Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1398: The losses.

Gabriel's face twisted into a deep frown, white fire in his wings flickering erratically as he stared down at the unconscious little girl being carried off the field by her father. Anger simmered in his eyes—cold, celestial fury.

A single loss? To a child? It was unthinkable.

Heaven's host shifted uneasily behind him, golden auras dimming just a fraction in shared disbelief.

But more was yet to come. Far more. What followed would etch itself into the annals of cosmic history as Heaven's greatest embarrassment since the Fall.

Father Black called forth the next champion for the lesser demon rank's second bout: a wiry boy of twelve, named Jax, with freckles and a mop of red hair.

Shadow runes curled faintly on his forearms, visible only when he flexed.

"Shadow runes again?" Gabriel was shocked. But Father black chuckled. Of course he did not say it was because Lenny was the one that did all this in secret.

His opponent: an angel avatar with two pairs of wings, wielding a flaming spear that trailed holy embers.

The bout started with Gabriel's signal. The angel lunged, spear thrusting in a blur of light and precision—thousands of years of divine drills behind each strike.

Jax dodged once, twice, but the third grazed his side, drawing blood and a hiss. The angel pressed, spear spinning into a whirlwind of fire that scorched the sand black.

Jax coughed up smoke, runes igniting. He slammed his fists together, shadows erupting from his palms like whips.

They lashed out, coiling around the spear mid-thrust, yanking it aside.

The angel pulled back—only for Jax to leap, shadows forming claws over his hands. He raked downward, dark energy slicing through the avatar's armor like paper. Holy light sputtered as black veins spread from the wounds.

The angel countered with a burst of radiance, shattering the shadow claws—but Jax was already inside its guard. A rune-empowered punch to the chest caved in the breastplate; another to the wing joint tore feathers free.

The avatar staggered, spear dropping, as shadows swarmed from Jax's feet, binding its legs. One final uppercut, laced with corrosive darkness, shattered the angel's helm and sent it crumpling to the ground in a heap of fading sparks.

Jax pumped his fist. "Earth!" The crowd roared.

Gabriel's frown deepened into a scowl. Michael, from his vantage, crossed his arms tighter.

Father Black smiled.

Athena aura into his side, "see, lenny was right. Having the children use shadow runes instead of darkline or chaotic energy was the right choice."

Father Black nodded. "Yes, all we had to do was place the system in their souls before their birth and ensured the souls completed tasks in the soul realm even before they were born.

A hundred years?" He chuckled. "You have no idea."

Next came the third rank bout: Lila, a fourteen-year-old girl with braids and a quiet demeanor, shadow runes tracing elegant patterns on her neck like a necklace.

Her foe: a three-winged avatar armed with a bow of pure light, arrows that screamed like banshees.

The angel fired immediately—volley after volley, arrows exploding into holy bursts on impact. Lila weaved through the first few, but one clipped her leg, blasting her backward in a spray of sand and blood.

She hit the barrier, coughing red, but her runes activated with a hum. Shadows pooled at her feet, rising into a dome shield that absorbed the next barrage, dark energy devouring the light.

The angel nocked three arrows at once, firing a triangulated strike.

Lila dropped her shield and countered—shadows bursting outward in tendrils that intercepted the arrows mid-flight, wrapping and crushing them into nothingness.

She charged then, runes fueling her speed, closing the gap in a blur. The angel backpedaled, firing point-blank—but Lila's shadows formed a blade in her hand, parrying the shot and slicing through the bowstring.

Up close, she was ruthless: a shadow-infused elbow to the gut doubled the avatar over; a knee strike cracked ribs; a final rune-empowered palm to the chest unleashed a dark pulse that corroded the angel from the inside out. It dissolved in a wail of light, wings crumbling to ash.

Lila bowed slightly to the Earth benches, wiping sweat from her brow. Cheers exploded again.

By now, the pattern was clear—and humiliating. Bout after bout, from lesser demon ranks climbing into deep demon territory, Earth's young champions dominated. Each bore shadow runes, that rare cosmic blessing, turning what should have been mismatches into routs. A fifteen-year-old boy summoned shadow chains to bind and shatter a four-winged avatar's greatsword; a sixteen-year-old girl wove illusions from her runes, confusing her opponent into striking itself until it fell.

Angel after angel avatar fell—ripped apart by dark hounds, corroded by black veins, outmaneuvered by rune-boosted agility. Heaven's host murmured in growing dismay, their perfect unity cracking with each loss.

Michael's frown had evolved into a thunderous glare, sword hilt creaking under his grip.

Even Lucifer, lounging far away, watched with increasingly surprised delight—leaning forward, chuckling at first, then outright laughing as the embarrassments piled up.

It was true that he was also shocked. But he could tell that Father Black must have done something in secret.

At least this way, he knew what to expect.

"How?" Gabriel muttered under his breath, wings trembling. "These… children?"

The angels were being schooled—terribly, utterly—by Earth's rune-blessed youth. And the deep demon ranks were only the beginning.

The losses piled on for Heaven, each more humiliating than the last. Gabriel's scowl had become a permanent fixture, his trumpet hanging limp at his side as he announced winner after winner: Earth.

Michael gripped his sword tighter, the flames along its blade flickering with suppressed rage.

Lucifer's laughter echoed faintly across the void, his court joining in with mocking cheers. But the deep demon ranks were winding down, and the arena's shadow-infused sand was littered with the fading sparks of defeated angel avatars.

Then came the bout that shattered the streak.

Father Black called forth Earth's champion for the final deep demon rank: not one of the rune-blessed youths, but a god. Ares, the Greek deity of war himself—resummoned from wirshio after the last ones death 200 years ago before the sealing of earth.

He was recommended by Odin himself.

His form towering and brutal, clad in blood-red armor etched with scenes of ancient battles. His spear was a jagged thing of bronze and divine fury, helmet crested with a plume that seemed to drip ethereal blood. Ares had volunteered, roaring about "crushing celestial fools" in his gravelly voice. The Earth side cheered him on—after all, who better to represent the gods among Earth's defenders?

His opponent: a five-winged angel avatar, sleek and unassuming, wielding a simple staff of glowing ivory. No flashy hammer or spear—just quiet, unyielding grace. Gabriel announced the start with a strained voice, clearly hoping for a turnaround.

Ares charged first, the sand exploding under his boots as he leaped across the arena. His spear thrust forward in a blur, aimed to impale the angel through the chest— a strike honed over millennia of mortal wars, from Troy to forgotten skirmishes. The avatar sidestepped with effortless poise, staff twirling to deflect the spear's tip. Sparks flew—divine bronze clashing against holy ivory—and Ares pressed, swinging the weapon in a wide arc that could cleave mountains.

The angel ducked low, wings folding tight, and countered with a swift jab of the staff to Ares' knee. The god grunted, leg buckling slightly, but he recovered with a savage laugh. "Is that all, feather-brain? I've crushed greater foes in my sleep!" He spun, spear sweeping low to trip the avatar, then followed with an overhead smash that cratered the sand where the angel had stood moments before.

The avatar flipped backward, wings snapping open for a burst of speed. It landed lightly, staff glowing brighter, and unleashed its first real attack: a beam of pure holy light from the staff's tip, thin as a needle but searing with judgment. Ares raised his shield—a massive, battered thing forged in Hephaestus' fires—and the beam slammed into it, scorching the metal black. The god roared, charging through the pain, shield bash aimed to crush the angel's wings.

They collided. Ares' bash connected, sending the avatar skidding back, one wing bent at an awkward angle. But the angel twisted mid-slide, staff whipping around to crack against Ares' helmet. The impact rang like a bell tolling doom—divine energy vibrating through the god's skull. Ares staggered, vision blurring for a split second, and the angel capitalized: a series of rapid strikes, staff blurring into afterimages. One to the ribs, cracking armor; another to the thigh, drawing ichor (golden god-blood); a third to the spear arm, forcing Ares to drop his weapon momentarily.

The Earth benches murmured uneasily. "Come on, Ares—end it!" "He's a god, for crying out loud!"

Ares snarled, grabbing his spear mid-fall and hurling it like a javelin. The weapon flew true, empowered by war-god rage, aimed for the avatar's heart. The angel deflected it with a spin of the staff—but the force sent the spear ricocheting into the barrier, where shadow runes absorbed the impact with a hungry hum. Ares closed the gap in a bull-rush, fists hammering down like meteors. One punch grazed the avatar's shoulder, shredding feathers; another missed as the angel weaved, countering with a staff sweep that tripped the god.

Ares hit the sand hard, rolling to avoid a downward stab. He came up swinging, grabbing the staff mid-strike and yanking the angel closer. "Feel the wrath of Olympus!" he bellowed, headbutting the avatar with his helmet. The impact cracked the angel's helm, holy light leaking like blood. For a moment, victory seemed near—Ares followed with a knee to the gut, then a brutal elbow to the neck, dark war-energy coiling from his strikes to corrode the golden aura.

The avatar staggered back, wings drooping, staff cracked. Gabriel leaned forward, hope flickering in his eyes. Lucifer watched with a tilted head, intrigued.

But the angel wasn't done. It straightened, light surging from its core—mending cracks, reforming feathers. With a serene twist, it channeled holy energy through the staff, transforming it into a whip of radiant chains. The chains lashed out, wrapping Ares' arm mid-punch. The god yanked back, but the chains burned with purifying fire, searing his flesh and sapping his rage-fueled strength.

Ares roared, pulling harder—snapping one chain—but more whipped around his legs, binding him. He thrashed, spear summoned back to his hand via divine will, slashing at the restraints. One chain broke; another reformed. The avatar closed in, staff reverting to its original form, and delivered precise strikes: one to the bound arm, dislocating the shoulder; another to the knee, buckling it; a third to the chest, cracking ribs and forcing a cough of ichor.

Ares fought like a cornered beast—head down, charging through the pain, spear thrusting wildly. He landed a grazing slash across the avatar's wing, tearing more feathers, but the angel sidestepped the follow-up and countered with a point-blank blast from the staff. Holy light exploded against Ares' chest, blasting him backward into the arena wall. Shadow runes pulsed as he hit, cushioning the impact but not the damage—armor shattered, ichor flowing freely.

The god pushed off the wall, breathing ragged, eyes wild with fury. "You... insignificant glow-worm! I'll grind your bones!" He summoned his full war aura—a red haze that warped the air, boosting his speed and power. He blurred forward, spear a whirlwind of death strikes: thrust, slash, overhead smash. The avatar blocked most, staff holding firm, but one slash got through—carving a deep gash across the torso, holy sparks flying.

For a heartbeat, the Earth side cheered. But the angel's wound knit closed almost instantly, light sealing it without a scar. It retaliated: staff glowing supernova-bright, unleashing a radial burst that slammed into Ares like a divine hammer. The god flew back again, crashing through a section of adaptive terrain that had shifted into illusory rocks.

Ares rose slowly, spear trembling in his grip. His aura flickered—war energy draining from the holy corrosion. The avatar advanced, staff raised. Ares made one last desperate lunge, spear aimed true. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

The angel parried effortlessly, then drove the staff through Ares' guard—straight into his chest. Holy light flooded the wound, purifying and destroying in equal measure. Ares gasped, eyes wide, then collapsed to his knees. His form shimmered, divine essence fading as he yielded with a guttural curse.

"Enough... I yield."

The arena went silent.

Gabriel's scowl twisted into a satisfied smirk. Michael's tension eased slightly.

Earth's first loss.

And it was a god—one of their own divine allies—who had fallen.

Father Black rubbed his beard, expression thoughtful rather than dismayed. Whispers rippled through the Earth benches: "A god? Lost to that?" "What does this mean for the higher ranks?"

Lucifer chuckled softly. "Ah, the irony. gods losing but humans not?"

The battles pressed on, but that loss hung heavy—a crack in Earth's unbreakable facade.