"These fools," Azazel muttered dismissively, not sparing a glance at the fallen knight. He withdrew his blade from the corpse, stepped over the area where the horses had stumbled, and walked slowly toward the gathering of mercenaries. Before the plan was put into action, Azazel had tasked Ganzaleth with preparing the ground. After inspecting the knights' steeds, Ganzaleth had cunningly dug countless small pits, the size of tea bowls and a palm's depth, across the area. It was unrealistic to expect a little devil to fight, but for digging traps, they were the best candidates. These small pits were a treacherous trap known as horse pits, a wicked ploy from the lands of Shenzhou. If a galloping horse stepped into one, a broken leg and a tumble were guaranteed.
This was the trap set for the three Templar Knights.
"Ready the bows! Don't approach the devil; shoot him dead. We'll kill him with arrows!" The mercenaries were thrown into disarray by Azazel's rhythmic, slow advance. They couldn't comprehend how their formidable knights had fallen so easily to the devil, nor could they understand why their well-trained horses had collapsed without warning. The devil's strength was beyond their imagination, and fear thrived in the unknown. The courage within the mercenaries drained away with each heavy step Azazel took.
The mercenaries had lost the courage to face Azazel head-on. The only reason they stood their ground was the enemy was just one person, and they still had a significant number on their side.
But indeed, killing a devil with arrows was a good idea. No matter how strong the devil was or how strange his blade, an arrow storm would do the job. As a dozen archers stepped forward, longbows raised, the light of dawn suddenly blazed before their eyes.
Although Hell too saw the sunrise, it happened only once a year. And certainly not during this season.
The light and a sword among the archers signaled Valis swinging his Sword of Dawn. The divine blade emitted a warm glow, like the sun rising amidst the blood of the dawn, tender and beautiful, intoxicating to behold.
Valis, playing the role of the knight defending the angel in Azazel's plan, had been "stabbed" from the side by the evil demon in the mock battle. In reality, Azazel's blade had merely passed under Valis's armpit, appearing as if it had pierced him from the side. Coupled with special blood bags and the blood spray effect, the performance was convincingly real.
After being "kicked" away from the main battlefield and out of sight, Valis had taken the opportunity to slip among the mercenaries—a feat not difficult as, unlike regular soldiers, these mercenaries' gear was a hodgepodge, making one more armored warrior hardly noticeable.
Valis chose the perfect moment to shine. Amidst the beautiful glow, longbows were effortlessly sliced through, limbs and arms flew with the blood into the sky, and in the blink of an eye, the ranks of the archers were halved. The Sword of Dawn cut through the leather-armored archers as easily as a steel knife through cheese. In just a few breaths, the mercenaries were thrown into chaos. And within that same few breaths, Azazel also silently surged into the crowd.
On one side was Valis, his sword skills exquisite and the divine blade in hand, the newly fallen angel striking mercilessly and without reserve. Every flicker of light was accompanied by a spray of blood and a cry of agony. On the other side, Azazel wielded his Soul Blade, silently reaping souls without a shout or a cry, only small wounds and a series of silent fallen bodies, leaving behind empty husks devoid of souls.
"Stand fast, stand fast! Genoa is coming, Archangel Genoa is on her way!" Some mercenaries shouted out, calling for the last Archangel in the fortress, their final hope.
Amidst their cries, the last Archangel, Genoa, finally made her appearance on the battlements.
She was the last hope of the human mercenaries in this Bloody Fortress, in this Hell. The mercenaries believed they could still turn the tide under the leadership of an Archangel.
But when they saw the state of Archangel Genoa, their spirit nearly broke, and the last flicker of hope was doused by an unprecedented downpour, extinguishing it in their hearts in an instant.
Archangel Genoa was bound and displayed on the battlements, her face flushed with a sickly red, her demeanor timid. Her white robes were in shreds, hanging by threads that could no longer cover her decency. What was left only served to incite desire further. Her lower garment was torn, leaving her long, white legs exposed. A rope skillfully bound Genoa's entire body, and even Azazel, with his knowledge of earth's erotica, had to admit the binding technique was masterful. The hemp rope dug into the Seraph's flesh, accentuating her chest, and because the observation was from below, Azazel could see the rope had sunk into Genoa's private crevice, from which a clear liquid flowed down her trembling legs.
This was a top-tier SM binding technique, revealing the binder's expertise. Azazel couldn't help but want to meet this bondage enthusiast, even if he wasn't into that himself. Learning the legendary binding techniques was always beneficial. Who could possess such talent?
The collapse of the last hope, the defeat of the good people, was so easily accomplished by the obscene and evil scene before them.
With the shattering of their last hope, the mercenaries' morale suffered a devastating blow. They could no longer keep their composure. Azazel decided to push them over the edge and shouted at the top of his lungs, "The last Archangel has been captured by the devil, defiled by the devil!" His cry was loud on the battlefield, heard by all.
The desperate, helpless cries seemed to be the final straw that broke the camel's back. The mercenaries' confidence completely collapsed, and a retreat was inevitable. They scattered in all directions, seeking only to put some distance between themselves and death. But where could they flee to in Hell? Turning their backs on an enemy only made them die faster.
Stabbing a blade into an enemy's back is much easier than facing them in combat.
The battle was over.
After Azazel cleared the gate of enemies, he ceased his actions, allowing Valis to continue chasing down the fleeing humans within the fortress. Azazel himself stood on the drawbridge of the fortress, waiting for the bondage expert, for if she still lived, she would present him the fortress.
Soon enough, Robin, the succubus with crimson wings, emerged, clad in a black silk evening gown. The black and red ensemble made her appear noble and mysterious. Following behind her were Ganzaleth and ranks of inferior devils, neatly arrayed.
The succubus Robin approached Azazel, knelt on one knee, and spoke with reverence, "Welcome, new master of the fortress. According to the agreement, you have defeated the humans who resided here. From this moment on, you are the master of this fortress, and I am your butler, Robin."
Azazel nodded in satisfaction and inquired, "And you fulfilled your part of the agreement, as you said, completely subduing the Archangel without help. No, what you did was far more than promised. How did you manage it?"
Robin raised her head, "It wasn't difficult, just a matter of adding some paralytic agents to the food. Combined with the characteristic aphrodisiacs of my kin, even the most intelligent of Wisdom Angels can't resist the lust induced by the potion, let alone a mere Archangel."
The image of the bound Archangel flashed in Azazel's mind, the scene too stimulating to forget. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "So, um, what do you plan to do with that Archangel named Genoa?"
"From body to soul, complete domination. Please trust me; it won't be difficult. Once trained, I will present her to you as a gift to my new master."
"I look forward to it."
With those words, Azazel turned away from the others, took a deep breath, and walked up to the fortress gates. He opened his arms wide as if to embrace the castle.
"Excellent, this is my fortress. The era belonging to me, Azazel, is about to dawn."