The three days passed like accelerated entropy.The Baptized fortified the cathedral ruins, knowing it wouldn't matter. Treated wounded, knowing they'd never fully heal before the next crisis. Trained combat drills, knowing they were preparing for a fight their leader would face alone.Azrael spent the time studying the challenge scroll's details. The Arena of Bone and Ash—formal combat ground where the Demon King settled disputes with rivals who earned his attention. The rules were surprisingly straightforward. Single combat until surrender or death. No outside interference. Victory recognized by all Underworld hierarchy."I'm coming with you," Maya said on the second night. Not asking. Stating."The challenge specifies—""Single combat in the arena, yes. Doesn't say you have to travel alone. Doesn't say you can't bring witnesses." She met his eyes. "You think I'm letting you walk into the Underworld without someone watching your back during the approach?""She's right," Sariel added

The arena floor blazed white-hot, centuries of accumulated death igniting into inferno that made breathing feel like inhaling molten glass.Azrael's Black Flame responded immediately, creating protective barrier around him. But this wasn't like deflecting attacks or consuming divine judgment. This was environmental. Constant. The entire arena had become oven designed to cook anything inside it slowly, thoroughly, completely."Second trial is endurance," the Demon King called from his safe position at the arena's edge. "You changed the terms of the first trial beautifully. Made strength irrelevant. But endurance doesn't care about philosophy. It just measures how long you can persist when existence itself hurts."The temperature continued rising. Azrael felt it through his protective barrier—the Black Flame was holding, but burning energy at unsustainable rate. Every second cost him. Every moment of survival depleting reserves he'd need for whatever came after.In the observation deck,

The Demon King didn't move immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the arena's far edge where a structure materialized—something that hadn't been there moments before.A throne.Not decorative. Not symbolic. This was the throne. The seat of absolute authority in the Underworld. Built from compressed bones of every demon who'd challenged his rule and failed. Wreathed in flames that had burned since the realm's founding. Radiating power that made even the arena's earlier trials seem like warmup exercises."Before we begin properly," the Demon King said, his voice carrying ceremonial weight, "let me show you what you're actually challenging."He walked toward the throne with deliberate slowness. Each step made the arena floor crack. Each movement caused reality to ripple. This wasn't just demon. This was authority. Cosmic principle made flesh. Hierarchy condensed into single being who'd shaped the Underworld's entire existence.He reached the throne and sat.The transformation was immed

The Black Flame erupted from Azrael's chest—not pushing outward against the Demon King's grip, but flowing through it. Using the contact as conduit. The crushing force that should have completed his conversion became pathway for something the Demon King hadn't anticipated.Shared transformation. Collective power. Every soul who'd chosen to stand feeding into single flame that burned brighter for being multiplied rather than divided.The Demon King felt it spreading through his essence and tried to release his grip. But the Black Flame had already wrapped around his claws, binding them in place. Not through superior strength—through connection. The same force that let Baptized channel each other's power now linking Azrael to something that predated his fall."This is impossible," the Demon King snarled, power building as he tried to break free. "Individual transformation can't affect hierarchy! That's not how cosmic principles work!""Maybe not," Azrael gasped, still being crushed but

The chaos in the arena gradually settled into something resembling order. The attacking demons had been subdued—not killed, but restrained by freed gladiators who remembered what combat meant after millennia of enforced servitude. The ones who'd scattered were gone, fleeing into the Underworld's depths to process what they'd witnessed.And the ones who'd knelt remained kneeling.Hundreds of them. Demons who'd watched their king bow and understood that something fundamental had shifted. That the cosmic order they'd built their existence around had just been revealed as constructed rather than inevitable.Azrael stood at the arena's center, the collective Black Flame finally dispersing as contributing souls withdrew their essence. The freed gladiators stepping back. The Baptized lowering their weapons. Everyone waiting to see what came next.Because the Demon King was still kneeling. Still bowed. Still accepting defeat that wasn't destruction but transformation of everything he'd repres