I'm The Devil - Chapter 307

Chapter 307: The War of Flesh and Shadows
The battlefield was a living nightmare.

The skies bled. The ground wept. The air itself screamed as the forces of Hell and the Outer Gods clashed in absolute chaos.

The Demonic Tide

The first wave of Hell’s army charged like a tidal wave of blood and fire. Countless demons surged forward, their claws and weapons gleaming in the twisted light of the burning sky. Their roars shook the air as they collided with the grotesque horrors of the Outer Gods.

A hulking demon general, Zagan, led the charge. His body was covered in jagged, rusted armor, and in his massive hands, he wielded a pair of serrated cleavers, each one dripping with cursed energy.

Before him stood a horror unlike any demon had seen.

A colossal Outer creature, its body an ever-shifting mass of writhing tendrils, The Maw of Unmaking. Dozens of grotesque mouths covered its body, each one whispering in different voices—some pleading, some laughing, some weeping in agony.

Zagan grinned, his sharp teeth glistening. “Ugly thing, aren’t you?”

The Maw shrieked. Its tendrils shot forward.

Zagan vanished in a blur of speed.

In a flash, he appeared above the creature, his cleavers whistling through the air. The first blade hacked through a tendril, spraying thick, black blood. The second dug deep into the creature’s side, carving through its shifting flesh like butter.

But the Maw did not die.

The severed tendril grew back instantly, twisting into a new shape—a mirror image of Zagan, its face an exact copy, except twisted in an expression of infinite agony.

It spoke in Zagan’s own voice. “You will join us soon. You will become part of the nothing.”

Zagan snarled. “Over my dead body.”

He twisted his body, his blades glowing with dark flames, and ripped through the creature again, ignoring the unnatural voices echoing in his mind.

The Maw shrieked as it began to melt, its form unable to keep itself together against his demonic energy.

One kill. Thousands more to go.

Elsewhere, Beelzebub was locked in a nightmarish battle against The Devourer.

A creature without a solid form, The Devourer was an endless mass of twisting, skeletal jaws that swallowed reality itself. Its mouths unhinged infinitely, consuming everything in its path—light, sound, even the concept of existence itself.

Beelzebub was grinning, his own stomach bloated and distended, his mouth gaping wider than should have been possible. A swirling black hole of gluttony formed within him, his hunger a force of nature that rivaled the eldritch horror before him.

The Devourer lashed out, its tendrils of gnashing mouths lunging forward, trying to consume him.

Beelzebub laughed madly, his voice a disgusting mix of choking and hunger. “You think you’re the only one who devours?!”

He opened his mouth, and a vortex of consuming force erupted from his throat.

The moment The Devourer’s tendrils entered Beelzebub’s maw, they began to dissolve.

The eldritch horror screeched in pain as its own hunger was turned against it.

“You taste like rot and despair,” Beelzebub chuckled, licking his lips. “Delicious.”

Not far away, Asmodeus, the Demon Prince of Lust, stood calmly, eyes locked onto a being too beautiful to be real.

It had no fixed shape, constantly shifting between an impossibly beautiful man, a woman of divine perfection, and a writhing, pulsing mass of flesh that moaned in endless pleasure.

This was The Nameless Lust, an Outer horror that corrupted desire itself, turning all who gazed upon it into mindless slaves of passion and agony.

It whispered, its voice a melody of seduction and suffering. “Give in to ecstasy. Give in to madness. Become one with the void of pleasure.”

Asmodeus smiled lazily, rolling his shoulders. “Sorry, sweetheart.” His golden eyes burned with amusement. “But I am Lust itself. You can’t tempt the devil.”

The Nameless Lust lunged at him, its flesh shifting into thousands of writhing, grasping hands, each one seeking to pull him into an endless abyss of corrupted pleasure.

Asmodeus did not move.

Instead, his aura flared, and his own lustful energy surged outward, clashing against the creature’s influence.

The Nameless Lust screamed as it was overwhelmed.

Its own power was turned against it, its perfect form distorting and twisting under Asmodeus’ dominion.

Asmodeus chuckled, stepping closer. “I play this game better than you.”

And then, with a flick of his wrist, he shattered the creature into a mist of corrupted desire, dispersing it across the battlefield.

All across the battlefield, demons and eldritch horrors slaughtered each other in brutal displays of power.

A winged demon general drove his spear through an Outer beast’s multiple skulls, only for the creature to split into copies of itself, surrounding him in an instant.

A massive, horned demon ripped through a monstrous eldritch entity, only for its blood to solidify mid-air, forming barbed chains that wrapped around his body and tore him apart.

A legion of Outer abominations, each one made of spinning bones and impossible geometry, phased through attacks, tearing demons apart with claws that didn’t obey the laws of physics.

A grotesque titan of Hell, covered in flaming scars, grabbed an Outer horror by the throat and crushed its skull with his bare hands, sending its corrupted blood spilling across the battlefield.

A towering Outer entity, shaped like a gigantic human with its skin peeled off, screamed as a demon sorcerer incinerated it from within, its flesh bubbling and popping as its own reality unraveled.

Everywhere—carnage.

The sky above twisted into unnatural shapes. The ground was coated in rivers of blood, both demonic and eldritch.

From atop a crumbling battlefield, Bariel and Moronuel watched with anticipation.

Moronuel grinned. “Damn. This is getting wild.”

Bariel cracked his knuckles. “Then let’s make it wilder.”

Without another word, they descended like meteors—slamming into the battlefield with explosive force.

Bariel ripped through an Outer horror with his bare hands, his strength tearing through its shifting flesh as if it were paper.

Moronuel flashed through the battlefield, his movements too fast to track, leaving behind afterimages as he carved through eldritch abominations with dual curved blades.

Demons and monsters alike screamed as the two warlords of Hell unleashed their fury.

Above them, the war raged on.