The Demon King's Guide To Not Getting Defeated By A Paladin-Chapter 45 - 44: Reawakening Of The Fallen

Mikhail’s eyes narrowed, his pulse a thunderous drum in his ears as he felt his magic surge through his veins. It was a wildfire, burning hotter, hotter, and that terrible smirk stretched across his face, wide and wicked.

The smoke began to clear, not from his doing — but from a slow, resonant clap of hands. The air trembled with each ringing sound, and as the haze dissipated, they came into view.

First, there was the girl. She was floating, languidly, her dark eyes half-lidded with disinterest as she hugged a massive pillow to her chest. Her skin was a warm, tawny gold, marred by scales that shimmered like obsidian, catching the dim light. A single black, bat-like wing sprouted from her back, twitching as she floated lazily in the air.

Next, the man. He stood tall, regal, a crown perched atop his sleek, dark hair. His clothes were more refined, tailored and pristine, and on his shoulder sat a shifting shadow-like creature, its red eyes gleaming with a sinister light. The man’s gaze was sharp, his jaw set, and when he smirked, his teeth were like polished glass — cold and sharp.

And last, the third — a woman. She was stunning, voluptuous, with curling black horns that twisted from her forehead. Her hair cascaded down her bare back, and cupid-like wings arched gracefully from her shoulders, each feather black as pitch. Her lips curled into a seductive smile, her eyes dragging over Mikhail with undisguised interest.

"Finally," Verel said, a wide grin splitting his face. "The angels of hell are free."

The three of them stretched, breathing in the air as though tasting it for the first time in centuries. The girl with the pillow sighed, her lashes fluttering. "So good to feel the wind again," she purred, eyes half-lidded. The horned woman smirked, her wings flaring. "It’s been so... boring."

The man’s gaze flicked to Verel, then to Mikhail, and his expression darkened. "But who is this little half-breed?"

"Oh, so these are the ones?" Mikhail drawled, crossing his arms over his chest, his lip curling in a sneer. "The ’angels’ of hell?"

All three turned, their eyes glinting with contempt.

"Who is this brat?" the man snapped, the shadow creature hissing in agreement.

"He’s the descendant of the Demon King," Verel said smoothly, sliding a glance at Mikhail. "The only one, in fact."

"A little rat, then," the horned woman said, her voice a slow, sultry drawl. "I like rats."

Mikhail’s gaze cut to her, smirk widening. "I bet you do. Though, I’d have thought you’d prefer something with a brain."

The winged girl — Artoria — hummed, her eyes glimmering. "Oh, he’s got a sharp tongue. Let’s see how sharp it really is."

The man stepped forward, his shadow beast snapping its jaws. "Mind your tongue, half-breed," he said coldly. "You stand in the presence of superior creatures."

Medusa’s pulse pounded, her breath coming in shallow pants. The sheer weight of their magic pressed down on her, a suffocating force that wrapped around her like chains. Her fingers twitched around her rod, her vision wavering. But Mikhail — he wasn’t even phased. His smirk was growing, his eyes glinting with dark excitement. He wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t even flinching.

Medusa blinked, and the pressure lifted. She sucked in a sharp breath, straightening, eyes wide.

Mikhail grinned, his head tilting to the side. "Superior creatures? Please," he said, his tone a mockery. "You lot couldn’t even handle the Demon King. And if that’s true... what makes you think you can handle me?"

The air went cold. The man’s jaw clenched, his eyes flaring with rage. "Artoria," he commanded, his voice a crack of thunder. "Kill him."

Artoria’s smirk widened. "With pleasure."

She dropped the pillow, and in a single breath, she was gone. Mikhail’s eyes widened because she was too fast. His senses barely had time to catch up before her fist plunged through his chest, her claws tearing through flesh and bone with sickening ease.

Blood exploded in a spray of red, splattering the marble ground. Mikhail’s eyes flickered, his vision blurring as Artoria grinned, her nails embedded in his chest, fingers squeezing around his heart.

"You look surprised," she whispered, leaning in close, her breath hot against his ear.

Mikhail’s lips stretched into a grin, blood bubbling over his teeth. "Surprised?" he rasped. "I’m just getting started."

His fist came up like a cannonball, slamming into her face with a bone-rattling crack. Artoria’s head snapped back, her body flung backward like a ragdoll. She skidded across the ground, blood trailing in her wake.

Mikhail staggered back, blood pouring from the hole in his chest — a hole that was already beginning to seal shut, flesh knitting itself back together as he let out a low, manic laugh.

"Well then," he said, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. "Who’s next?"

Mikhail’s chest heaved, the air thick with the scent of his own blood and burning flesh. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting copper, and when his eyes snapped open, they were brimming with that feral, manic light. Artoria hovered in the air, her single bat-like wing flapping lazily as she tilted her head, that massive pillow drifting behind her like a phantom tail.

"What’s the matter, half-breed?" Artoria crooned, her lips curving in a dark, sultry smile. "Did the Demon King not teach his little whelp how to bleed properly?"

Mikhail pushed himself to his feet, rolling his neck until it cracked. "Keep talking, slut. I like it when my toys make noise." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Artoria’s eyes flashed, her scales glimmering like molten gold under the eerie light. The pillow snapped forward, moving with a suddenness that was almost dizzying, and Mikhail barely had time to jerk his head back as the pillow whooshed past his face, leaving a crater in the ground where he had just been standing.

"Shit," he muttered, grinning.

Artoria was a blur. She vanished and reappeared, moving faster than sight, faster than thought. And her fists — demons, her fists came down like falling stars, each punch a concussive blast that sent shockwaves through Mikhail’s bones. He blocked some, his arms crossing to absorb the impact, but others snaked through, crashing into his ribs, his jaw, his gut.

He grunted, spitting blood as she landed a particularly brutal uppercut that snapped his head back. But Mikhail just laughed — laughed through the blood in his teeth, laughed like he was being kissed by a lover and not pummeled by a woman who fought like a hurricane.

"Oh, you like that?" Artoria purred, and before he could respond, she slammed her fist into his stomach, her eyes glittering. "How about this, prince?"

Mikhail gasped as her fist met flesh. For a moment, the world was a pinprick of light, and he staggered back, blinking stars from his vision. But she was on him again, her pillow curling around her body like a serpent, and Mikhail’s gaze sharpened as he noticed the way it trembled, like a predator ready to pounce.

"You really want to know what I like?" Mikhail sneered, catching her wrist, his grip ironclad. "I like it when sluts know their place."

He twisted her arm, yanking her forward. But Artoria just grinned — a wide, manic grin — before leaning forward, her lips brushing over his, soft and slow. For a second, Mikhail’s heart stuttered. Her mouth was a tease, a whisper of wet warmth against his own.

Then it wasn’t.

A burst of scorching purple flame exploded between them, erupting from her palm against his chest, and the force of it sent him flying backward like a doll. Mikhail’s back met the ground with a teeth-rattling crash, purple fire crawling over his skin, scorching his clothes, searing into his bones.

He gasped, coughing smoke, his vision blurring. Artoria landed with a sultry sway, hips rolling as she prowled forward, licking a smear of blood from her lip. "You taste sweeter than I thought," she said, and her gaze was a fever dream of lust and violence. "I think I want another bite."

Mikhail’s laughter rang in the clearing, a hollow, breathless sound. He pushed himself to his knees, blackened skin cracking as he moved. "You’re gonna have to get a little closer for that."

Artoria’s smile widened, eyes glittering with madness. The pillow snapped behind her, its surface rippling like liquid, and Mikhail felt the ground beneath him shudder as the air thickened with magic. The pillow twisted, warped, transforming into a mass of black tendrils that lashed toward him like a nest of serpents.

"Mikhail!" Medusa’s voice cut through the noise. She slammed her rod against the ground, and the marble shivered. Rock and stone rose upwards, forming massive hands that crashed into Artoria, hurling her backward.

Artoria’s wing snapped out, catching her before she could hit the ground. She hovered, purple flames swirling around her body like a hellish halo, eyes blazing as she fixed her gaze on Medusa. "You little—"

But Medusa was already moving, magic coiling around her in a whirlwind of green light. Mikhail forced himself to his feet, swiping blood from his lips as he grinned at Artoria.

"Nice try," he said, and his voice was rough, ragged. "But you’re not the only one who can burn."

Mikhail raised his middle finger, a smirk twisting his bruised, blood-smeared face as the light began to consume him. The radiance enveloped him, searing his vision, burning against his skin — but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to keep the heat pulsing beneath his skin, that wicked grin still curling his lips even as everything went white.

For Artoria, the world snapped back to stillness, the silence of the battlefield like a vacuum. Her pillow drifted behind her, catching her effortlessly as she settled back, arms hanging limp, that crazed, disappointed look gleaming in her eyes.

"Tch." Her tongue clicked against her teeth, and she let her head fall back, staring at the void where Mikhail once stood. "I was starting to enjoy this fight..."

Her lips parted, a lazy, predatory grin forming as her tongue slipped over the blood at the corner of her mouth. Her chest rose and fell, each breath heavy and uneven, as though she still felt Mikhail’s hands around her neck, his fist against her jaw, his blood spraying across her face.

Behind her, the man in the crown rolled his eyes, the shadowy creature on his shoulder hissing softly in agreement. "It doesn’t matter," he said, his voice a deep, dark rumble. "We still have an entire kingdom to destroy... after eight hundred years."

Artoria’s eyes darkened, the predatory gleam returning. "Then," she said, her voice sultry and sweet, "let’s burn it all down."