Devil Slave (Satan system)
Chapter 1324: Lucifer Takes The Primary Plane Of Sloth

Chapter 1324: Lucifer Takes The Primary Plane Of Sloth

....Things happened very fast.

One moment, the battle raged in chaos, and the next, Zolgorith was kneeling in the void.

His massive form, once filled with a terrible, slow-burning power, was now a wreck.

Thick, dark blood seeped from every orifice—his eyes, his nose, his ears, even the cracks forming along his skin. His great horns, symbols of his authority, were fractured, as though the weight of the universe had pressed down upon him.

Zolgorith’s breath was ragged. His will was broken.

Lucifer watched this, then turned away, his gaze settling on the vast primary plane of Sloth before him.

Where once there had been a great, slumbering empire of demons—now there was only ruin.

The void was littered with the bodies of the fallen.

The great beasts of Sloth, their void-born forms now nothing more than floating corpses, drifted like shattered remnants of a forgotten age. The noble Principalities lay in ruin, their once-proud figures reduced to lifeless husks, their power utterly devoured.

Lucifer exhaled softly and started his descent. But then—a sensation.

Something wet trickled down his cheek.

He wiped it absentmindedly, and when he looked at his fingers, it was blood.

His own.

His brow furrowed slightly. How curious.

It was only then, as he truly examined himself, that he saw them—two gaping holes in his chest.

Holes wide enough to see straight through.

So, Zolgorith had landed a final strike after all.

Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head. "A pity."

Still, it was a small price to pay.

His wings spread, and he descended towards the core of the plane.

The world blurred before Enel’s eyes, shifting rapidly. The mirrors of time twisted and folded, and suddenly—

There he was.

Lucifer Morningstar, standing before the very heart of the Sloth Family’s domain.

It was a great, molten sphere, swirling in hues of dark crimson and sickly gold. Liquid fire churned endlessly, sluggish yet infinite in depth, pulsing with the essence of the realm itself. And at its very center, a symbol glowed, etched in an eternal, ancient sigil—the mark of Sloth’s royal lineage.

It was alive.

And it was waiting.

Lucifer lifted a hand, his fingers lazily tracing through the air as he gazed upon the sigil of Sloth burning upon the Core of the Plane.

"This is no longer needed."

With a mere flick of his wrist, the sigil dimmed. It flickered once, twice— and then, as if acknowledging its new reality, it vanished.

At the same time, Lucifer spread his hands wide.

From deep within his very being, a rune—an ancient, potent mark—emerged from his soul.

It drifted forward like a slow-burning ember, spiraling down toward the molten core. The very essence of the plane trembled, recognizing the shift of power.

Then, Lucifer reached into the void. Even the Invitation Stones of the plane—artifacts that dictated authority over this world—responded.

From the farthest corners of the realm, they came, drawn to his call.

Floating before him, these stones, once filled with the stagnant energy of Sloth, quivered as he let his semi-red and golden blood drip upon them.

The moment his blood touched them, the stones shimmered—a pulse of new, divine power surging through their very core. The rune he had cast into the Primary Core suddenly ignited, thrumming with life.

And then, Lucifer spoke.

"I am King."

The words did not simply echo.

They shook the very fabric of reality.

Across the cosmos, across the planes, across all creation itself— the declaration resounded.

Lucifer was now king of two primary planes, purgatory and Earth.

The insignia on his soul of both planes merged together and revolved as if granting a greater more endowed ability.

And then above his head floated two crowns each one side by side.

Each crown to represent his conquer of a primary plane. The crown for purgatory was orange, and the crown for this plane was greenish.

As Lucifer’s declaration spread across the cosmos, the wounds on his body—gaping holes that bore through his chest—began to close.

The flesh knitted together, the very essence of his being repairing itself. His blood, divine and commanding, flowed back into him as if even his own wounds dared not disobey his existence.

Then—a shift.

A ripple of power coursed through him, and suddenly, from his back, another wing burst forth.

Majestic. Divine.

His Seventh wing unfurled, glowing with a radiance that defied the darkness of the void.

Lucifer was ascending once more.

And just then—space itself cracked.

A fracture in the void—shattered like glass.

From this break, a figure emerged.

She stepped forth with grace unparalleled—an elegant silhouette wrapped in cosmic beauty.

Lady Sarkina.

Her mischievous smile played at the corners of her lips, but her eyes—oh, her eyes burned with devotion.

Behind her, three pairs of radiant wings spread wide, their light shimmering like a fallen star’s last embrace before oblivion.

Without hesitation, she fell to her knees.

Her hands trembled, her head bowed low, but her gaze—**filled with awe, filled with reverence--remained locked upon Lucifer.

And then, tears fell.

Not of sorrow.

Not of pain.

But of pure, unwavering adoration.

Her body quivered, overwhelmed by the mere sight of him.

He had returned brighter than before. Every step to the return of his glory made her happy.

Her **lord, her ruler, her guiding star—**he had taken another step toward his rightful place.

She had longed to join him in battle, to stand at his side.

But she knew him.

She knew Lucifer’s immeasurable pride.

He never fought alongside anyone.

He never would.

His glory was his own to reclaim.

So she had watched. She had waited.

And now, here she was—to kneel before him.

Lucifer’s gaze softened.

He reached out, his fingers barely grazing the top of her head.

A simple touch.

A mere brush of his hand.

Yet to her, it was a blessing from the stars themselves.

As his fingers lifted away, Lucifer turned his palm upward, studying it.

He could feel it—the shift, the change, the ascent.

He was close.

"I am nearly an Evening Star existence," he murmured, his voice carrying across the void, as though even the stars themselves strained to listen.

"All I need is the blessing of one more primary plane."

But just as he took a step forward—

Sarkina’s voice stopped him.

Her head remained bowed, but her words—

"As of this moment, my lord... that may not be possible."

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