Chapter 757 Silent Resurgence

"W-wha . . . what are you doing?! How can you move in my domain?" Desira asked in incredulously.

Ren and the others, their health dangerously low, could only watch in suspense as Azazel faced Desira head-on.

The air hung heavy with antic.i.p.ation, the mist seeming to hold its breath, and the outcome of this unexpected confrontation remained uncertain.

"Have you forgotten, Desira?" Azazel inquired with a gravity that cut through the chaos. "I am the Demon Lord, and the corruption was initially mine. Even if I don't wield my full power, your domain won't exert control over me."

"What?" Lorelai expressed her bewilderment. "If he could do that from the start, he should have just shattered the prison and we could have escaped. Or better yet, he should have shatter this domain."

"It's not as simple as it sounds," Vivi clarified. "The truth is, it took a considerable toll on Lord Azazel just to resist Desira's domain. He doesn't even possess one-third of his full power yet. What he's employing is the corruption he acquired from me to counter Desira's influence, but utilizing those powers would only accelerate his corruption and taint his mind."

On the sidelines, Ren silently observed the unfolding situation. His earlier intuition about Azazel being the linchpin of this Story Arc was proving true, emphasizing the importance of ensuring Azazel's survival as their top priority now.

Ren recognized the collective powerlessness of their group against the Warlords in the Netherworld, hindered by both the domain and corruption they faced.

The responsibility of navigating through this perilous situation rested squarely on Azazel's shoulders. It was up to him to find a resolution with his Warlords and untangle the complexities of their predicament.

Desira scoffed at Azazel. "Ha! You're bluffing! I know you're at your limit! This is the end, Azazel!"

As Desira's frustration and anger intensified, she summoned all the dark energies at her disposal, tapping into the very essence of the Netherworld.

Her eyes glowed with an eerie intensity as she focused on increasing her magic, the very air around her pulsating with an ominous energy.

With a commanding gesture, Desira unleashed a torrent of spells, dark and chaotic, hoping to quell Azazel's advance.

The magical onslaught was relentless, with beams of ethereal energy erupting from her outstretched hands like a malevolent dance of spectral serpents. Each spell carried the weight of her anguish and unrequited feelings, seeking to consume anything in its path.

However, as the spells hurtled towards Azazel, an invisible barrier seemed to envelop him. The dark magic splintered and dissipated upon contact with an imperceptible s.h.i.+eld, leaving Azazel untouched.

It was as if an intangible fortress surrounded him, repelling Desira's attacks effortlessly.

Desira's frustration deepened, and in a desperate attempt to halt Azazel's advance, she conjured a thick, suffocating mist that billowed towards him.

The mist, heavy with dark energy, swirled and twirled like a malevolent vortex, aiming to ensnare Azazel and whisk him away.

Yet, despite its ferocity, the mist seemed to part around Azazel, creating a clear path for him to continue his advance.

Fear flickered in Desira's eyes as she stepped back involuntarily, realizing that her most potent magical a.s.saults were proving ineffective against the peculiar force s.h.i.+elding Azazel.

"I warned you, didn't I?" Azazel stated solemnly. "I am the Demon Lord, and your domain wouldn't hold sway over me."

"That's not possible . . ." Desira uttered, taking hesitant steps backward.

For a moment, she was engulfed by the memories of the formidable presence of the previous Demon Lord, Obsidian X, whose immense power and aura seemed to consume her entirely.

She had momentarily forgotten that the Demon Lord was the most powerful being in the Netherworld.

"Don't come any closer!" Desira continued to cast spells with increasing desperation, hurling bolts of dark energy and summoning arcane winds to blow him off course, but it was as if an unseen hand guided Azazel through the chaos, rendering him impervious to harm.

In contrast, Azazel moved forward, eyes on Desira. His signature grin was gone and his face had no trace of an innocent mischievous kid from before. His gaze now held a peculiar focus that seemed to cut through the magical turbulence.

Each step he took disrupted the very fabric of Desira's magic, causing ripples of distortion in the ethereal currents surrounding them.

The battlefield became a surreal tableau of opposing forces one, a relentless storm of Desira's magic; the other, an unyielding presence in the form of Azazel, advancing against the tempest.

The air crackled with tension, the magical energies clashed and merged, and Desira found herself caught in a struggle that transcended the physical realm.

It was a spectacle of contrasting powers, where the inexplicable protection around Azazel defied the very laws of the Netherworld.

Desperation etched across Desira's face as she realized the futility of her relentless magical a.s.saults. Her dark spells, infused with the anguish of unrequited feelings, seemed to pa.s.s through Azazel as if he were an insubstantial specter.

Panic seized her, and she frantically screamed, "Stay back! Stay back!"

However, Azazel defied her plea, advancing with an unsettling calmness.

Desira's futile attempts to push him away with her magical forces only intensified the oppressive atmosphere.

The air was thick with dark energy as if protesting against Azazel's intrusion.

Before Desira could comprehend what was happening, Azazel was standing right in front of her, his sudden proximity catching her off guard.

A surge of dark fog and oppressive mist erupted from the very spot where he stood, engulfing the immediate surroundings.

The mist twisted and coiled in an otherworldly dance, forming an impenetrable shroud that surrounded Desira.

The tempest of magical forces intensified, causing Desira to close her eyes, bracing for the impending onslaught from Azazel.

The oppressive mist pressed against her, creating an ominous silence that hung in the air.

Desira's heart pounded in her chest as she awaited the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched in suspense, Desira cautiously opened her eyes, half-expecting devastation.

To her surprise, the scene before her was not one of destruction but of profound transformation. The mist and fog, instead of heralding a destructive force, began to dissipate, revealing Azazel standing there with an outstretched hand.

Azazel's signature grin had returned to his face, a peculiar blend of mischief and empathy.

The once oppressive atmosphere now carried an enigmatic calmness as if a storm had pa.s.sed, leaving behind an eerie tranquility.