speech. Kids viewing alongside families gestured at the display and murmured, "Did… did that young girl just…?"

Just four beings across the universe showed no surprise:

Father Black, beaming with pride, beard quivering from held-back mirth.

Demeter, palm to lips, eyes brimming with emotion and intense parental triumph.

Athena, giving a single nod, signaling the child's solid performance.

King Alexander, arms folded still, whispering to himself, "That's my niece."

Elara touched down softly, swept a lock from her forehead, and waved happily toward her dad.

"Daddy, was that alright?"

Father Black's smile shone brighter than the former star.

"Flawless, little one. Utterly flawless."

Yet all who witnessed the action realized flawless fell short.

This child had achieved the impossible.

Even more remarkable was grasping her ability to perform it.

And then their gazes fell on her form. Shadow runes adorned it.