MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 877 - Capítulo 877: Not Ideals

Deep within the Abyss, a realm defined by a palette of infinite black and unending red, a titanic fortress dominated the landscape. This colossal castle reached toward the firmament, appearing as if it intended to impale the heavens themselves. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of the eternal blood that saturated this isolated plane.

The owner of this fortress was a fact known to every living soul. It served as the seat of power for the Demon King—the sovereign of the Abyss, the mightiest Demon in existence, and the progenitor of their race. He was an absolute ruler whose very title commanded terrifying authority.

In the heart of the stronghold, the Demon King rested upon a throne of unknown abyssal stone. His expression remained stoic and inscrutable as he sat with rigid, perfect posture, the dark material of his seat catching the faint, bloody glow of the surroundings. With eyes closed, he seemed lost in a deep trance of contemplation or perhaps mere patience.

The throne room was an architectural marvel of impossible scale, with a ceiling that vanished into the darkness above. Great open windows lined the massive walls, permitting a gentle, haunting breeze to drift through the chamber. The wind caused the dark banners to sway slightly, breaking the otherwise frozen stillness of the hall.

Without warning, a translucent, shadowy figure manifested before the throne. There had been no sound, no ripple in space, and no movement to signal its arrival. One moment the floor was bare; the next, a subordinate stood ready. Slowly, the Demon King opened his eyes, fixing his piercing crimson stare upon the newcomer.

“Well,” he began, his voice quiet yet vibrating with innate command, “report what your investigation has uncovered.”

His speech held the effortless weight of a monarch who had reigned for millennia—a being so used to total dominance that concepts like failure or hesitation were entirely alien to him.

The shadow did not delay and immediately began its briefing. Much of the initial data was common knowledge regarding the various races of the Arcanis Galaxy and their diplomatic ties to the Divinora Galaxy. However, as the report delved deeper, the Demon King felt a rare flicker of genuine surprise. The details being presented were shattering his expectations, revealing a situation far more complex than the trivial matter he had initially assumed.

The Demon King was certainly aware of the summits held by the Arcanis Galaxy’s elite races. He had known of their meetings for eras, yet he rarely saw a reason to eavesdrop. While he had monitored them in his younger days, he eventually concluded that for a being of his Cultivation and status, their politics were a tedious waste of time. He had long since stopped caring about the "top races," viewing them with the same indifference one might show to insects.

Even the Starborn Tournament was a known factor to him. While common Demons remained ignorant of it, the Demon King found the event beneath him. The prizes were inconsequential to his power level, and he saw no point in participating in a spectacle that offered nothing to someone of his standing.

He lifted a black-and-red clawed hand, tapping a single finger against the throne’s armrest in a steady rhythm. His scouts had recently reported a clash between the Arcanis races and a mysterious faction of white-winged entities. That news alone had been enough to trigger this formal inquiry.

‘A God, is it?’ he pondered, a trace of mocking amusement dancing in his mind. He found the notion laughable; anyone arrogant enough to claim the title of a God was, in his eyes, a fool by default.

‘I must encounter him,’ he thought, ‘or at the very least, find one of these Twelve-Winged Angels.’

Despite his private mockery, the Demon King was not so prideful as to be reckless. He understood that such a being would possess immense strength and, more dangerously, a sharp intellect.

‘He has managed to take a step toward the very goal I seek,’ the Demon King mused, his red eyes narrowing. ‘I require more data.’

His mind worked with terrifying efficiency, processing variables and outcomes at speeds that would put the greatest supercomputers to shame. For ages, his objective had remained unchanged: to escape this galaxy. To him, the Arcanis Galaxy was nothing but a sprawling prison, a cage he had been confined to for far too long with no clear exit.

The arrival of the Angels changed the entire equation.

Their presence proved that the boundary could be crossed. To understand the mechanics of their arrival—the price paid and the conditions required—he needed to confront this God or his highest lieutenants.

He was well aware that these Angels intended to purge all Demons, but the threat didn't bother him. Demons were effectively infinite. Their lives held no value to him unless their survival served a specific purpose. He was a being of cold logic, devoid of any sentiment for his subjects.

He also dismissed the idea that the God would attack him simply because of his "evil" nature. Real life was not a fairy tale where light and dark fought over morality. The Demon King knew that in the grand scheme of the universe, everyone had a price. If the incentives were high enough, even a God would negotiate with the King of Demons.

Reality was governed by profit and loss, not by ideals.

Usually, the Demon King preferred to take what he wanted through sheer force, crushing any who stood in his path. However, he recognized that this situation required a more delicate touch. There were too many unknowns, and a single blunder could jeopardize his chance at freedom.

He didn't stress over the logistics of a meeting yet; he was confident that when the time was right, he could force the encounter.

‘The Arcanis Galaxy is becoming crowded with powerful figures,’ he thought briefly, his mind skimming over names like Anthony, Lucian, and Aaaninja before moving on.

His gaze shifted downward toward his own chest. There was no visible scar on his skin, but deep within his internal essence and Dantian, a jagged diagonal wound remained. It was a permanent mark left by Klaus. He had tried every healing art and Qi manipulation technique in his repertoire to mend it, but all had failed. Klaus had warned him the damage was eternal, and the Demon King now had to admit the man was right, even if his actual combat strength was still intact.

‘I wonder…’ a dark, predatory thought surfaced, ‘if that Human could be used as a weapon against this God.’

He was weaker than Klaus in a direct confrontation, but he was still the Demon King. Fairness was a concept he had never embraced.

Whether he could actually pull the strings of a man like Klaus was a massive gamble. And whether he could survive the consequences of such a dangerous scheme was a risk he had yet to calculate.