Chương 34: Sun of Hell

On the floor of the Crystal Sanctuary-transformed into a blazing inferno-the battle had effectively ended. Only the execution of the verdict remained. The grey demon was no longer fighting. It no longer possessed even the mechanical capacity or the spiritual will to crawl away from its fate.

Its massive, mutilated body rolled slowly in place, submerged in a pool of its own evaporating black blood, producing a faint, blurred, pitiful moan that resembled the death rattle of a creature that had forgotten how to breathe. Its white oval eyes-which had overflowed for centuries with overbearing pride and absolute sovereignty over this underworld-were now utterly empty. Glassy. Reflecting nothing but the burning blue light that suffused the hall.

They were no longer searching for an escape or scheming a counterattack. They were pleading openly for an end. The beast was requesting death as a mercy, as a final salvation from an existential agony that exceeded its capacity to endure. Dex stood at the centre of the hall, upright, surrounded by an aura of terrifying composure. His great fire wings pulsed behind his back in a calm, steady rhythm, exhaling blue sparks that dissolved the rock they grazed.

He looked at the broken creature before him and felt no cheap thrill of victory. In the depths of his mind, he understood fully the magnitude of the disruption he had introduced into this world. He had been the secret Reader of this story. He knew the pages of The Legend of the Silver Dragon by heart. In the original text, this cavern and that Core were part of a different hero's journey-a path filled with epic conflicts and divine interventions.

But Dex, with his spilled blood and his will that refused to break, had torn those original pages apart, and swallowed the Phoenix's essence to become the anomalous entity that would rewrite history. Dex raised his right hand with extreme slowness and directed his open palm upward toward the broken cavern ceiling, as though demanding the sky itself to submit.

"In the old stories and legends written about this world," Dex spoke in a deep, metallic voice that sent its echo rolling through the dark passages, "the beast is given a chance for repentance, or it dies by a swift sword stroke that immortalises the knight's valour. But the Phoenix's inheritance flowing through my veins now does not know the meaning of mercy toward creatures of darkness. It does not recognise the chivalric heroics of false nobility."

He paused for a moment, his blue eyes piercing what remained of the demon's soul.

"It knows only total purification. The death I am giving you now is not a punishment for what you did to me. It is a geometric cleansing of this place from the defilement of your existence-an erasure of a historical error that no longer has any place in my story." The moment his last words were spoken, the cosmic event began. Dex recited no incantation and drew no magical circles. He simply began drawing the heat Mana from every formation surrounding him.

Every drop of Mana from the boiling magma in the room, every remaining spark in the air, and all the pure fire radiating from his body's aura answered his silent summons. These immense energies converged in visible streams of light and rose to concentrate entirely at a single defined point above his open palm. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. A small fireball began to form there.

In fractions of a second, the sphere passed through several stages of thermodynamic transformation. It began with a dense, blood-like deep red-the colour of boiling blood-then its temperature spiked sharply and it shifted to a blazing orange resembling the heart of molten rock. It did not stop there. The Mana pressure within it escalated to insane levels, converting the colour to a blazing yellow-the colour of pure lightning.

And finally, as the thermal pressure reached its absolute zenith, the sphere settled on a pure, immaculate white. A pristine, absolute whiteness that blinded the eyes, absorbing all surrounding colour and reducing the cavern to a field of pure, undiluted light. This Sun of Hell was deceptively small-no larger than an ordinary tennis ball-but its thermal density and the concentrated Mana compressed within it were literally equivalent to the surface of a real miniature sun.

The air surrounding the sphere was no longer merely heating. It had begun to distort visually, and space itself curved around it under the enormous thermal gravity. The atmospheric pressure in the cavern collapsed, and the nearby rocks began to crystallise, melt, and convert to gas without passing through any liquid phase. Dex did not hurl this devastating sphere with force as ordinary magical projectiles are thrown. He looked at the demon-and with a simple motion of one finger-let the white sphere fall slowly.

Slowly, with deliberate, humiliating patience, on a vertical trajectory toward the helpless demon's body. This slow descent was the apex of psychological torment. The demon watched its absolute death descending toward it, inch by inch. It felt the sphere's terrifying gravitational pull drawing the very atoms of air from its shattered lungs, and it felt the heat causing its blood to boil inside its veins before the sphere had even made contact. Then... contact.

The moment the edge of the white sphere grazed the demon's shredded grey skin, both the demon's mind and any external observer would have expected a colossal explosion-a magical nuclear detonation that would fill the space with noise and collapse the mountains above the cavern. But what occurred was the precise opposite. Absolute silence. A nihilistic silence that swallowed every sound-even the sound of the boiling magma. There was no explosion.

There was an event known in the highest tiers of fire magic as Erasure. The demon's enormous body evaporated in a single microsecond. It did not burn. The atomic and magical bonds that held its cells together simply dissolved. Its vast stone and flesh mass converted to pure energy and vanished from existence entirely, before its nervous system or mind could register that it had died. Not a single cell of the beast remained. Not one drop of blood.

Not one particle of ash to testify that it had been alive a moment before. The white sphere extinguished quietly-as one snuffs a candle-leaving behind only a perfect geometric void in the space the creature had occupied: the entity that had terrorised this world for centuries, gone as though it had never been.