Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The leader, cloaked in crimson robes and carrying a twisted staff, slammed it against the floor. The chamber trembled as wards activated.

”Enough. The Law of Lightning belongs to the Raizen line. This must be him — Azariah Raizen. Second strongest in the empire.” His voice hardened. ”We will not bow. Prepare the abominations.”

The ground shook as massive chains pulled apart a colossal door, revealing the second arena-like chamber carved deep within the mountain. Rows of jagged pillars surrounded the floor, crackling with containment runes.

From the darkness, hulking figures emerged. These were not ordinary demonized humans — they were what one would call Abominations, failed to become proper demonized humans (A/N: They lost their reasoning), hybrids crafted in the deepest pits of Ourouboros experiments. Each one was nearly four meters tall, muscles like molten stone, eyes burning crimson. Blades protruded from their arms, and black armor grew from their flesh like cancer.

Behind them marched mage-abominations, their swollen heads veined with glowing sigils, hands muttering in discordant harmony. A storm of chaotic magic filled the chamber.

Nearly two hundred abominations filled the chamber, their roars shaking the cavern.

And then Azariah entered.

The moment his foot touched the arena floor, silence fell. His cloak fluttered. His gaze swept across the monstrosities, and for a brief moment, the only sound was the crackling hiss of black lightning on his skin.

The abominations hesitated. For the first time, creatures engineered to feel no fear faltered before a single man.

”Kill him!” the crimson-robed commander bellowed from the balcony.

The horde surged forward.

Abominations tore across the chamber, their footsteps collapsing stone, their claws ripping through air. Mage-abominations unleashed storms of corrupted flame, shards of black ice, and gravity wells that bent space itself.

Azariah raised his hand.

The chamber detonated with lightless fury.

Black lightning burst outward in concentric rings, each pulse vaporizing the front lines. The abominations closest to him exploded outright, their armor and flesh ripped apart before they understood death had come.

The second wave pushed harder, their claws slashing, their magic raining down.

Azariah blurred.

One moment he stood still — the next, his figure flickered forward like a ghost wrapped in thunder. A blade-arm slashed toward him, strong enough to cleave stone. Azariah’s hand closed around it mid-swing.

Crack

The arm shattered like brittle glass. Black lightning surged into the abomination’s body, spreading across every vein, every muscle. Its roar turned to a shriek as it dissolved from the inside out, collapsing into dust.

Another abomination lunged from behind. Azariah didn’t turn. His cloak whipped, a streak of black lightning trailing, and the creature’s head evaporated before its claws reached him.

He walked. He didn’t run, didn’t dodge — he simply walked. Each step was execution. Each movement was annihilation.

They screamed, focusing their spells. Dozens of gravity wells collapsed at once, pulling space inward, aiming to crush him.

Azariah raised a finger.

A spear of black lightning shot upward — the entire ceiling cracked. For a moment, time seemed to stop. Then, like glass under pressure, space itself fractured, shards of distorted reality falling away.

The spells collapsed, the casters shrieked, and then they, too, were consumed by his storm.

From the balcony, the crimson-robed leader clenched his staff. ”Enough waiting. He’ll reach us at this rate. All units — descend!”

The commanders leapt into the arena, their monstrous forms hitting the stone with tremors. Each radiated the aura of a perfected abomination, warped by the Laws they had stolen.

The steel-skinned brute raised a colossal hammer glowing with molten prana.

The ichor-eyed woman extended her claws, dripping venom potent enough to dissolve mountains.

A third commander wove corrupted wind around his body, blades of air slicing the stone floor.

Another raised chains of cursed iron, rattling like serpents.

At the center, the crimson-robed mage lifted his staff, black fire wreathing his form.

Together, they radiated power that could rival generals on the battlefield. They did not waste words. In unison, they struck.

The hammer fell, venom claws slashed, wind blades tore, chains coiled, black fire raged.

The arena became a storm of destruction.

And Azariah stood in the center.

The black lightning surged. It wasn’t just energy — it was absolute domination. Their combined assault landed, yet each attack disintegrated upon touching the field of crackling void around him. The hammer melted, venom burned away, wind scattered, chains snapped, fire consumed itself.

Azariah moved.

In an instant, he was before the steel-skinned brute. One hand touched the man’s chest. Black lightning surged inward. The brute’s molten armor cracked, his roar turned into static, and he collapsed into ash.

Before the others could react, Azariah’s gaze turned. The ichor-eyed woman screamed, lunging — but lightning erupted from beneath her feet, piercing her body with dozens of black spears. She fell in silence.

The wind wielder attempted to retreat, vanishing into currents of corrupted air. Azariah flicked his wrist. The currents collapsed, and the man fell screaming, his body torn apart by invisible lightning.

The chain-wielder spun his cursed iron desperately, trying to bind him. Azariah didn’t even glance. His cloak snapped once — and the chains dissolved into fragments of shadow. The wielder was already gone, body atomized.

Now only the crimson-robed leader remained.

Breathing ragged, staff trembling, his eyes widened as Azariah approached step by step. The chamber around them was nothing but ruins, corpses reduced to ash, pillars shattered.

”You... you’re a monster,” the mage hissed. His body swelled with forbidden magic, veins bursting with black ichor. He screamed, detonating his own body in a suicidal spell, a sphere of corrupt fire large enough to vaporize the entire chamber.

The cavern turned white-hot. The explosion roared.

And when it cleared... Azariah was still walking. Unharmed. His cloak pristine. Black lightning trailing his steps.

The mage fell to his knees, despair overtaking him. ”W-What are you...?”

Azariah stopped before him. For a moment, the black lightning dimmed. His gaze, cold and unblinking, fell upon the wretch.

And then the lightning flared once more.

The commander ceased to exist.

The arena was silent. Not a soul stirred. Smoke and ash drifted in the wake of the storm.

Azariah lifted his eyes to the deeper corridor — the inner sanctum. He had not slowed, had not struggled, had not bled.

Without a word, he walked forward.

The storm was far from over. A walking calmly had step foot into this place.