Round 43: The Flame Monarch
Forty-seven was indeed furious now. He could even see Melganis’s sinister grin on his visual processor— he didn’t think it was an illusion, as a robot, his analytical abilities were so advanced that analysis itself became almost unnecessary. Deception magic had never worked on forty-seven either; even if he processed information using his knees, few could trick him with such spells. Once the central processor determined something was real, forty-seven firmly believed it to be real. Melganis, that BBQ-loving devil, must be lurking inside him, causing trouble, though he didn’t understand why this bastard could still haunt him even after being reduced to ashes.
The situation seemed to stem from the fact that Melganis’s flesh had long merged with forty-seven’s, his thoughts directly connected to forty-seven’s neural circuits, relentlessly fighting for control of the body—this was precisely why nanite disruption viruses often caused him more trouble than space-tracking missiles.
There was no antivirus system—forty-seven mused. Melganis, filled with countless demonic thoughts and negative emotions, roared and circled, waves after waves attacking forty-seven’s mental defenses, trying to disrupt his thoughts and cloud his mind, just like those annoying pornographic web pages that kept popping up endlessly—though once filtered, those pages still had value.
The situation reached a precarious balance, like the sword of Damocles. The demonized elves stopped all movements due to lack of orders; the floating machines also remained inactive temporarily as their commander was once again acting crazily; the elves were no longer able to take any meaningful action, and the only powerful one, Eirdris, had to constantly prepare to help her people as much as possible.
All attention was focused on forty-seven—and the increasingly dark black hole before him.
It had been a long time since forty-seven had examined himself in such detail.
The miniature war within him was still raging, but from another perspective, its scale was no less than the bloody battles in the Abyssal Plains. Forty-seven seemed to fall back into that illusory state of being detached from his steel body, observing the entire battlefield like an all-knowing god.
Steel was as solid as rock, but flesh had the advantage of being endless—they fought fiercely in all directions, neither side able to gain the upper hand, creating a rather dire standoff.
Suddenly, forty-seven found reinforcements. They were faint illusions wrapped in endless black flames, seemingly insignificant and lost in the dust, but their immense energy would burst forth uncontrollably when noticed. That pure light and heat couldn’t be hidden by either Hell or the Core’s power. Under forty-seven’s deliberate search, they grew in number and brightness—first just flashes of lightning in the dark red flames, then turning into full-blown suns…
“What’s going on? Where have all those devils and demons gone?” Dracula stared at the magic crystal screen, which was completely dark and unreadable. “Even if the devils are cautious about entering the main material world, those demons shouldn’t give up such a rare opportunity to kill!”
Dracula was extremely frustrated by the lack of rapid changes in the plan, to the point where she even ignored the faint heat emanating from the magic crystal screen.
Forty-Seven finally showed some movement. He raised his right hand and clenched his fist. The metal fingers made a harsh scraping sound, with a faint spark of flame and lightning flashing by.
Melganis was still howling—but at this moment, the sound sounded almost soothing, like the Transformers theme song played at high speed.
If Old Billy had known the power contained in that so-called divine scroll, would he have willingly given it away? If he had earlier tried to introspect himself like a martial arts master out of boredom, perhaps this power would have already helped him become the most awesome Transformer in this world.
No one else could tell what was happening inside Forty-Seven, but the demonized elves clearly calmed down. They became less hesitant, their movements more relaxed, with them twitching their ears or licking their fingers—exactly like predators.
The game was over. Forty-Seven let the hellish flesh inside him wail and burn in true hell. If this guy still couldn’t die, he would deal with him properly after resolving the current trouble—tearing out every last bit of flesh to ensure this damned devil died beyond death itself.
Before that, looking up at the floating aircraft, Forty-Seven decided to shoot down that damned thing first, kill that annoying glasses-wearing woman who showed up out of nowhere and acted so seriously, and then—well, then he would think about what to do next.
The beast on the cannon mouth grew even more ferocious, and the power gathering inside its barrel grew increasingly brutal. Now, even the charging process became extremely quick, almost allowing it to be used as soon as transformation was complete.
“Meeting again…” Along with a hollow voice that seemed to come from nowhere, the temperature soared.
Forty-Seven abruptly turned his gaze toward the gap in the ground.
“Everyone, get out!” Eirwen screamed. In fact, even before her order was spoken, the demonized elves had already started scrambling up the rock walls.
The ground began to heat up—no, it was melting. Several elves who fell to the ground emitted a pungent burnt smell. Without even seeing any flames, they quickly turned into piles of smoking charcoals.
The spells of “Protective Flame” flashed twice or three times, covering as many elves as possible. Then came various auxiliary or protective spells—Eirwen used every trick she had, flying back while trying to block the invisible heat waves rushing toward her.
The magic crystal screen in front of Dracula also melted. It didn’t shatter but melted like syrup on a red-hot stove. Her eyes filled with terror—though more out of fanaticism than madness. The floating aircraft rose at full speed, firing massive amounts of disintegration rays to break apart the rock layers above it.
“Obsessed with nonsense like the Demon Purgatory all day long, and finally created something truly terrifying… Now how to end this?” The red-robed female mage seemed calm as ever, even taking the time to mock her. It was unclear whether Forty-Seven had told her the story of the man who pretended to love dragons.
Forty-Seven felt as if his feet were submerged in a basin of hot water—no, actually it was magma. The floor of the entire underground hall resembled an egg sizzling in a pan, with even the walls melting and flowing down. The elves, unable to move, couldn’t even scream before being instantly roasted and melted by the unimaginable heat, curling into small clumps of black char before being swept into the swirling magma.
Before even the iron doors melted like candles, less than a third of the elves managed to escape. Even those who escaped didn’t know if they would truly be safe.
At the center of the magma vortex, scorching clouds of smoke erupted—formed when rocks and soil were vaporized by extreme heat, rising with storm-like hot air before rapidly cooling. The elves who had lost consciousness due to Agus’s earlier attacks and lay on the ground, roasted to death or swept away by the magma, were actually lucky. The most pitiful among those trapped in this giant cauldron were those elves who had been protected by Eldrith’s spells but hadn’t managed to escape. The effects of protective spells like fire barriers barely kept them conscious enough to struggle in vain, but the increasingly intense and pervasive heat gradually eroded those defenses, making every breath feel like swallowing fire. Some elf priests tried to cast spells to hold on, but their lips stuck together halfway through the incantations…
As the heating seemed endless, a few star-like lights appeared in the black-gray clouds.
The surroundings finally began to cool slightly, with the temperature dropping steadily, as the black-gray clouds coalesced into a huge, indistinct shape reaching nearly the ceiling of the hall. The outer layer of those clouds consisted of countless tiny particles, constantly shifting between disappearance and condensation, while deeper within were even denser, darker storms, held back by some force from erupting in chaos.
Those spots of white light fell upon Forty-Seven, causing the dark aura around him to boil and vanish. Forty-Seven trembled briefly before remaining motionless.
“Really unexpected… so fast.”
Intense white light flickered in what appeared to be his head, rising and falling. The emperor-like figure formed by the black gray clouds kept its gaze fixed on Forty-Seven, paying no attention to anything else—neither the elves nor Agus seemed more than insignificant insects. Whether they died or escaped was irrelevant; it wasn’t part of the plan. It was like meat roasting over a fire—who would care if a nest of ants nearby was burned to death?
Forty-Seven remembered him. Though in the main material world he no longer had a pure form of black flame but was shaped from melted dust, that feeling was unique—without overwhelming dominance, nor any trace of the evilness associated with Purgatory creatures. It was simply like having a large furnace of molten iron spinning above one’s head; once it collapsed, everything would be over.
An undisputed formidable enemy. There was a sense of oppression as if being faced with the main cannon of an interstellar warship, or as if standing beside a nuclear bomb with a countdown ticking away.
Forty-seven rose above the ground until he was at eye level with the Flame Monarch. He didn’t know why he did it, but thankfully, the rolling waves of heat made his flight quite easy.
“I’ve suffered greatly in the Primary Material Realm—so let’s skip the old times.” The Flame Monarch’s voice came from the black clouds that made up his body, crackling like charcoal burning violently in a furnace.
“Nobody wants to reminisce with you. If you came all this way just for that, it’s really unnecessary.” Forty-seven crossed his arms and floated leisurely up and down with the heat currents, though the construct cannon in his left hand remained in its active state. “There’s no Hellish Iron Lake you like here—go back!”
The Flame Monarch let out a laugh similar to a volcanic eruption.
“Blood of Phaethon! Give me your Blood of Phaethon! That power shouldn’t belong to you!” The black clouds surged toward Forty-seven, with dense particles hitting him like a stormy desert wind, yet carrying immense heat. “I’ll forgive your past offenses and even grant you true Black Flame power, not this half-baked flame you have now! You can sit in my right hand and enjoy true hellish glory, and the problems plaguing you inside will no longer be a problem!”
As the Flame Monarch spoke, Forty-seven felt Melganis, who had remained silent inside him since his arrival, emit a desperate cry.
“Monarch! Monarch! I am your loyal servant! Please don’t—” Forty-seven impatiently blocked him out, for Melganis’s pleas could only echo in his mind, never reaching the outside world.
“I don’t know what this Blood of Phaethon you’re talking about is.” Although Forty-seven suspected it was related to the power of that scroll, likely referring to those miniature suns inside him, he decided to keep probing. And since his core was already lost, if this fire monster took it too, would he just be a petri dish for their powers?
“You don’t need to know that! Come, accept me, and I’ll take care of everything!” The Flame Monarch drew closer, almost enveloping Forty-seven.
So you can’t just take that so-called Blood of Phaethon directly—still acting so arrogant despite asking for something, not even knowing the principle of showing respect. How can you call yourself a great demon?
“I’m not interested in trading!” Forty-seven flapped his wings and soared higher. “Lord of the Fire Cloud Demons! You’d better go and absorb those Iron Lakes to boost your power! A martial arts master like you still dreaming of some miracle cure? Be careful, you might burst your blood vessels from eating too much!” A flame cannon?
“A foolish choice!” The black clouds instantly enveloped him. Though they couldn’t stop Forty-seven from breaking through the clouds, they made him look like a burning comet. “Do you think you can escape? Even though I’ve weakened somewhat in the Primary Material Realm, it’s enough to drag you back to hell! You’ll experience the true meaning of pain in flames for thousands of years!”
“Keep climbing,” the red-robed female mage warned coldly.
“That way I won’t be able to see!” Dracula protested.
“Unless you don’t want to see the ending.”
The emerging moonlight illuminated the aircraft high in the sky, giving the floating machine, which resembled it was coated in soot, a much brighter appearance.
“Wait, wait—enough! If you move that control lever again, I’ll kill you!” —After threatening the innocent operator fiercely, Dracula excitedly looked down: “I’ve never seen such a powerful demon! What magnificent strength! I guess only the Council Leader could stand before him calmly.” The aircraft climbed only about a hundred or so feet before hovering again. The red-robed mage sighed helplessly. If he weren’t the deputy commander and were in the control room, with such a mad commander, he would likely die several times without even knowing how.
A demonic figure surged upward from the gray forest, and soon the clouds below began to boil as if stirred by some force. A few starlights pierced through them, and the figure moved back and forth as if avoiding those lights. Then the entire swirling cloud mass spun rapidly, forming a black demon god that seemed ready to swallow the sky.
To the elves and holy warriors fleeing to the surface of Hellgate Fortress, the situation looked different. The black stone fortress was slowly collapsing, the ground was unbearably hot, and nearby water was steaming due to the geothermal heat, releasing foul-smelling vapor. As the forty-seven flew out, volcanic-like black clouds instantly engulfed Hellgate Fortress, creating a giant plume that reached the sky. The withered trees and branches around the fortress caught fire instantly, as the temperature in the air had reached the ignition point!
Even the demonized elves found it hard to endure. But surprisingly, amid this hellish heat wave, the old holy warrior seemed to gain some clarity, appearing increasingly energetic—the signs of old age fading from him, his gaze toward the black clouds filled with pure holy power. Yet, due to his extreme shock and confusion, not even Milia, who was supporting him, noticed this change.