Devil Slave (Satan system) Chapter 1405 1405: Against Michael.

Tomato's brow furrowed intensely, her crimson skin turning an even deeper shade from fury. She popped her knuckles and advanced once more, her tail whipping furiously. "You believe a single throw settles it? I'll tear off those wings!"

Yet King Alexander eased her backward with a light touch on her shoulder. "Calm down. You're attempting to battle the most ancient fighter in the universe using such crude techniques? Move out of the way and observe the proper method."

Tomato snorted in frustration but gave in, folding her arms across her chest.

Alexander advanced, his enormous broadsword balanced on his shoulder, while his crown rotated slowly overhead. The atmosphere grew heavier near him, his aura of conquest radiating intensely.

Even the avatar of Angel Michael creased his forehead, his wings twitching a bit. He stood taller, keeping his hands bare.

Alexander grinned, his gaze piercing. "I've traversed more war zones than any soul present—whether mortal or godly. I understand precisely how to deal with angels of your sort."

In an instant, he blurred into motion. Alexander disappeared in a flash of velocity, his sword sweeping in a broad curve toward Michael's throat. The archangel responded without delay, snatching his fallen blazing sword from the ground to parry. The collision echoed sharply—bronze meeting sacred fire, with sparks bursting like distant stars.

Alexander grinned slyly, retreating. "Had you abandoned that sword on the ground, you'd already be gone."

Michael's gaze sharpened. "Arrogance."

In the background, Athena had been tracing infernal runes through the air—crimson symbols shining brightly, drawing dark power from the arena's walls laced with shadows. Blazes surged from her phoenix armor, burning fiercer than earlier. She surged ahead, fiery wings unfurling as she plunged like a shooting star, her spear jabbing at Michael's flank.

Michael whirled around, his sword deflecting Athena's spear in an outburst of fire that shoved her away. But Alexander had closed in—his broadsword slicing downward at Michael's legs. The angel leaped upward, wings beating once for elevation, and retaliated with a plunging thrust. Alexander dodged by rolling, his crown throbbing as he called forth a phantom legion—ethereal Macedonian soldiers appearing beside him, shields lifted, spears stabbing together.

The spectral figures overwhelmed Michael, their strikes passing through his protection yet sapping his divine glow. Michael swung his sword in a broad sweep, sacred flames detonating around him, destroying half the illusions. Then Athena struck from the side, her spear blazing with demonic runes. She thrust upward—targeting his wing's base—while Alexander attacked from below, broadsword chopping at his knee.

Michael parried Athena's spear using his empty arm, divine power surging to scorch her, but she evaded with a twist, her armor's flames clashing against his radiance. Alexander's blade nicked his thigh, spilling golden blood. The angel let out a grunt, his wings thrusting forward—one sharp feather cutting across Alexander's torso, spilling red.

Beyond the arena, back on Earth, countless billions stared at displays. Urban areas burst into celebrations. "Go, Alexander! Crush them!" Loved ones yelled from high places, cheering their champions. "Athena's blazing—actually on fire!" Taverns brimmed with shouts: "Earth has deities too! Angels aren't unbeatable!" Online networks surged with acclaim: "King Alexander dominating Michael! Humanity's revenge!"

Michael countered fiercely, his sword carving exact paths. He intercepted Alexander's broadsword during its swing, blades clashing in a bind, then slammed his forehead into the king's—divine light erupting from his brow. Alexander staggered, blood streaming from his nose, but Athena intervened, her rune-infused flames shaping into a lash that whipped Michael's limb, charring his protection dark.

The angel pulled away, his wings lifting him skyward. He plummeted, sword stabbing like a falling star. Alexander lifted his crown-enhanced shield—a wall of conquest symbols—and intercepted, the force digging a pit in the ground. Athena bounded up, her spear impaling Michael's flank. Golden fluid spurted. He spun in flight, seizing her wrist and hurling her aside, yet Alexander pursued—broadsword carving into Michael's wing.

The edge sank profoundly. One wing came off entirely, golden plumes drifting as it dropped. Michael tumbled onto the sand, blood pooling, his presence wavering.

Earth's roars grew deafening. "They severed his wing! Earth's triumphing!"

Alexander's gaze sparkled as he eyed Michael's detached wing strike the ground, its golden feathers dispersing like toppled constellations. The archangel stumbled backward, golden blood leaking from the wound, his sacred presence dimming briefly—like a flame battered by an unexpected wind. Beyond the stage, Earth's spectators burst into frenzied applause, the youthful rune-empowered fighters raising their arms. Across global screens, billions paused in suspense, then erupted in victory cries. "They sliced his wing! The king's overpowering him!" Echoes resounded through streets: "Alexander! Athena! Tomato!"

The conqueror stood tall, his huge broadsword still vibrating from the blow. A sly grin curved his mouth—deliberate, hunting, like that of a leader who'd conquered realms at dawn. He drove the sword's point into the earth, resting against it leisurely, as though this was merely a minor clash in an obscure meadow.

"You see," Alexander remarked, his tone drifting over the stage with that eternal Macedonian accent, "I've clashed with deities, giants, and monsters that devoured legions. But you? You're merely a fancy bird with a shiny blade." He halted, allowing the taunt to linger, then tilted his head and bellowed a laugh—resounding, thunderous, reverberating through the arena like echoes from old wars. The noise washed over the angelic ranks, causing minor forms to recoil. Even Gabriel, rubbing his struck face, averted his eyes.

Tomato snickered nearby, dabbing blood from her mouth, as Athena's phoenix armor glowed more intensely, her spear poised. The laughter sliced through the strain, converting dread into strength for Earth's team.

Michael's leftover wings quivered. He rose gradually, face impassive—sculpted from godly fury. The cut end healed in a burst of radiance, yet the absence weighed profoundly, a flaw in his flawless shape. He lifted his blazing sword aloft, fires surging taller, throwing elongated shadows over the stage.

"This arena," Michael declared, his voice deep yet vibrating, bearing the burden of ages, "feels confined."

The statement lingered. Then he slashed his sword—not toward Alexander, but in a sweeping, intentional circle. Divine power detonated, golden symbols flaring in the surrounding emptiness. The arena's shadow-laced boundaries fractured, then burst apart like brittle crystal under strain.

"Arcane domain: Fortress of Divine Reckoning!"

The realm expanded immediately—a immense, horrifying space that engulfed the whole field. Soaring barriers of indestructible light ascended for miles, inscribed with visions of heavenly verdicts: tumbling celestial bodies, broken planets, wrongdoers reduced to dust. The overhead sky turned into a vault of fiery star patterns, every star a watchful gaze, judging. The surface shifted to gleaming marble streaked with sacred blaze, each footfall resounding like a sentence. Flames in column form scattered the terrain, and far off, spectral voices chanted songs that froze the spirit. The domain enclosed everyone—Alexander, Athena, Tomato, and even the far-off seats fading at the borders. It was pure might embodied: splendid in its grandeur, terrifying in its finality, a world where pity had vanished.

As soon as it solidified, Michael acted.

He dissolved in a flare of brilliance—quicker than prior, the domain boosting his movements. Alexander's grin vanished; he hoisted his broadsword on reflex, crown throbbing overhead. But Michael's sword had arrived.

A lone, level cut.

The edge sliced smoothly—through plating, tissue, skeleton. Alexander's form divided at the midsection, top portion slipping away in a gush of crimson. He lacked even a moment to breathe. The conqueror's stare bulged in disbelief as he fell, legs crumpling to the marble, torso landing with a damp smack.

The arena—now the domain—plunged into quiet. Earth's jubilations choked off. Tomato halted in her stride. Athena's fires dimmed faintly.

Michael dropped his sword, golden blood still trickling from his mended wing base.

"One down."