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Algernon stood in his private training grounds, his body and mind sharper than ever. His victory over Vali and the subsequent gain of a powerful peerage member had pushed his progress to new heights.
At just 12 years old, his growth had accelerated beyond what anyone in the demon realm would expect. His body, hardened by relentless training and tempered by constant challenges, had the appearance and strength of someone years older. Now a high-class devil, he was just beginning to scratch the surface of his potential.
The cool morning air in the underworld carried a sense of anticipation. Algernon's thoughts raced as he mapped out his next steps. His mastery over demonic energy had reached 80% control—a feat considered near-impossible for his age—but it wasn't enough.
Mastery wasn't about just wielding power; it was about dominance over it. To conquer, he had to expand the range of his energy control, to make his will extend across vast distances. For that, he needed to sharpen his perception.
And what better way to sharpen one's perception than in real combat?
A grin played on his lips as he stared at his reflection in a polished obsidian mirror. His crimson eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger.
"The capital of Lilith," he muttered. "The devil's playground. If I'm going to prove my power to the underworld and hone my skills, there's no better stage than the arena."
The arena of Lilith was infamous across the underworld. It wasn't just a battleground—it was a spectacle. A place where devils could unleash their bloodthirsty nature without restraint, battling to the death before a roaring crowd.
It was a perfect blend of chaos and discipline, a stage where strength was revered above all else. Algernon had no doubt that his presence there would turn heads. After all, how often did a young high-class devil walk into an arena meant for seasoned warriors?
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The towering black spires of Lilith loomed before him, their jagged peaks reaching toward the crimson-lit sky. The city teemed with life, a sprawling metropolis where ambition and power collided in every street and shadow.
Devils of all ranks and houses moved through the bustling streets, their eyes gleaming with the same hunger for strength and status that defined their kind.
Algernon stepped into the city wearing a dark cloak and a mask that concealed his identity. He wasn't here as Algernon Gremory. No, that name carried too much weight, and he wasn't ready to reveal his connection to the prestigious house just yet.
The whispers began almost immediately as he passed through the crowds. His aura was impossible to ignore, a commanding presence that made lesser devils instinctively step aside. Yet it was his destination that truly caught their attention: the arena.
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The coliseum stood as a testament to the brutality and grandeur of devil culture. Massive and foreboding, it was adorned with blood-red banners and spiked parapets. The roars of the crowd echoed from within, mingling with the explosive sounds of ongoing battles.
Inside, the energy was electric. Devils from across the underworld gathered to witness and participate in the carnage. The registration hall was bustling with fighters, from grizzled veterans to eager challengers. Algernon approached the desk, where a bored-looking devil lazily glanced up at him.
"You here to watch, kid?" the devil asked with a sneer. "The arena isn't a playground."
Algernon's crimson eyes narrowed beneath his mask. Without a word, he raised his hand, and a surge of demonic energy erupted around him. The oppressive force made the air heavy, and the sneering devil's face paled instantly.
"High-class…?" the devil stammered. "At your age?"
"I'm here to fight," Algernon said simply.
The devil quickly regained his composure and nodded, his tone now far more respectful. "Name?"
"Azeroth," Algernon replied.
The name drew curious glances from those nearby, but no one dared to question him further. With his registration complete, he was escorted to the gates of the arena.
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The bloodlust of the crowd was palpable as Algernon stepped onto the battlefield for his first official arena match. The cheers of thousands of devils rang out, their excitement amplifying the energy in the air.
Behind his mask, Algernon—now known only as Azeroth—felt a flicker of anticipation. This wasn't just a fight. It was the first step in proving his dominance to the underworld.
Across the arena stood Theron the Ravager, a towering devil armed with a massive war axe. His aura radiated power, a mid-tier high-class opponent who had earned his reputation through countless bloody victories.
His grin was savage as he looked at Algernon, dismissing him as another upstart looking to make a name for himself.
"Kid, I hope you enjoyed the cheers," Theron sneered, his voice booming across the coliseum. "Because they'll be enjoying watching you die when I'm done."
Algernon didn't respond. He simply tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath his mask. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, unnerving Theron more than he cared to admit.
The announcer's voice echoed across the arena. "Let the match… begin!"
Theron wasted no time, charging forward with surprising speed for his size. His axe, crackling with dark energy, swung downward with enough force to split the ground in two.
But Algernon wasn't there.
With a single, fluid motion, Algernon sidestepped the attack, the massive axe slamming into the ground where he had stood. Dust and debris erupted, obscuring Theron's vision for a moment. That moment was all Algernon needed.
From the side, he unleashed a concentrated blast of demonic energy. The compressed force struck Theron square in the ribs, sending him skidding backward. The crowd gasped in shock—Theron's heavy armor had a noticeable dent, and the once-confident devil now looked rattled.
Theron roared, unfurling his wing as he launched himself into the air. "You think you're clever, huh? Let's see how you handle this!"
From above, Theron rained down a barrage of fire and lightning, the arena turning into a chaotic storm of destruction. The crowd cheered wildly as explosions erupted across the battlefield.
But in the midst of the chaos, Algernon moved like a shadow. His training in compression and energy control allowed him to shield himself with minimal effort, conserving his strength. He darted through the battlefield, weaving through the onslaught with uncanny precision.
Suddenly, he was behind Theron, appearing as if out of thin air. Before the larger devil could react, Algernon delivered a devastating kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground.
"You rely too much on power," Algernon said calmly, his voice cutting through the noise. "But power without control is just wasted potential."
Theron snarled and swung his axe in a wild arc, but Algernon ducked beneath the blow, his movements almost casual. He countered with a blade of compressed demonic energy, slashing across Theron's chest and forcing him back once more.
Blood dripped from Theron's wounds as he stumbled to his feet, his breaths ragged. "Damn you!" he roared, his aura flaring dangerously. "I won't lose to some masked brat!"
He unleashed a powerful shockwave, the sheer force of it shattering the ground beneath their feet. The audience roared in excitement, sensing the fight reaching its climax.
Algernon stood his ground, raising a hand to stabilize himself against the shockwave. As the dust settled, Theron charged again, his movements fueled by desperation and rage. But Algernon didn't flinch.
Instead, he sidestepped the charge and delivered a shocking chop to Theron's chest, The hand penetrated Theron's heart. Theron was killed, with his eyes wide open.
Algernon retracted his hand making Theron's body fall.
As the dust settled, Algernon stood in the center of the battlefield, his masked figure unscathed and commanding. Theron lay dead on ground, his axe shattered, and his aura extinguished. The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, chanting the name of the mysterious challenger.
"Azeroth! Azeroth! Azeroth!"
Algernon turned and walked toward the exit, his aura calm and controlled as if the battle had been nothing more than a light sparring session. This was just the beginning.
Over the next weeks, Algernon—still masked as Azeroth—became the talk of Lilith. Each day, he returned to the arena, taking on new challengers, each more powerful than the last. His matches became the highlight of the coliseum, drawing larger crowds with every victory.
His fighting style remained precise and relentless, his control over his energy leaving even seasoned devils in awe. One match saw him dismantle an opponent's fire magic with sheer compression, suffocating the flames before they could reach him.
In another, he turned an enemy's lightning attacks against them, redirecting the energy with pinpoint accuracy.
But it wasn't just his victories that caught the attention of the audience—it was the way he carried himself. Azeroth fought with the confidence of someone destined for greatness, and his enigmatic presence left everyone curious about the devil behind the mask.
As his win streak continued, Algernon's goals became clearer to him. Each match pushed him further, forcing him to refine his control and expand his perception. But more importantly, it cemented his place in the underworld's hierarchy.
One evening, after yet another victory, Algernon stood alone in the empty arena. The moonlight filtered through the cracks in the coliseum walls, casting a pale glow over the battlefield.
"I'm not here to entertain," he muttered to himself. "I'm here to conquer."
His voice carried a weight that hung in the still air of the coliseum. The past months had been a blur of triumphs, each victory cementing Azeroth's name as a rising power in the underworld.
But Algernon wasn't satisfied. He hadn't come to Lilith to simply win battles; he was here to make a statement—to dominate.
With that thought, Algernon made his decision. The arena wasn't just a proving ground; it was a stage, and his next move would set it ablaze. The next morning, he sent word to the arena officials: Azeroth challenges a high-class peak devil in an official match.
The news spread like wildfire, and by the time the match was set, the arena was overflowing with spectators. This wasn't just another fight; it was a spectacle.
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As the arena roared with anticipation, Algernon stepped onto the battlefield, his crimson mask glinting in the sunlight. His black coat billowed around him, and his aura was calm but oppressive, like a storm on the horizon.
Across from him stood Drakon Malphas, a towering devil clad in spiked black armor. His dark red aura flickered like flames, and his presence alone was enough to make weaker devils tremble. Drakon was a seasoned warrior, known for his ruthlessness and mastery of fire magic.
"So, you're the masked upstart everyone's talking about," Drakon sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "I'll admit, you've made an impression. But this is where your little streak ends."
Algernon tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes visible through the mask. "We'll see about that."
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena. "Azeroth, the undefeated rising star, versus Drakon Malphas, the peak of high-class devils! Let the match… begin!"
Drakon wasted no time, launching a massive wave of flames that roared toward Algernon like an inferno. The heat was oppressive, distorting the air around it, and the crowd cheered as the attack seemed to engulf Algernon completely.
But as the flames cleared, Algernon stood unharmed, a shimmering sphere of compressed energy surrounding him. The sphere dissipated with a flick of his wrist, and he stepped forward, completely unbothered.
Drakon growled. "Cocky little—"
Before he could finish, Algernon moved. He closed the distance between them in a flash, his palm glowing with compressed demonic energy. The strike connected with Drakon's chest, sending him skidding back several feet.
The crowd gasped—Azeroth wasn't just on the defensive; he was controlling the pace of the battle.
As the fight wore on, it became clear that Algernon wasn't just fighting—he was testing himself. His movements were precise, each one calculated to conserve energy and maximize impact.
At one point, Drakon managed to corner him, unleashing a torrent of flames at point-blank range. But instead of retreating, Algernon raised a hand, and the flames stopped mid-air.
The crowd gasped as Algernon compressed the fire into a small sphere, holding it in his palm before extinguishing it entirely.
"Control," Algernon said, his voice calm but commanding. "That's the difference between us."
Drakon's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly recovered, charging forward with a furious roar. Algernon met him head-on, their energies colliding in a dazzling display of power.
Drakon, now desperate, summoned his full strength, his aura blazing as he prepared his ultimate attack. A massive, flaming sword formed in his hands, its size dwarfing even him.
"This is the end!" Drakon roared, swinging the blade down with all his might.
Algernon didn't move. He stood his ground, his hands glowing with compressed energy as he raised them to meet the attack.
The collision was explosive, shaking the entire arena. For a moment, it seemed as though the sheer force of Drakon's attack would overwhelm him. But then, Algernon pushed back.
With a roar of his own, Algernon's energy erupted, shattering the flaming sword and sending Drakon flying across the arena. The larger devil crashed into the wall, his aura flickering weakly as he slumped to the ground.
The arena fell silent as the dust settled. Algernon stood in the center of the battlefield, his aura calm and unyielding. Drakon was motionless, defeated.
Then, the crowd erupted into cheers, chanting Azeroth's name.
Algernon turned and walked toward the exit, his presence commanding as he left the battlefield. This wasn't just a victory—it was a declaration. Azeroth wasn't here to entertain. He was here to conquer.