Round 40: Speed and Passion (Part 1)

The flames surrounding the Flame Monarch gradually faded, yet the heat intensified exponentially. Rocks and soil melted, the ground boiled, and a hellish furnace capable of melting gold and iron followed in its footsteps—whether demons or fiends, living or dead, anything within its reach would burn and be reduced to ash, becoming fuel for the flames. The fuel released more heat, which in turn consumed more fuel, creating even fiercer flames. Within this vortex-like cycle, the Flame Monarch’s form became increasingly condensed, with heat steadily accumulating within him. Gradually, several blazing white dots emerged from the depths of the black flames.

He opened his eyes.
It seemed as though the entire world had turned into a battlefield, filled with fierce battles between demons and fiends. The Tanar’ri gradually gained the upper hand in numbers—after all, the bottomless abysses that gave birth to demons contained hundreds more layers than the Pit of Barathos. Yet the deeply ingrained order-oriented instincts of the Barathos more than made up for this disparity. Higher-ranking demons used telepathy to coordinate their forces, communicate with each other, and make adjustments based on the evolving battlefield situation… Even the heavily damaged small unit under the Flame Monarch rallied and tried to join their allies, acting like stones added to a dam to resist the waves of demonic attacks.

The Flame Monarch’s gaze fell on a group of crawling demons. The flames traced the path of his sight, melting them into burning debris. Since no demons were interfering with him for now, he wasted no energy. The flame storms unleashed by the Balor demons could be seen from afar, but the Flame Monarch wasn’t too worried about them coming after him. The larger the scale of the battle, the worse the demons’ ability to see the bigger picture—or rather, they had no such concept at all. A few Balor demons working together could pose a threat to the Flame Monarch, especially with the abundance of expendable soldiers available. But which Balor demon would do such a thing? They were too lazy even to command their troops; usually, one Balor demon would lead a squad of elite Flaydemons or Berserkers in reckless charges, sweeping through everything in their path, yet it seemed to do little to help win the war. Without them, lower-ranking soldiers like the Feardemons, lacking discipline and support, were retreating in disarray under the well-organized attacks of the demonic forces.

Chaos was the tragic nature of the Tanar’ri, just like those two wretched humans. The black flames rippled like waves, spreading into the storm clouds above and turning into thunderous roars. As demons born from hellfire without a fixed form, the Flame Monarch naturally possessed greater power than most Barathos. But this also meant he could not defy the will of the Lord of Hellfire, Mephistopheles, the ruler of the Eighth Circle of Hell. This fundamental constraint was even stricter than the precise hierarchy of the Barathos. That’s why he had to stoop to cooperating with the foolish actions of humans, even lending them his power unconditionally.

Look at what they’ve turned it into. Since Mephistopheles discovered that the Flame Monarch intended to absorb Phaethon’s power to enhance his own strength, it was only natural for him to intervene and seize control. But why let two humans take charge of this matter? That woman—the Flame Monarch had never bothered to remember her name—was nowhere to be seen; she should have been burned to ashes after her last failure. Yet the man’s overreaching anger worked in the Flame Monarch’s favor. Mephistopheles bound the Flame Monarch within the man’s body, but that didn’t mean he could truly control the power of the Hellfire. Excessive release only resulted in the situation turning against him.

The Flame Monarch tried to avoid the more powerful Tanar’ri demons to stay out of the fray. He had neither the time nor the interest to help the devils win—the top priority was to capture the fleeing female mage and complete Mephistopheles’ task, though he truly hated having to do so. The Flame Monarch quickly located her, but he pretended to be aimless, ignoring the faint voice inside him urging him to act, and waited patiently. It was impossible for his prey to escape the battlefield of bloodshed anytime soon—she and her companions were quite strong, but the bloodshed would exhaust them even more.

The Flame Monarch saw the demon reinforcements appear again. Damn those Tanar’ri; there were always more of them than rats in a gutter. But it didn’t matter. Perhaps the demons would lose patience and scatter when they couldn’t break through the devilic defenses, or perhaps the devils would be overwhelmed by the growing number of demons and sacrifice their expendable troops as part of a strategic retreat. In either case, it would still take a long time. As long as the accumulated hatred, anger, and evil hadn’t been sufficiently exhausted, the battle would continue, with those involved trapped like insects in a spiderweb, struggling futilely to escape.

The battlefield of bloodshed never changed… which is why the sudden strange singing startled the Flame Monarch. A vortex of black flames formed a shape darker than a starless night sky, with swirling heat waves spreading outward, passing through the demon army. The energy signals reflected back struck the Flame Monarch like electric shocks. His ambition, his frustration—when the Flame Monarch raised his head, the blinding white light from the black flames could blind anyone who met his gaze, and even when it fell to the ground, it remained a dazzling white spot that ignited instantly.

The devilic army also adjusted its tactics. After a fierce battle, the demons’ relentless assaults whittled away the weaker forces, making their formation tighter and more coordinated, with each unit supporting the others. The Flame Monarch’s movement served as a signal, and instantly the entire army moved with him. Though no one could understand what the damned singing was about, everyone knew it boded ill.

At first glance, Morriel couldn’t even recognize what it was.

It appeared on a high ground where a fierce battle was underway, and the two sides, who had just been fighting to the death, scattered like birds and beasts. That thing charged in like a tiger into a flock of sheep, blasting tracer rounds recklessly around, turning those unlucky enough to be caught into bloody messes. A flash of lightning precisely severed several fleeing Bartzu demons, proving that it or its controller might still have a shred of reason. Hundreds of fireballs flew from the demons’ camp, and the successive explosions created a dazzling spectacle akin to divine punishment—but it remained unharmed, its flames crushing the burning ground, like a living nightmare, plowing through a sea of fire as it rushed down the hillside.

Steel, music, and familiar figures flashed past Moriel’s eyes; after running a long distance, they suddenly braked and turned around. The female mage crossed her arms, facing the returning armored vehicle without flinching, but eventually couldn’t hold on and turned away from the dust kicked up by the wheels.

“Hey, babe! I swear you’ve never seen someone as cool as me or a car as cool as mine!”

As the smoke cleared, the smug metal guy stood in the driver’s seat, showing off like a clown popping up at a set time in a clock made by dwarves.

“It’s great that you’re back. I was really worried…”

Moriel covered her mouth, coughing violently from the smoke.

“You might as well stay in the Lady’s Maze forever! Why did you come out?” she said viciously, staring at him.

“That’s what I thought too. Get in the car.” The back of the convertible war vehicle was equipped with a firing weapon unlike the twin heavy machine guns, with countless elf-like sparks flashing between two perfectly symmetrical blades—beautiful and breathtaking. Steel Kari sat there, behaving slightly differently from their last meeting—she even raised her finger and nodded at Phylgas, who was staring at her coldly.

Everyone found a seat, though it was far from comfortable. Building seats with down padding clearly wasn’t something the 47th could handle.

The metal guy slammed the steering wheel, and the car spun twice in place before racing toward the sunset—no, toward the Flame Monarch.

“Finally, I can settle accounts with this coal ball. I’ve been looking forward to this day all along.”

“I bet you never thought about such a thing before today.”

“…My lord? My lord, you’re amazing!”

The steel-speed vehicle raced ahead, followed by a flood of Tanali demons. Even the Balor demons followed its lead—fools willing to serve as shock troops in bloody battles are hard to find.

“Engines! Cannons! Music!”

The 47th’s seat retracted, with countless levers, gears, and pistons spinning rapidly around the passengers. The sound of the car transforming mixed with the roar of the engine. It seemed the metal guy remembered that not everyone was as invulnerable as him and could sit in an open-top car and race forward like crazy.

“Get ready!” said the 47th, before being swallowed by the mechanical horrors that writhed like flesh.

Where to go then? Kari’s seat was moved in, her bright blue eyes adding a unique touch to the war vehicle, now glowing red. Morriel noticed that Kari had indeed changed—not to the tasteless level of the Tin Man, but she still embodied the highest standard of beauty that constructible art could achieve, with every piece of armor flawless. The change came from within, like someone who always went to bed at ten o’clock and suddenly found it fine to go to bed at ten thirty.

“How did you end up here?” the female mage asked casually, not really expecting an answer.

“Because every time we come out of the Lady’s Maze, we end up rolling in blood.”

“Every time?”

“Do you think he’s the kind of drunk who gets kicked out of a tavern and goes home to sleep quietly?” Kari tilted her head, the pipes on the ceiling of the vehicle crawling like snakes.

“He has to go back to you. I can’t stop him. The Lady changed every portal in Seal City, so as soon as we enter, we get trapped in her maze, with no chance to fight back. With that rickety car given to him by Faeani, he can always get out, only to end up in such chaos most of the time. He fights around aimlessly, then goes back to Seal City and gets locked up again. Day after day, year after year—it’s amazing we can meet now. Don’t you two have any way of staying in touch?”

“But you’ve only been away for at most two days.”

“Oh? That’s strange.” Kari sounded indifferent: “Maybe time passes strangely in the maze. I think we may never have really gotten out of the Lady’s grasp… Talk about him—do something useful. I don’t want to be foolish with him anymore.”

“I see.” What an abyss. Where else could a violent man who thinks he’s invincible go?

“I truly despise you. Do you still want to conquer Shalem?” The Tin Man’s voice suddenly came through the speakers, disrupting the already strange music: “Time is a turbulent ocean! You might be curious who I am or why I say this. Well, come here, let me tell you a story…”

Philgas reached out with his claw and fiddled around, and the noise ceased. The chaotic music changed repeatedly before settling into a light, cheerful tune like a stream in the woods. The ladies seemed to have reached some unspoken consensus—quite subtly.

“Why are they keeping flashing? Is it broken?” The demon, Pippi, and Kairo crowded in the front. The demon kept fiddling with those dazzling buttons and controls, but the red lights on the console kept flashing, and the screens around them were full of snow.

“We can’t even see what’s going on!” The demon mashed buttons frantically.

Morriel stroked the runes on the armrest as her seat slid forward. The mage Agus’s method of controlling constructs still worked—proving that without creativity, even reaching light speed won’t make you Bill Gates.

“Bring it over. Yes, that one.”

The succubus, somewhat puzzled, pushed the bulky machine on her head toward the female mage. She had noticed it before, but aside from being rickety, it was nothing but a lump of iron. Morriel raised her arm, grabbed its handle, shook it a few times—then yanked it off and smashed it onto the control panel with flashing red lights. With a clang, all the lights went out, the monitors went dark, and even the silent ferryman of the River Styx was startled.

“I don’t like ‘Forest Rhapsody,’” muttered Forty-Seven as he vigorously turned the lever, raising the dark cannon barrel higher and higher. The steel war vehicle had completely changed its shape during movement, turning from a rabbit into a bear. Spiked tracks left two trench-like trails on the ground, and more giant weapon-like protrusions emerged from its expanded armor, firing smoke and flames nonstop. The sound of this terrifying machine in operation resembled a swarm of sharks grinding their teeth, charging forward surrounded by demons.

“So cool!” exclaimed the succubus.

The vibrations from the vehicle’s movement still lingered, and the monitors were filled with flames. The real scene was even more thrilling—there were at least twenty smoke trails in the grayish-black sky, and a large portion of the devilish defenses had been destroyed in an instant by this barrage of rockets. Flames curled upward, heat waves created storms, and continuous explosions released energy that even black fire couldn’t consume. The sound of the machine guns firing was like tearing large pieces of linen; rows of bullets pierced the bodies of the Batzu soldiers, turning them into debris flying in the air currents. A group of heavily armored, massive demons swung chains at them. Though stray bullets knocked them off balance, they still threw giant anchors made of black steel at the war vehicle and pulled with all their might, successfully flipping it sideways. A few seconds later, the anchor chains wrapped tightly around them, pulling them toward the vehicle. The machine guns adjusted their firing angles, and the vehicle’s front horns split open to reveal flaming maws—the demons couldn’t hold out much longer amid the succubus’s laughter.

The giant minotaurs knelt on all fours, each step causing tremors that made it hard to stand steady. These foolish, brutal monsters swung their fists, shattering everything within reach, carrying severed limbs and bodies on their horns. The charges of the spiked-armor demons and Neldr demons far surpassed any cavalry battles in the main material world—swords clashing with spears, armor scraping against bone spikes, and the waves of attackers quickly blurring the lines between them. With Forty-Seven’s sharp blade, the demons tore ever-larger gaps in the enemy ranks, and the situation gradually turned into the chaotic battles they knew best and loved most.

The foot soldiers fought in pairs, while Forty-Seven and his war vehicle continued to advance relentlessly. The flesh and blood of the hellish creatures made the heavily armored vehicle gleam with oil. The Iron Man stopped his meaningless movements, covered in pipes and cables of varying thicknesses. Huge, cold cannon barrels protruded from the roof, stretching to almost twice the length of the vehicle. The Flame Monarch spread its wings in the distance, surrounded by swirling black storm clouds. The sky began to burn, and air currents caused by temperature differences and storms carried chunks of flesh, alive or dead, into the Flame Monarch’s expanding maw.

Suddenly, the chaotic gunfire ceased, and the war vehicle came to a steady stop. A profound sense of crisis overwhelmed the Flame Monarch, forcing it to rise higher once again to see what its opponent was doing—it discovered that the Dragon Slaying Spear was aimed at the dragon. The Flame Monarch glared in fury, and a torrent of flames erupted instantly. Yet striking first wouldn’t help, as it hadn’t succeeded even in the Sleeping Forest; how could it burn that much larger iron mass now in such haste? Still, retreating immediately was neither allowed nor tolerable—after all, demons could not truly be destroyed outside the realm of Bato.

Vast amounts of violent energy were continuously pumped into the heavy cannon until it reached saturation. The mechanical mechanism operated like a fully powered forging workshop, and what it was doing was obvious.

“Human cannon, fire,” said Forty-Seven.

After the last wave of mechanical pulses, the space at the muzzle twisted slightly. A blindingly bright ball of fire filled the space in front of the war vehicle in an instant, as the barrel retracted violently. Scorching winds rushed out from numerous gas vents on the sides and rear of the vehicle, sweeping away the surrounding wildfires.

After the deafening explosion, there seemed to be a brief silence on the battlefield—the Flame Monarch suddenly soared upward, its black flames forming twisted towers that reached into the sky.

The custom-made super bomb hit it squarely.

The world shattered.