Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode
Chapter 359: Dreadful Feelings

Chapter 359: Dreadful Feelings

The familiar heat returned to his body as Asmodeus finally stepped back into Hell. He emerged from the swirling, burning red portal, his feet landing on the cracked, scorching ground of his domain.

The new power within him felt strange. It was something he had long desired, yet now that he truly possessed it, it felt different—especially because it had come from someone he never expected.

A human.

A mere human who had once rejected his offer to join his army, who had even vowed to kill him. And yet, that same human had now appeared before him, wielding a power beyond comprehension.

Not only that, but Clyde possessed both Angelic and Demonic power within himself—two forces that should have annihilated each other. It was something impossible. And yet, it was real.

And that kind of power was what had ultimately defeated him.

"This must not be known to anyone," Asmodeus growled, clenching his teeth. His pride would be shattered if others found out that he had been defeated by a mere human. Worse still, that same human had granted him power.

Marching toward his palace, Asmodeus immediately issued orders to his soldiers to tighten security.

"Let no one disturb me. Not even another Demon King, should they come to visit," he commanded in a firm tone.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" they responded in unison, ready to carry out his orders.

His high-ranking officers took flight, swiftly relaying the command to every soldier. Within moments, Asmodeus’s domain had transformed into a fortress under heavy guard.

Upon entering his castle, he strode directly to his throne room and sat upon his black stone throne, crafted from bones of unknown origin.

He let out a slow breath.

The power coursed through not just his body, but his very soul. It would take time for it to settle, to fully assimilate into his being.

Closing his eyes, Asmodeus began to meditate, pushing aside thoughts of his defeat. He focused solely on absorbing this strange power.

It called to him, whispering, tempting him to merge with it completely.

His mind drifted. He lost himself in its pull, unable to resist the overwhelming urge to surrender to its influence.

Then, the whispers began.

An eerie voice spoke in a language he could not understand, filling every corner of his mind. The voices grew louder, more suffocating.

Over time, Asmodeus felt himself slipping away.

"GRAAAAAHHHH!!!"

He suddenly let out a deafening scream, trying to force the voices out.

But, of course, it would not end.

For now, he was already within its grasp.

There was nothing he could do to fight back.

"AAAARRRHHHH!!!"

He roared again, his magic power surging outward. The crimson flames that once defined him were now tainted with thick, black mist, curling around his body like a serpent.

His face twisted in agony, his eyes wide open as blood began to trickle from them.

Blood seeped from his nose, his mouth, his skin until he collapsed from his throne onto the floor.

A dark pool of blood spread around him.

Asmodeus’s agonized screams echoed beyond the walls of his palace.

Outside, the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, silently questioning what was happening to their king.

However, the high-ranking officers swiftly silenced any speculation, ordering them to focus on their duties and not to question Asmodeus’s actions. Their warnings were firm, leaving no room for further discussion. Reluctantly, the soldiers obeyed, pretending they had heard nothing.

Yet, the unease remained.

What had happened to Asmodeus on his lone journey?

When he had departed, he had radiated a terrifying, destructive aura, as if he was ready to unleash devastation. And yet, upon his return, everything about him had changed.

His armor was gone. His body was wounded.

Both the lower and high-ranking soldiers came to the same troubling conclusion—Asmodeus had been defeated.

But by whom?

No one knew who he had fought. That uncertainty unsettled them even more.

Because if there truly existed someone capable of forcing Asmodeus to face them alone—and worse, someone who had possibly defeated him. Then what kind of being could wield such power?

It couldn’t have been another Demon King. It wasn’t an Archangel.

So... who could have done this to him?

Once again, they buried those thoughts deep within their hearts.

In the distance, Asmodeus’s agonized screams still echoed through the air.

---

Meanwhile, Eden was far more tense than before.

Across the Archangels’ domains, armies were being mobilized, preparing for a war that had yet to reveal itself.

The warriors had no idea who their enemy was. Normally, only the main forces would be called upon, but this time, every army—without exception—was being gathered and armed for battle.

Was Hell preparing for another war? But why so soon? There had been no clear provocation.

If not Hell, then who? Could it be the Celestials?

Unlikely. But not impossible.

Yet, despite the growing unease, the Archangels who ruled them had given no clear objective. Only orders to prepare. And so, they just obeyed.

---

Uriel sat alone in her chamber, perched atop her throne. Her feet tapped anxiously against the marble floor, her teeth clenched, her brow furrowed so deeply it nearly cast a shadow over her eyes.

She was disturbed. No, she was terrified.

The Eye. She had seen it.

And not just the Eye, but the Other things. Things her mind refused to name, things that defied every law of existence she knew. Her thoughts twisted and tangled, trying to comprehend the visions that had burned themselves into her consciousness.

But she couldn’t.

The images wouldn’t align. The concepts slipped through her grasp like sand in a storm. Even now, when she closed her eyes, the visions flashed before her again.

A great, gaping Eye staring through the void. A vast writhing form that neither living nor dead with its presence too big and too unnatural to exist.

A voice... no, not a voice, but something deeper. A whisper that bypassed flesh and bone, sinking into the very essence of her being.

Uriel shuddered violently, clutching her arms as if to hold herself together. She was an Archangel. A ruler of Heaven’s armies. A force of divine will. And yet...

"I am afraid."

She almost choked on the thought. It was foreign and unnatural for her. Fear was an emotion she had long discarded. She had fought countless wars, battled horrors beyond mortal comprehension, stood against the darkness without wavering.

But this... this was different.

Her fingers dug into her arms, drawing thin lines of golden ichor. A reminder that she still existed in this reality. That she was still herself.

And yet, the Eye had seen her.

She did not know how she knew, only that she did. It had looked at her.

And in that moment, she had felt smaller than a grain of dust in an endless void.

A shudder ran down her spine. She needed to act. She needed to do something.

But what?

Even now, as Eden prepared for war, the true enemy remained unknown. They could not afford to move without a target. And yet, she knew something was coming.

Something far worse than Hell army. Something far worse than anything they had ever faced before. And she know that it had already begun.

Uriel sprang to her feet, her wings unfurling in a rush of divine light. She could not stay like this. Paralyzed and trapped in fear.

Idleness only allowed the terror to fester aand take root deeper in her mind. She needed to act. To do something. Anything.

With a powerful beat of her wings, she burst through the high arch of her chamber, ascending into the sky above her domain. Below, the grand mustering fields stretched wide, filled with legions of warriors clad in radiant armor, their weapons gleaming beneath the celestial glow.

The sight should have reassured her. The strength of Heaven, gathered in full force, ready to face any enemy.

And yet, the unease did not leave her.

She hovered high above them, scanning the ranks, looking at the sheer magnitude of their might. Their discipline, their unwavering loyalty. It was everything she had spent eons cultivating. And yet, something was wrong.

Then she felt it.

A presence.

Uriel’s breath hitched as her senses flared. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, like a whisper lost in the wind. But now that she had noticed it, it was everywhere.

A thread of something unseen, crawling through her warriors like an infection. A presence that did not belong.

Her eyes moving across the ranks. At first, nothing seemed amiss. The soldiers stood firm, their formation precise, their gazes steady. But as she truly focused, she saw the flickers — tiny, almost nonexistent lapses.

A hand that trembled for just a fraction of a second before steadying. A warrior shifting his weight, as if uncomfortable in his own skin. The briefest, most imperceptible glances cast over shoulders, as though they expected something to be there.

Uriel shuddered.

The Eye.

It was not watching from afar. It was here. Within them.

A violent shiver ran through her. It had seen them. It had touched them.

Her fingers curled into fists. No. She would not let this fester. She was Uriel, and Archangel, and she would not allow her forces to fall before the battle had even begun.

---