I'm The Devil - Chapter 308

Chapter 308: The War of Flesh and Shadows 2 – The Butchery
The battlefield was a grinding machine of death.

The ground was a carpet of severed limbs, shattered bones, and blackened blood. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and eldritch rot. The sky churned with fire and madness, cracking open to reveal glimpses of twisted, screaming dimensions beyond comprehension.

Demons and Outer horrors ripped each other apart with pure, merciless brutality.

And amidst it all, Bariel and Moronuel waged war.

Bariel was a moving disaster, a storm of pure, unstoppable force.

A towering Outer horror, its form an endless, shifting amalgamation of screaming faces, lashed at him with a hundred arms, each one twisting and splitting into barbed tendrils.

Bariel laughed.

Then he ripped one of the arms off with his bare hands and beat the creature with it.

The horror shuddered, its shifting bodies trying to phase out of existence, but Bariel grabbed its pulsing core—a grotesque, glowing mass of flesh and writhing tongues—and squeezed.

The creature shrieked in a thousand overlapping voices.

Then, with one final flex, Bariel crushed it.

Eldritch blood sprayed in every direction, its essence dispersing into nothingness.

Bariel spat. “Next.”

Moronuel moved like a phantom of death.

His twin curved blades were extensions of his body, slicing through eldritch horrors like paper. His speed was impossible, his form vanishing and reappearing in flashes of darkness and blood.

A pack of Outer hounds, their bodies twisting masses of eyes and teeth, lunged at him.

Bad move.

Before they could react, Moronuel was behind them.

One flash.

Their heads dropped to the ground, eyes still blinking in confusion.

Their bodies collapsed a second later, blood fountaining into the air like a grotesque fireworks display.

A monstrous eldritch warlord, its flesh constantly shifting between shapes, wielding a blade forged from the bones of dying stars, descended upon Moronuel with a roar.

It swung its sword—a strike that would have torn through mountains and worlds alike.

But Moronuel was gone before the blade even landed.

He reappeared on the creature’s shoulder, smirking. “Too slow.”

Then—one clean slice.

The warlord’s head separated from its body, tumbling to the blood-soaked ground.

Moronuel landed gracefully, flicking the black blood from his blades.

He sighed. “Come on. Give me a challenge.”

The Battle Grows Bloodier

The war only intensified.

A swarm of Outer horrors, their bodies made of writhing worms and screaming mouths, engulfed an entire legion of demons, devouring them from the inside out, their screams fading into gurgling, wet silence.

A demon general, his body covered in blackened steel and burning sigils, carved through the eldritch hordes with a flaming greatsword, only for a shadowy entity to phase through his armor and consume his soul in an instant.

A colossal, insectoid Outer God, with thousands of chittering legs and spines dripping with venom, impaled dozens of demons at once, lifting their twitching bodies into the air like a grotesque display of slaughter.

A massive, four-armed demon brute, wielding a mace the size of a house, smashed through hordes of writhing horrors, his laughter echoing across the battlefield—until a creature with no fixed form wrapped around him like a cocoon and turned him into nothingness.

There was no mercy. No hesitation.

Only the endless cycle of slaughter.

The Lord of Beasts Arrives

And then, the battlefield shook.

A new presence had arrived.

A massive, monstrous figure stomped forward, standing taller than any other demon, his form covered in thick, black fur, his six burning eyes scanning the battlefield.

This was Amon, The Lord of Beasts.

A beast-like demon of pure, primal savagery, a warlord who ripped through entire armies alone.

Amon roared, his voice a shockwave that cracked the earth beneath him.

Then he charged.

The first Outer horror in his path—a towering, centipede-like abomination with a thousand howling faces—never stood a chance.

Amon leaped onto its body, his clawed hands digging deep into its chitinous flesh.

He ripped its head off with his teeth, chewing through its eldritch form as if it were nothing but meat.

The horror screamed in unnatural agony before Amon crushed it beneath his foot.

Another Outer entity, a massive, formless blob covered in blinking, violet eyes, tried to envelop him.

Amon grabbed it by one of its pulsating tendrils.

Then he swung it like a weapon, using its own shifting mass to bludgeon other horrors to death.

Demons cheered his arrival.

The Outer Gods seethed.

The Madness Intensifies

The battle reached its peak.

From the skies, rivers of black fire rained down as demonic sorcerers unleashed forbidden spells, their chants twisting reality itself.

From the depths, tentacles of pure darkness erupted, dragging screaming demons into the abyssal void of the Outer realms.

A colossal portal opened in the sky, and from it descended a titanic Outer horror, its body composed of shattered celestial bodies and pulsing veins of starlight.

In response, the gates of the Underworld burst open, and legions of Hell’s oldest warriors—the Primordial Demons, beings as old as time itself—stepped onto the battlefield.

The entire battlefield became a grinding, flesh-ripping, reality-breaking hellscape.

The battlefield had become an endless ocean of blood, fire, and writhing flesh. The screams of the dying merged with the howls of the victorious, a chaotic symphony of destruction.

The demons fought with raw, primal savagery. Claws, fangs, and steel clashed against the eldritch horrors, whose forms shifted and twisted with maddening fluidity.

Reality itself was beginning to fracture under the sheer intensity of the slaughter.

And still—neither side yielded.

—

Bael tore through the battlefield like a walking calamity. His six arms wielded massive flaming swords, each one carving through the Outer horrors with relentless brutality.

A monstrous eldritch entity, its body resembling a tower of writhing arms and gnashing mouths, lunged at him, its limbs stretching unnaturally, aiming to tear him apart from every direction at once.

Bael merely grinned.

One swing.

A blinding arc of fire and steel sliced through the creature.

Its howls turned into a wet gurgle as its twisted body collapsed in a heap, its flesh dissolving into an unnatural black mist.

Another horror, this one a towering, spindly abomination with six hollow faces, lunged from behind, its mouths opening wide to release an ear-splitting scream that shattered the air.

Bael didn’t even turn around.

One of his left hands shot backward, gripping the creature by the throat.

The abomination screeched and thrashed, but Bael tightened his grip, crushing its windpipe before lifting it effortlessly into the air.

Then—he ripped it in half.

Blood and viscera rained down as he tossed the twitching remains aside.

“Pathetic.” Bael spat, stepping forward. “Send me something worth killing.”

Amidst the carnage, Nezha clashed with something truly monstrous.

The Abyssal Tyrant—a towering, eldritch entity covered in obsidian chains, with a skeletal frame wrapped in pulsating, fleshy veins.

Its three skull-like faces twisted unnaturally, its blade-like fingers dripping with a black, corrosive liquid that ate through the very fabric of existence.

Nezha spun his spear, golden flames erupting from the tip, illuminating the hellscape around him.

The Tyrant lunged, its limbs stretching unnaturally, slicing through space itself.

Nezha sidestepped at the last second, his spear flashing forward in a blinding arc.

The golden weapon slammed into the Tyrant’s ribcage, sending a shockwave rippling across the battlefield.

But the Tyrant barely reacted.

Instead, its body bent backwards at an impossible angle, its three faces twisting to stare at Nezha from unnatural angles.

Then—it laughed.

A sound that made reality tremble.

Nezha gritted his teeth, spinning his spear again. “Tough bastard, huh? Good.”

And then—they clashed once more.

—

Elsewhere, Sun Wukong was tearing through the battlefield with reckless abandon.

His Ruyi Jingu Bang smashed through Outer horrors like twigs, sending their grotesque bodies splattering across the battlefield.

One particularly massive eldritch beast, its limbs a tangled mass of eyes and screaming mouths, tried to crush him beneath its bulk.

Sun Wukong just grinned.

Then—he expanded his staff.

In an instant, the battlefield shook as the Ruyi Jingu Bang grew to the size of a mountain, lifting the abomination high into the air before slamming it down with a force that shattered the land beneath them.

The Outer horror exploded into a rain of flesh and black ichor.

Sun Wukong cackled, spinning his staff. “Too easy.”

Then, with blinding speed, he vanished again, reappearing amidst a swarm of eldritch horrors, his staff already swinging.