As Alonso prepared to inflict pain, Bola's voice cut through the air, tense and urgent. "Wait! Ask me your questions, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."
Alonso narrowed his eyes, skepticism in his gaze. "And why would I believe anything you say?"
The king stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. "Hold on, Alonso. Remember, demons and angels are bitter enemies. Even a fallen angel would be despised. It's highly suspicious he'd be willingly, work for one."
Bruised and exhausted, Bola sank to the ground, his face contorted with a mix of bitterness and frustration. "Exactly," he muttered, barely holding back his disdain. "I will talk if it helps that bastard Warmonger fall."
Alonso raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with mockery. "So, you're ready to turn on your 'lord' just like that? Even after I killed your comrade? Don't you hate me? Don't you want revenge?"
Bola's gaze darkened, a mix of resentment and bitterness flickering in his eyes. "Don't you dare call that bastard my lord!" he spat, barely keeping his rage in check. "As for Zola's death… it's unfortunate, but hatred has no place in this. We're warriors—we live on the edge of life and death. Loss is just part of the game."
He leaned forward slightly, voice steady but filled with resolve. "I know strength when I see it, and that's the only reason I'd even consider this. But make no mistake—you'd better be strong enough to take Warmonger down."
Alonso leaned in, eyes narrowing with interest. "Hmm... I see. Then tell me—why are you working for him?"
Bola's shoulders slumped, a grim resignation settling over him. "It's not like I had a choice," he said, voice strained. "Warmonger only works with those of his own kind—other fallen angels. But because the angels are always hunting him and the rest of his kind, he forced me and Zola into his ranks. We demons don't attract angelic attention like the fallen do, so we're perfect for his dirty work. We're pawns… tools to hide his presence."
The king interjected, his eyes narrowing. "So, Warmonger's the one behind the mass slave purchases?"
Bola gave a hollow laugh. "Oh, yes. That bastard's obsessed with amassing power and challenging the heavens. Fallen angels are celestial beings, existing across dimensions. They're some of the most powerful entities alive—they can project themselves into multiple realms at once."
Alonso's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you saying they exist in every dimension at the same time, as the same person?"
Bola smirked, a hint of pride in his knowledge. "That's right. I thought you'd know that, genius."
Alonso's expression darkened. "Watch it, Bola."
The king sighed, his gaze distant. "Fallen angels are trouble, but they usually stay clear of the Blazing Star Continent. It's odd… Is he truly that desperate? And what are the angels doing, letting the fallen run loose?"
Bola let out a bitter chuckle. "The angels have their hands full dealing with the demon lords. Unless an entire continent is in jeopardy, they won't lift a finger to intervene."
Alonso shook his head, skepticism clear in his eyes. "The pieces don't quite fit. If Warmonger is exerting so much effort to remain concealed, especially from the angels, then he's no ordinary fallen angel. The stakes must be high if the angels are pursuing him with such intensity."
Bola's expression grew serious, his gaze hollow. "No one really knows Warmonger's true origins. But there are whispers… some say he was there at the beginning, alongside the Five Supreme Gods."
Alonso's brows shot up. "The beginning? You're going to need to elaborate on that."
Bola smirked, his tone smug as he sensed Alonso's intrigue. "Angels were created to watch over creation, under the Five Supreme Gods. They were meant to guide beings to peace and prosperity, but some of them… they wanted more. They saw their own power and thought it was wasted on guidance. They wanted dominion over creation itself."
The king nodded, visibly disturbed. "Yes… that's a story that's been passed down in the royal archives. There were angels who wanted to descend and rule alongside humans and demihumans. It caused a schism—a civil war."
Alonso crossed his arms, piecing it together. "So, the fallen angels are the ones who lost that war. But what actually makes them 'fallen'? And why are they still around?"
Bola's expression darkened, his voice almost hollow. "Angels… they aren't like us. For them, their inner state defines their power. We, as demons, can change; one day we're evil, the next we can choose good. But angels draw their power from the Creator himself. The moment they stray from their purpose, they're… corrupted. Permanently. Every desire becomes selfish, every thought twisted. They lose any connection to their original purpose."
Alonso gave a slight nod, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So, they're made for a specific purpose, and stepping outside it corrupts them beyond repair. Fallen angels can't return to what they were?"
Bola nodded, irritation flickering in his gaze. "You got it. Guess you're sharper than you look."
Alonso gave him a hard stare. "That raises another question: why weren't they just destroyed instead of left to run amok?"
The king chimed in, his voice somber, "Angels are celestial beings. They can't truly die; they are immortal in the truest sense. You might trap their soul, but to destroy it? Impossible."
Bola grunted in agreement, a bitter look crossing his face. "Exactly. An angel's true form doesn't belong in this realm. These fallen ones… they've been destroyed and resurrected countless times. Each resurrection weakens their soul, forcing them to descend to this lower world where their soul can linger… and hide."
Alonso's curiosity flickered, his mind racing. "So, the more their physical body is destroyed, the weaker they become?"
Bola nodded, grimly. "Yes, but it's not as simple as it sounds. First, destroying their body isn't easy; their resilience is… legendary. And even if you do, they'll just retreat to an even lower realm to recover, slipping into the shadows. It's only a temporary setback. The best solution we have is to contain them. I remember one of them once saying that many of their brothers and sisters are bound in chains."
Alonso's gaze sharpened, piecing together the implications. "So… Warmonger is buying slaves—collecting them in bulk—to harvest mana and regain strength?"
Bola let out a disgusted chuckle, his lips curling in disdain. "Exactly. But here's the twisted part. An angel's original power… it's beyond anything you can comprehend. Even if he drained the entire world of its mana, it wouldn't come close to what he once had. They'd need the mana of entire realms to reach their former strength." Bola's eyes narrowed, his voice lowering. "So, it's not just about power. I'd wager they're planning something else. Something bigger."
Alonso tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So, these Cataclysms you're part of… just how powerful are they?" His tone was almost casual, but the glint in his eye hinted at the thrill of the challenge.
Bola shot Alonso a look as if he'd just heard the most absurd thing imaginable, then let out a dark, humorless laugh. "You've got a death wish, haven't you?" he sneered, though a trace of wariness lingered in his gaze. "You'd be wise not to underestimate them. Out of all ten of us, Zola and I were the only demons. The rest… they're something else entirely." He trailed off, a visible shudder running through him. "I've fought two of them—Armaros and her brother, Rahab. Rahab alone could've wiped the floor with Zola and me without breaking a sweat. And when the three of us faced Armaros?" He swallowed, his voice dropping. "She didn't even move. Not a single ounce of mana. She tore us apart just standing there not moving from her spot. She's dangerous in ways you can't begin to grasp, and if you'd seen the raw strength Rahab himself wields, you'd understand the sheer nightmare she is."
Bola's voice hardened, the words heavy with the weight of experience. "On Warmonger's island, they don't mask their power. Nothing's sealed. You walk in there, and you feel it—the raw, unrestrained might. It's enough to make you think twice about even breathing."
The king's face grew grave as he took in Bola's words. "We should return to the city," he said, his voice tight with worry. "There's much we need to prepare for."
Alonso nodded, eyes narrowing with interest. "Yes… and Warmonger. I think I'd quite like to meet him."
But the moment he uttered those words, a sinister voice echoed out from Bola's chest, cold and mocking. "Oh, you will… soon enough."
Bola's face contorted in horror as he clutched his chest, eyes wide with terror. His body began to convulse violently, wracked with unbearable pain as he rolled on the ground, thrashing and screaming. His hands clawed desperately at his chest, where a black, ominous mark began to materialize—a dark sigil shaped like two jagged wings, glowing with a sinister black light. The intense heat from the mark seared through his robes, scorching them ash until his pale, scarred chest was laid bare, revealing the twisted, pulsating symbol etched into his skin. The mark seemed almost alive, writhing and pulsing with a dark energy that radiated a menacing heat, casting flickering shadows across his chest.
Alonso and the king froze, horror filling their faces as they watched Bola writhe in agony. Alonso's heart raced, an unusual unease creeping into his mind. That voice… no, it can't be.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the black sigil flared with a blinding darkness, and, with a sickening, wet tearing sound, a hand shot out from Bola's chest, clawed and wreathed in shadow. Bola's screams escalated, his eyes rolling back as his body shook uncontrollably.
Alonso and the king could do nothing but watch, a cold dread settling over them both. They knew, without a doubt, that whatever was coming through Bola was definitely not good.
Bola was still writhing on the ground, his screams filling the forest, when a second clawed hand emerged from his chest. Then, in one horrific motion, a whole figure tore itself free, hovering in the air above them. As soon as the figure appeared, the air grew thick, oppressive, as if gravity had increased a hundredfold. The king collapsed to the ground, pinned, unable to move. Even Alonso, despite his strength, struggled to keep standing.
Bola, drenched in sweat and terror, glanced up at the figure, his voice trembling. "L-Lord Warmonger…"
Warmonger's sharp, cold gaze flicked down to him, his expression a mixture of disdain and amusement. His face was as pale as marble, yet unnervingly handsome, with high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and sharp features that exuded both elegance and cruelty. Jet-black hair cascaded down to his knees, shimmering with a dark, almost otherworldly gleam.
"Bola," Warmonger's voice cut through the air like a blade, dripping with a chilling authority. "Did you honestly believe I'd allow a mere demon to roam free, unchecked? That I'd trust you without binding you with a seal? And now, you dare betray me?" He let out a dark, mocking laugh. "It's always the weak who forget their place… How utterly, pathetically foolish."
Alonso's shock was evident as he analyzed the figure. Something was off; the flow of mana, the intensity—it didn't match the overwhelming pressure Warmonger was exerting. He squinted, his mind racing, piecing together the discrepancy. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with realization. "You're… you're just a projection, aren't you? The mana's flow is all wrong. This isn't even your real body."
Warmonger's gaze shifted to Alonso, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Interesting," he murmured, his voice cold yet oddly fascinated. "You wear the face of an Oni, yet your soul… is unmistakably human. And not just any human—one from another realm. How peculiar."
Alonso's face betrayed his shock, words momentarily failing him. With a single glance, Warmonger had seen straight through him, discerning secrets no one else had even suspected. The king, struggling against the suffocating force, turned his gaze to Alonso, stunned by the revelation. In that instant, pieces of Alonso's mystery began to fall into place for him, explaining the strange aura that had always surrounded him.
Alonso steadied himself, forcing out, "How… how could you possibly know that?"
But Warmonger dismissed him, barely sparing Alonso a second look. His cold eyes fell back on Bola, still sprawled on the ground, the weight of dread etched on his face. Warmonger's voice was icy as he raised his hand toward Bola. "Your usefulness has ended."
Before Bola could even react, his body convulsed violently, and in a sickening instant, he burst into a bloody mist, his remains splattering across the ground. The forest was dead silent, save for the trickle of blood, and the lingering, suffocating weight of Warmonger's presence.
Warmonger turned his gaze upon the king, his expression a chilling mixture of contempt and cold amusement. With a deliberate, almost lazy gesture, he raised his hand and pointed it at the king, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are an inconvenience, a mere insect disrupting the flow of my operations. How dare you interfere with the supply of slaves."
Power radiated from his outstretched arm, a sparkling dark mana swirling around his hand it looked like start light , ready to crush the king in an instant. Just as Warmonger's hand clenched, Alonso, reacting with lightning speed, lunged forward, seizing the king and yanking him out of the way. The very spot the king had stood in exploded, a deep crater forming from the sheer force of Warmonger's unleashed energy.
Warmonger's piercing gaze shifted to Alonso, his cold smile fading into something darker, almost predatory. "Ah, so you can move," he intoned, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Everyone who stands in my way meets the same end. But tell me… why do I find myself looking at you again? Is this mere coincidence… or fate?" His gaze narrowed as he took in Alonso's changed form. "And you've even evolved, haven't you?" His voice held a sinister mix of irritation and intrigue, as though he was deciding whether to view Alonso as an annoyance or a true threat.
Alonso remained silent, his mind racing with questions. What did Warmonger mean by "seeing him again"? Alonso was certain this was their first encounter, yet the fact that Warmonger knew about his recent evolution suggested otherwise. Had they crossed paths before, or was Warmonger's power so great that he could sense such things? The confusion gnawed at Alonso, but he held his composure, refusing to show any uncertainty.
Suddenly Warmonger's sharp eyes flickered upward. A massive eye ball appeared in the sky, ancient and all-seeing, its unblinking gaze fixed on him. His once-handsome face twisted with rage and frustration, his features tightening. "Already? I barely even tapped into my power, and yet they're watching…" he muttered under his breath, a glimpse of irritation breaking through his calm demeanor.
Warmonger's gaze settled on Alonso, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth as his eyes narrowed with chilling precision. "An Oni merging with the elements... intriguing. I've never seen anything like it," he mused, his voice dripping with disdain and curiosity. "Tell me, how did you manage such a feat?" He paused, seeming almost amused by the silence, before letting out a cold, mocking laugh. "No matter. I don't have the luxury of time today, but rest assured, I'll find out everything I need… the next time we meet. If you survive, that is."
With an ominous sweep of his hand toward the heavens, Warmonger seemed to signal for something. Instantly, the colossal eye in the sky released a blinding white beam that shot down like judgment itself, striking Warmonger. His form fractured under the intense energy, dissolving and fading away, his figure unraveling into nothingness. As his presence faded, the massive eye lingered a moment, then closed, disappearing into the void. A profound, eerie silence fell over the battlefield, the lingering chill of his power the only reminder of the encounter.
Alonso and the king exchanged a tense glance, a mixture of relief and unease settling between them. But just as they began to relax, the air grew scorching, an intense heat radiating from above. They both looked up, and horror dawned on their faces—a massive meteor, fiery and jagged, was hurtling down from the sky, leaving a burning trail behind it as it descended with terrifying speed. Warmonger had summoned a meteor as a parting gift, one last devastating strike meant to obliterate them both.
The king's face twisted in horror as he stared, wide-eyed, at the colossal meteor hurtling toward them. Defeat had already settled in his heart, the grim acceptance of fate casting a shadow over his gaze. Yet, standing firm beside him, Alonso was anything but resigned. His expression was steely, a flicker of fierce determination burning within his eyes as he let out a powerful shout, "Ha!"
With that cry, Alonso activated his Ice Titan transformation, and the air around him crackled with intensified energy. This wasn't the Ice Titan he had known before—now, it had evolved, each detail meticulously controlled with perfect efficiency. There was no wasted motion, no excess energy. His very cells pulsed with renewed vigor, producing aether faster, stronger, and more precisely than ever before.
As the power surged within him, Alonso's appearance shifted. His horns gleamed an icy blue, a stark contrast against the freshly snow-white hair that cascaded down his shoulders. Layers of glacial armor coated his skin, an unbreakable defense forged directly from his own essence. The icy armor didn't mask his natural brown complexion but instead seemed to meld seamlessly into it, enhancing his strength without concealing his identity.
His trench coat transformed to match, now as white as the purest frost, while the red accents of his sneakers turned an unblemished white, leaving only the original black as a reminder of who he once was.
Alonso deliberately controlled his transformation this time, suppressing his icy aura to ensure it didn't affect the surrounding environment or freeze the king, unlike the uncontrolled surge during his fight with Nightowl.
With a burst of incredible speed, Alonso flew into the sky, ascending rapidly toward the massive meteor hurtling toward the earth. The sheer scale of the celestial object dwarfed him, making him appear like a mere ant in comparison. Undaunted, Alonso braced himself, pressing his palms and shoulders against the meteor's icy surface, gritting his teeth as he attempted to slow its deadly descent.
The clash was monumental—Alonso's strength versus the immense force of the meteor's momentum. His face twisted in exertion as he channeled aether through his body, the radiant energy blending with his icy aura. Frost began to creep across the meteor's surface, but the size of the object was staggering. Despite his efforts, the meteor continued to descend, albeit at a slightly reduced speed. The air around Alonso crackled as he pushed harder, his icy aura spreading further over the meteor.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he roared, "Not on my watch!" His hands dug into the frozen surface as he poured every ounce of power into slowing the fall. Yet, the meteor's massive size and velocity threatened to overwhelm him. The ground below loomed closer, and the thought of the cataclysmic destruction it would cause—the annihilation of Forest Hill City and the surrounding forest—fueled Alonso's desperation.
As the meteor neared the ground, Alonso's freezing aura finally consumed it entirely, encasing the entire mass in thick, shimmering ice. The descent slowed dramatically, but the danger wasn't fully averted. With one final, defiant