THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 835 The Meaning of Terror (1)

Somewhere on Earth, in a remote area where Agaroth had flung Frey, a dark chrysalis materialized, enveloping his form. He had been compelled to break through, pushed to a new stage by the immense pressure exerted by the Demon King.

Agaroth remained, observing with considerable patience. However, his waiting was brief, for the cocoon shattered, and Frey erupted forth—his presence now radiating a far denser, gray energy.

Frey attacked with his full might, his blade clashing against Agaroth amidst a tempest of fused, world-shattering power. The sheer impact threatened to rend existence itself, yet the Demon King stood unyielding.

Not even the slightest tremor.

With one hand ensnared in viscous, black flames, Agaroth halted the blade with effortless grace. His voice resonated near Frey's ear, clear and heavy with intent.

"This is insufficient. Display more."

Frey completely disregarding him, poured all his focus into his blade. Against Agaroth, mere thought was futile; it yielded only despair, only the crushing realization of the chasm between them.

Thus, he let go of it.

He transformed into a weapon—nothing more than a killing instrument destined solely for combat. This was the sole path allowing him to confront the Demon King, a fact Agaroth comprehended perfectly.

Consequently, he obliged.

Having achieved the fourth echelon of SSS, Frey's strength experienced an immense escalation. Under typical conditions, such a surge would be overwhelming, but before Agaroth, it was utterly insignificant.

Frey attacked without cessation, without respite. Unbeknownst to him, he began to wield the fused, world-breaking energy continuously, until it started to displace the black-hole aura within his very being.

The Absolute Manipulator responded instantaneously, initiating an assimilation of the novel forces. It began reshaping Frey's physique, augmenting his power and swiftness, adapting him to withstand that monstrous energy.

His Kratt form responded without fault.

Concurrently, the black-hole aura and Soulfire burned at their zenith, feeding the gray energy. Empowered, Frey unleashed a barrage of strikes, each capable of eradicating continents.

Yet, a disquieting anomaly emerged.

When his assaults impacted Agaroth, they inflicted no damage. They did not even necessitate a block; they simply ceased to exist the instant they made contact with his form.

As if entirely consumed.

Like a singularity drawing them into utter oblivion.

Again and again, Frey unleashed volleys of gray energy that threatened to obscure the heavens, only for them to be instantly devoured. Nothing endured.

What manner of body is this…?

What constitutes his being…?

Does he exist at all…?

These queries reverberated profoundly within Frey's subconscious, intensifying with each passing moment. The nearer he drew, the more ensnared in confusion he became.

And the most unsettling realization—

This monstrous entity was purportedly his own creation.

Agaroth had stated as much. Others had corroborated the claim. Yet Frey obstinately refused to accept it, his mind overwhelmed by doubt. How could he possibly have conceived something of this magnitude?

Who in this entire world could?

Agaroth ceased his engagement, but Frey persisted. He charged again, his attacks escalating in desperation, ferocity, and relentlessness.

At this juncture, the flames enveloping the Demon King blazed with renewed intensity.

The peculiar aura that shrouded him—akin to a living mantle—expanded expansively, swelling immeasurably until it completely submerged Frey's gray energy. That overpowering force dwindled to a mere faint glimmer within an immeasurable void.

And once more—

Frey was violently propelled backward.

The very ground beneath them fractured, compelling a relocation of the battleground. However, as was characteristic, Agaroth was already present, awaiting him.

Prepared.

But this time—

An interruption occurred.

Agaroth slowly elevated his gaze towards the sky above, which had transformed into a brilliant gold. His voice, though low, resonated across the entirety of the planet.

"Warrior of the Shadow Sect… retreat."

"I shall eliminate you. But not at this moment."

"Cherish the fleeting moments I have afforded you… and refrain from disrupting my amusement."

It was a distinct admonition.

One that went unheeded.

Descending from the celestial expanse, Fulghor appeared—his four hooves striking the very fabric of the sky, his eyes blazing intensely behind his helmet. His very presence caused the world to tremble.

"I embrace death!!"

His reverberating cry erupted like a cataclysm.

He unleashed his total power... a hundred percent of his aura, a reservoir equivalent to an entire planet. This was the prerequisite for activating his ultimate technique.

"Triple Judgment Spear!!!"

An incandescent golden radiance engulfed the world as Fulghor transmuted into a form resembling a blazing sun—an overwhelming concentration of divine, golden fire.

None could bear to behold him.

No one—

Except Agaroth.

With his crimson irises, the Demon King gazed directly, completely unfazed. High above the Earth, three colossal entities materialized—beings composed of pure gold and searing flame.

They moved upon four limbs, reminiscent of majestic beasts like Fulghor himself, yet far grander in scale. Each colossal entity possessed dimensions comparable to a moon.

The three transcendent beasts converged their power and struck in unison, their actions precisely targeted at the Demon King.

The Triple Judgment Spear…

Fulghor's ultimate creation, achieved after eons of labor. It was a singular ability, capable of striking only one target.

Thus, despite the colossal explosion that annihilated vast expanses of the planet... only a single entity suffered harm.

The Demon King.

No other being was affected.

Even though—

The planet itself could not withstand the impact's force.

The ensuing shockwave... was beyond comprehension.

Far exceeding any known limits.

A gargantuan crater ripped through the Earth, deforming the planet's very shape; its once-round form shattered, a significant portion of its mass simply vanished.

The repercussions of this destruction reverberated across the globe, reaching every life form without exception. The venerable human heroes erected shields for the soldiers beside them, while the Shadow Sect absorbed the residual devastation, safeguarding what remained of humankind.

Yet, beyond even that... the tremors of absolute ruin consumed all else.

Vayne... or rather, Wesker, observed that final, unrestrained onslaught from a distance, his eyes wide with palpable fear. He grasped the reality clearly—had that blow been directed at him, he would undoubtedly have perished.

"This attack itself is world-shattering... which implies the Eye of the King likely cannot negate it..." he vocalized, his voice laced with unease.

Consequently, even for the Demon King, employing such a method was not a viable option. Although Wesker harbored lingering doubts, knowing that Agaroth's Eye of the King far surpassed his own capabilities, it ultimately held no consequence.

Because Agaroth had no need for such a defense in the first place.

At the epicenter of the cataclysm, where the destructive force reached its zenith, the Demon King stood. Immobile, his form radiating a dense, suffocating dark aura, a broad smile stretched across his features.

"That was a potent strike," he declared, offering genuine commendation to Fulghor, before raising his hand and coalescing five world-ending abilities simultaneously.

"Accept this as compensation for your endeavors."

From his palm, a dark energy manifested, expanding in an instant to completely engulf Fulghor's incandescent sun.

Fulghor, suspended in the heavens, gazed at the encroaching aura, his eyes impossibly wide.

"The sheer volume of aura he wielded... it surpasses one hundred percent of my own reserves?" he stammered, disbelief coloring his tone.

He had always acknowledged the Demon King's superior reserves, but he had never conceived of such an overwhelming disparity. Agaroth's retaliatory strike possessed power that utterly dwarfed his own, yet he exhibited no indication of strain.

The King's devastating assault, a fusion of five world-altering abilities, utterly annihilated the Triple Judgment Spear—and Fulghor along with it—in a stark testament to their profound power difference.

The golden radiance persisted for less than ten seconds before being entirely consumed.

In the nick of time, the Shadow Sect warrior narrowly evaded annihilation, expending every ounce of his being simply to deflect the attack, not even to block it.

That desperate act alone exacted a terrible price—an arm, a significant portion of his body, half his face, and all of his accumulated Qi.

And so Fulghor descended, like a meteor hurtling towards the earth, his power utterly extinguished.

Agaroth paid him no heed. He merely turned, a smile gracing his lips, toward Frey, who had already initiated another offensive maneuver.