Devil Slave (Satan system)

Chapter 705 The Problems of the Eighth Earth

In the Eighth Earth…..

In a town now governed by the arcane laws of magi and witches, a solitary figure, garbed in the mystical robes of a magi, traversed the desolate streets under the cloak of night. The once-bustling avenues lay eerily silent, save for the occasional lesser-ranked demons that roamed with a predatory grace, their eyes glowing faintly in the darkness as they patrolled the empty thoroughfares. 𝘪𝑎.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Above him, a billboard hovered ominously, its levitation a stark reminder of the changed world. On it was the image of the new ruler of this habitable part of Earth, the infamous Blood Demon, Cuban. His grin was wide and unsettling, a predator’s smile that belied the danger beneath. The billboard played a message on loop, Cuban’s voice echoing through the streets with a deceptive calmness: “People of the world, the curfew is for your own safety. As long as you remain in your homes, you will be safe. But if you disobey, you will be sent to the gladiator arena or end up in the gallows.” The threat in his tone was unmistakable, a chilling promise of a fate worse than death.

The man, his hair long gone, leaving a shiny, aged scalp, watched the billboard with a deep frown etching his weathered face. The dryness in his mouth mirrored the fear that clutched at his heart. Being sent to the gallows was a death sentence, an end as a feast for demons. The gladiator arena was no better, a cruel spectacle of blood and death. Yet, despite the looming threats, he was determined to escape the tyrannical rule that Cuban, the Blood Demon, had imposed for years.

He moved cautiously, navigating the broken streets where the shadows seemed to whisper secrets of despair. The town, once vibrant and full of life, now lay in ruin, its buildings crumbling and roads cracked, a testament to the oppressive regime that had choked the life out of it. Every corner held the potential for danger, every sound a possible herald of death.

As he ventured deeper into the heart of this forsaken town, a gruesome scene unfolded before him. At a nearby corner, demons had captured someone who had dared to defy the curfew. It was a little boy the age of three. He had wandered out accidentally, and without the knowledge of his parents. By the time they had found out, it was too late. He was already in the clutches of the demons. They played with him as he cried loudly, kicking the poor child up in the air like a ball, his tears songs to their ears. The worse part was that his parents watched from the window of their hiding place, too afraid to come out, else they disobey the law and join their unfortunate son.

The demons toyed with their prey, a macabre display of their merciless nature, before tearing the unfortunate soul apart in a frenzy of violence. The sight sent a shiver down the man’s spine. The brutality a stark reminder of what awaited those who dared to challenge the Blood Demon’s rule.

Despite the fear that gnawed at him, the man was resolute. He had prepared for this moment for a long time. From within his robes, he retrieved a stone etched with ancient runes, its surface holding the promise of salvation. With a whispered incantation, he activated the stone’s power. It responded with a soft glow, its light a beacon in the oppressive darkness.

The glow of the stone, however, did not go unnoticed. The demons, ever-vigilant, spotted him. One of them, with a snarl, lunged towards him, its claws extended, ready to claim another victim for their cruel entertainment. The man braced himself, the glowing stone his only savior in a world that had descended into madness and tyranny. 𝑖.𝘤ℴ𝘮

The stone’s magic had indeed proven effective, cloaking the man in shadows that melded seamlessly with the darkness around him, rendering him invisible to the ravenous demon. The three-headed beast, its canine heads snarling and eyes darting around in frustration, sniffed the air in vain. Its prey, the man it had sought to make its dinner, had vanished into the night, leaving the demon to prowl the streets in confusion.

Old Meg reappeared in an underground room, a hidden sanctuary amidst the chaos and oppression of the surface world. The moment he materialized, the room buzzed with a flurry of activity as its inhabitants, a group of ragged survivors, rushed toward him. Their appearances varied, some faring slightly better than others, but all shared the same haunted look of despair and exhaustion etched on their faces—a testament to the harshness of their existence under the Blood Demon’s rule.

Among them was Gonvo, a man with dark skin and eyes that spoke of years of struggle and resilience. He hurried over to Old Meg, his question more of a confirmation than an inquiry. “So tell us, Old Meg, did it work this time around?” The anticipation in his voice was palpable, a mixture of hope and fear.

Old Meg, despite the weariness that clung to him like a second skin, managed a tired smile. “Gonvo, my old friend, it works!” he exclaimed, his voice a beacon of hope in the dimly lit room.

Gonvo’s reaction was immediate and profound. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, a sound so rare and precious in these dark times that it brought tears to his eyes. His smile, wide and genuine, was a sight that stirred the hearts of everyone present.

The room erupted in a chorus of relieved sighs and murmurs of excitement. The news of the stone’s success was more than just a triumph of their ingenuity; it was a symbol of their enduring spirit, a testament to their refusal to succumb to despair.

These survivors, who had pooled their knowledge, resources, and hope to create the stone, had seen many of their comrades fall in the process. Every life lost in the making of this magical artifact weighed heavily on their hearts. But now, with Old Meg’s successful use of the stone, their sacrifices had not been in vain.

Old meg nodded at Gonvo, “hurry up! gather the others and anything we might need, we don’t have much time. Glenn’s territory will only appear for a few minutes before it goes again…”

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