Devil Slave (Satan system) Chapter 1397 1397: Elara Makes Daddy proud.

The arena plunged into a stunned hush—before bursting forth in a surge of astonishment that swept over Heaven's ranks and the remote fallen observers in equal measure.

Angels of every kind, from avatars to the originals themselves, gaped with wings caught halfway through their beats. The fallen guards along the fringes of Lucifer's domain shared startled stares. Even the hellbeast waiting patiently beyond the entrance raised its three heads, ears standing straight.

Countless factors played into it.

The avatar Elara had slammed into the earth was far from a beginner—it held the refined wisdom of ages spent in heavenly battles. Even reduced to a lower demon's level, its reactions, rhythm, and gut feelings ought to have been perfect. No kid, no matter her gifts, should have struck so purely.

And she was just nine.

Yet gazes—golden ones, crimson hues, inquisitive stares—shifted to the subtle patterns shimmering over her exposed arms and legs as she touched down. Slender, graceful streaks of deep shadow twisted across her flesh like animated ink, throbbing softly with every inhale.

Shadow runes.

Lucifer rose partway from his seat, wings spreading out, eyes bulging in real surprise. A ripple of whispers coursed through his assembly.

Shadow runes stood as myths—blessed by the divine in ways too scarce to imagine, unable to be forged or compelled. Angels themselves couldn't summon them. Only individuals selected by the universe, touched by an unfathomable destiny, could carry such marks.

The most recent carrier had been Lenny Tales.

Even during Lucifer's brief possession of that form, using it as a hijacked vessel, the runes had rejected him outright. They faded away instead of yielding to his command.

But now they appeared, inscribed on a nine-year-old child in a simple green cotton outfit.

Murmurs flew between the factions.

"Is she… cosmos-blessed too?"

"Another one?"

"Impossible…"

What many overlooked was that this eight-year-old held a piece of divinity, raised in the finest, most indulged surroundings imaginable.

She'd also received endless presents since her first days.

Her power to wield Shadow runes counted among those blessings.

Naturally, nobody knew her godfather's identity. If revealed, it would stun them all.

As the cosmos staggered, the girl herself bounced lightly on her toes amid the sandy field, slapping her palms together and grinning toward the Earth seats.

"I did it, Daddy! Did you see?"

Still, the bout continued.

The embedded angel avatar burst skyward, silver wings unfurling sharply. Divine radiance blazed fiercer—nearly sight-stealing—as it pulled loose from the indented barrier where Elara's strike had lodged it. Grains of sand poured from its plating like shimmering droplets.

It lunged forward.

The hammer descended in a straight plunge that tore the atmosphere with a roar. Elara evaded, yet the blast's edge caught her, hurling her into a spin.

Before regaining her footing, the angel closed in—hammer carving exact, unyielding loops. One strike skimmed her shoulder; the next nicked her flank. She parried a further one with arms locked together, shadow runes igniting in protection, though the force still knocked her down to a single knee.

A last downward blow compelled her to tumble aside. The hammer brushed her side.

Elara hacked—a harsh, moist cough—and a slender streak of crimson seeped from her lip's edge, vivid on her face.

Gabriel permitted a faint, eased grin, his wings easing slightly.

"I was worried for nothing," he whispered, volume reaching the nearest seats. "A child remains a child."

From the Earth benches, Demeter clenched Father Black's hand harder until her fingers blanched.

Father Black simply beamed—calm, assured, the identical expression from outwitting high angels long ago.

"Relax," he said softly to her. "She's got this."

Next, he formed his hands into a megaphone and shouted over the field, tone laced with playful elder charm.

"Elara! Listen up, sprout! If you lose this one, Aunty Tomato and your godfather are gonna be real mad! No more gifts, no more adventures, no more riding on hellbeast backs! You hear me?"

Elara's gaze jerked upward. Crimson on her mouth, hair in disarray, eyes igniting suddenly.

She smeared her lips with her hand's back, flashed a bold small smile, and popped her knuckles.

"Okay, Daddy!"

Elara remained planted in the pitted grains, blood streaked on her mouth, locks messed up, but her gaze—those keen, passed-down eyes—flared with rebellion and sly wit intertwined.

The angel avatar straightened completely, hammer retrieved, silver wings expanding broadly. Its golden glow throbbed mightier, sacred beams repairing the splits in its plating from her prior blow. It rushed once more, hammer slicing in a base curve to topple her stance, chased by an ascending crush that boomed like final reckoning.

Elara sidestepped the low cut—scarcely, her skirt ripping at the base—but the sequel struck her limb, flinging her sliding away. She grimaced, a fresh hack yielding a dot of scarlet. The avatar seized the edge, hammer pouring measured, seasoned hits: one leftward, demanding a dodge; another from above, shattering the grains near her skull; a whirling reverse that brushed her shoulder, tracing a slim red trail.

Her breaths came ragged now, small torso rising and falling fast. The angel towered, hammer lifted for the end, expression as stoic as etched stone.

Gabriel's grin stretched a touch more from his high vantage. "See? The folly of hubris."

Demeter's hold on Father Black's hand turned steely, pressing into his flesh.

Yet Elara lifted her eyes to the angel, cleared her mouth once more, and smiled—crimson-tinged, impish, unbroken.

"Aunty Tomato likes brute force," she declared, tone ringing pure across the field to every dazed onlooker.

"She taught me all her best kicks and punches. But I know I'm still small. I'm lacking compared to you, mister angel. You're old and strong and stuff."

The avatar halted its motion halfway, seemingly taken aback by the words.

"But," Elara went on, eyes sparkling, "I've got other skills too!"

The shadow runes across her frame awakened—slender dark traces swirling like vital ink over her flesh, from limbs to legs to the subtle hints beneath her neckline. They twisted swifter, throbbing with a strange, abyss-sourced shine.

She pressed a tiny palm to the surface—flat and fingers spread wide. Shadow runes poured from her body like poured tar, flooding into the pale grains. The arena's base shadowed where they spread, fissures appearing as though the earth stirred to life.

Out of those fissures sprang hounds—five in total, shaped from solid shadow. They weren't cuddly young ones; these formed dread creatures, smooth and wild, forms coiling like hardened fog, gazes burning red embers. Maws filled with fangs like black glass edges, talons dragging threads of gloom. Each reached Elara's height, rumbling deeply with tones from some hellish depth.

The angel wasted no time. It whirled its hammer in a broad sweep, thunder crashing as it struck the lead hound—blasting it into shadowy vapor.

Yet the vapor reshaped right away, the hound reappearing in mid-bound, fangs seizing the angel's wing. It ripped a portion away, sacred plumes drifting like fading lights. The chomp hissed—infused with shadowy power that eroded the golden glow, dark lines creeping from the gash like toxin in blood.

The angel twisted, hammer pulverizing the next hound's skull. It scattered as well—but reemerged at the rear, pouncing at the lower limbs. The third and fourth joined the fray, one clawing at the plating's joints, the other biting the hammer's grip. Shadowy force leaked from each mark, weakening the avatar's radiance, slowing its actions.

The angel resisted with fury—veteran prowess evident. It crushed one hound underfoot, beams erupting from its sole to disperse the shade. Smashed another to nothing with a top-down blow that pocked the grains anew. But they persisted, reshaping swifter with every pass, assaults unending. One clung to the wing's base, shredding plumes; another aimed for the neck, making the angel shield with its limb—only for the shadowy force to gnaw the guard, dark decay climbing the appendage.

The fifth hound prowled, seeking a gap, then hit below—talons slashing the knee, shadowy force weakening the hinge. The angel faltered, hammer arcs dragging as the rot advanced, glow wavering like a failing flame.

Elara hung back, fingers linked, observing with intent wide eyes. Perspiration dotted her brow; the runes on her flesh faded a bit per reshape.

The angel bellowed—a sacred roar—and released a flare of radiance from its center, dispersing the five hounds together. B

ut they reshaped even faster, strengthened by the field’s shadow-laced runes, and overwhelmed as a pack. Fangs all around—shredding wings, yanking plating loose, shadowy force overwhelming each injury until the golden radiance flickered to nothing.

The avatar sank to one knee, hammer falling, form breaking into dim motes of sacred force.

Vanquished.

Elara blinked, runes easing onto her skin like drowsy designs. She grinned toward the crowds, flailing both arms.

"I won!" she called, voice vivid and winded.

Then her gaze flipped upward, legs giving way. She slumped unconscious onto the grains, small body folding like a doll with severed lines.

The arena burst with shouts from the Earth group—fighters springing upright, arms thrusting high.

Father Black moved swiftly, lifting her in a smooth sweep, holding her tenderly.

Demeter hurried near, palms shining with verdant mending power.

But Elara just murmured in slumber, "Gifts… adventures…Godfather i want to ride hell... hounds."

Lucifer laughed from his spot, easing down with a smirk.

Gabriel gawked, at a loss for words.

The opening round: Earth's victory.