I'm The Devil - Chapter 294

Chapter 294: Nezha – Wrath

Lucifer stepped back slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with a sense of purpose, the smirk on his face fading into a look of quiet intensity. His movements were slow and deliberate as he reached into the folds of his long coat, his fingers curling as though grasping something unseen. A faint ripple of energy shimmered around his hand, and when he withdrew it, a glowing orb of deep crimson and black appeared, pulsing like a living heart.

“This,” Lucifer said, his voice low and resonant, “is the Sin of Wrath. Once wielded by my brother, Satanael. It’s not just power, Nezha—it’s rage given form, a burning fire that feeds on defiance and rebellion. But it also brings focus, clarity, and strength like no other. It is yours now.”

Nezha’s golden eyes flickered between Lucifer and the orb. He tightened his grip on his spear, the edges of his jaw hardening with resolve. “Why are you giving this to me?” His voice was steady, but the slightest undertone of suspicion crept in.

Lucifer stepped closer, his black boots crunching against the debris of the ruined battlefield. His expression softened, the harshness replaced by something that almost resembled empathy. “Because you embody it already,” he said, his tone dropping almost to a whisper. “Wrath isn’t about blind rage or destruction. It’s the refusal to accept injustice. The will to rise, to challenge, to defy even the gods. You are Wrath incarnate, Nezha. You have earned this.”

The boy’s lips parted slightly, and he stood straighter, his spear lowering until it rested at his side. His expression shifted from guarded to contemplative as he stared at the pulsing orb. The fire within him seemed to flicker and grow, resonating with the energy Lucifer held.

“And if I take it?” Nezha asked, his voice firmer now. “What happens then?”

Lucifer’s smirk returned, faint but confident. “Then you become more than what you are. Wrath will fuel your strength, sharpen your resolve, and amplify your fire. But it comes at a cost. You must master it, or it will master you. Wrath is a blade—it cuts both ways.”

Nezha’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of determination sparking in their depths. “I’ve faced trials before. I’ve overcome. This will be no different.”

Lucifer’s wings, though tucked into his back, shifted faintly, an almost imperceptible motion that mirrored his satisfaction. His black eyes seemed to pierce into Nezha’s soul, but his movements remained deliberate and calm as he extended the orb closer.

“Good,” Lucifer murmured, his voice laced with an undertone of approval. “Then take it, Nezha. Let it make you unstoppable.”

Nezha hesitated only for a breath. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the weight of what he was about to accept. His expression was fierce, his jaw tight as he locked eyes with Lucifer. There was no hesitation in his gaze, only burning resolve.

As his fingers wrapped around the orb, a surge of energy erupted between them. The crimson light of the Sin of Wrath exploded outward, enveloping Nezha in a vortex of fire and shadow. His body tensed, and his head tilted back as a roar tore from his throat, raw and primal. The flames swirled around him, growing brighter and fiercer until they consumed his entire form.

Lucifer stepped back, watching with an expression that was equal parts satisfaction and curiosity. His black eyes reflected the flames, and for a moment, his expression softened further, as though he saw something of himself in the boy.

Nezha’s body glowed with an otherworldly light as the flames settled into his skin, his golden aura now tinged with streaks of crimson. His spear blazed brighter, its metal seeming to hum with the newfound energy coursing through it. He lowered his head, his breathing heavy, and opened his eyes—once purely golden, now streaked with faint traces of red, like molten lava beneath the surface.

Lucifer smiled, his expression calm but triumphant. “How does it feel?”

Nezha straightened, rolling his shoulders as the last traces of the energy faded into his being. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then he turned his sharp gaze on Lucifer. “It feels like fire,” he said, his voice low and steady. “A fire I can control.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound rich and satisfied. “Good. Very good. Then let the heavens tremble, Nezha. You are no longer their pawn—you are your own force. Use it wisely, and you will be unstoppable.”

Nezha said nothing, but his expression spoke volumes. His grip on his spear tightened, and his fiery eyes burned with a determination that seemed boundless. As the two stood amidst the ruins, the world seemed to shift around them, the air thick with the promise of change—and the threat of what was to come.

In the shadowy depths of Hell, where the infernal flames burned eternal and the air was thick with despair, Satanael sat upon a jagged throne of obsidian. His piercing red eyes scanned the void, his fingers drumming against the armrest. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional crackle of fire. He was alone, as he often was, brooding over his long-lost dominion and the power he had once wielded.

Suddenly, a tremor coursed through the air, subtle at first, then growing in intensity. Satanael froze, his hand stilling mid-drum. A deep, guttural growl escaped his lips as an unfamiliar energy rippled through his very being—a sensation both foreign and hauntingly familiar. His crimson eyes flared, their light cutting through the darkness like twin beacons.

“No…” he muttered, his voice a venomous hiss. “Impossible.”

He rose from his throne, his massive frame towering against the backdrop of Hell’s fiery abyss. His dark wings spread wide, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe and twist with malevolence. Satanael clenched his fists, his sharp nails digging into his palms as he reached out with his senses, feeling for the source of the disturbance.

The answer struck him like a thunderbolt—a searing realization that sent waves of rage coursing through him. The Sin of Wrath… His Sin. His essence. It had been taken, ripped from the ether that bound it to him. Worse still, it now bore the signature of another. A usurper.

Satanael’s scream of fury erupted from his chest, a sound so raw and powerful that it echoed across Hell, shaking its very foundations. The infernal flames surged higher, as if feeding on his wrath, and the ground cracked beneath his feet. Demons cowered in the distance, their twisted forms trembling at the sound of their master’s unrestrained rage.

“Who dares?” Satanael roared, his voice booming like thunder. His wings beat once, sending a gale of scorching wind through the cavern. “Who dares to claim what is mine?!”

He stalked forward, each step leaving molten footprints in his wake. His mind raced, fragments of possibilities swirling in his thoughts. The Sin of Wrath was not merely power to him—it was his identity, his anchor in a realm of chaos. It had been his weapon in the rebellion, his solace in exile. To lose it now was a wound deeper than any blade could inflict.

Satanael extended his hand, and a jagged black sword materialized in his grip, the blade shimmering with a dark aura. The weapon pulsed faintly, as if resonating with his fury. He swung it in a wide arc, releasing a shockwave of dark energy that shattered the nearest cluster of stalagmites. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one laced with venom.

“I will find them,” he growled, his voice low and filled with menace. “I will find the thief who dares to wield my Wrath. And when I do…” He paused, his lips curling into a feral snarl. “They will beg for death before I’m through.”

The flames around him dimmed slightly as his rage gave way to cold calculation. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses once more. This time, he focused on the faint signature left behind by the Sin. It was distant but clear, radiating with a power that felt both new and ancient.

“A mortal,” he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. “A mortal dares to touch what is divine?”

The realization only fueled his anger, but beneath it, there was something more—a twisted sense of curiosity. This mortal, whoever they were, had managed to bond with the Sin of Wrath, something no ordinary being could accomplish. There was power there, a strength that intrigued even him.

Satanael’s lips curled into a cruel smile, his fangs glinting in the infernal light. “Interesting,” he mused, his voice low and sinister. “Very interesting. Perhaps I shall see this mortal for myself before I tear them apart.”

With a powerful beat of his wings, Satanael ascended, the flames of Hell parting to make way for their master. His form vanished into the shadows, his presence a storm waiting to be unleashed. As he soared through the infernal realm, his mind burned with a singular thought: Nezha will pay for his audacity.