100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 686: Chapter 685- Helena’s arrival as Hela

Not demonification pills. Not the demonic energy — the substance that should have been impossible for humans to obtain, that should have been restricted to the demon realm — being supplied to barbarian tribes.

’Someone is supplying them from the demon realm,’ she thought. Her jaw clenched. The anger — the ’how-dare-they’ anger that had fueled her destruction of the first army — surged. ’Someone is giving barbarians access to demonic power. Someone who wants Millbrook destroyed badly enough to open trade routes with demons.’

’How dare they.’

Her eyes narrowed. Below, the demonified barbarians were jumping. The first wave — twelve men — was reaching her altitude. Their black hands — the claws, the steel-hard fingers — were extending. Their faces — twisted, fanged, the ’I-will-kill-you’ expressions of men who had gone berserk — were open. Screaming.

Mira flew higher. The dress — the loose gown — fluttered in the wind. She rose. Twenty feet above the first wave. Fifty. The barbarians — their jumps enhanced by the demonification — followed. Higher. The demonic energy in their legs supplementing their muscles, the ’we-can-reach-her’ confidence driving them upward.

One of them — the largest, the most demonified, his skin the deepest black — broke through. His fist — the size of a boulder, the fingers ending in claws — reached her. The wind from the punch — the displaced air, the ’I-am-moving-at-supersonic-speed’ shockwave — hit her face. Her hair blew back.

His hand — the clawed hand — came within inches of her face.

Mira stretched her hand.

The magic circles formed.

Not one. Not two. Seven. Simultaneously. Each one the size of a cart wheel. Each one spinning. Each one inscribed with runes that glowed with the World Tree Sovereign’s infinite mana.

SHHHHHHHH—!!

The blades manifested. Not spears — swords. The Infinite Sword Dominion’s manifestation. Thousands of them. Condensed mana, the Forge God’s enhancement making them sharper than physical steel.

The demonified barbarian — the one whose fist had been inches from her face — hit the sword domain.

SLICE.

He didn’t scream. The cut was too fast. Too clean. Too ’complete.’ The blades — hundreds of them, converging on a single point — passed through his body. Through his skin — the demonified, steel-hard skin. Through his muscles. Through his bones. Through his organs.

He separated. Not into two pieces. Into ’pieces.’ Hundreds of them. The blades had passed through every centimeter of his body simultaneously, slicing him into a grid of flesh that fell — separately, independently — toward the earth.

The other eleven met the same fate.

SLICE. SLICE. SLICE. SLICE—!!

The sound was not a single cut. It was a ’roar.’ The sound of thousands of blades passing through demonified flesh simultaneously, the wet, meaty, ’I-am-cutting-through-everything’ sound that accompanied the Infinite Sword Dominion at full activation.

The pieces fell. Like rain. Red rain. The blood — the demonified blood, darker than human blood, almost black — sprayed. The chunks hit the ground with wet, meaty thuds.

But Mira felt it.

The resistance.

The demonified skin — the black, veined, steel-hard tissue — was harder than human skin. Harder than armor. The blades — the mana constructs that had passed through soldiers like paper — had to ’push’ through the barbarian flesh. Not much. Not enough to stop the cuts. But enough to feel.

’Demonification is making their skin harder,’ she thought. The analysis was instant. The Arcane Sovereign’s spell replication ability — the instant understanding of magical phenomena — provided the data. ’The demonic energy is reinforcing their cellular structure. The skin is denser. The muscles are denser. The bones are denser. They’re not just stronger — they’re more durable.’

’This will be harder than killing ten thousand soldiers.’

The second wave came. Twenty. Thirty. The demonified brutes — their jumps carrying them higher, their bodies enhanced beyond human limits — reached her altitude. Their claws extended. Their fangs bared. Their red eyes — the burning, ’we-will-not-stop’ eyes of berserkers — found her.

"DIE, WITCH!"

"KILL THE DEMON!"

"RIP HER APART!"

The vulgar, raw, ’we-are-barbarians-and-this-is-how-we-speak’ screams. The words were not refined. Not polite. Not the ’I-address-you-formally’ language of soldiers. They were the grunts, the howls, the ’I-will-tear-your-flesh-and-eat-it’ vocalizations of men who had been raised on violence and fed on rage.

Mira’s magic circles spun. The blades fell.

SLICE. SLICE. SLICE—!!

Twenty. Thirty. The barbarians were cut. But not as easily. The demonified skin — the black, dense tissue — resisted. Some of the blades — the thinner ones, the less-focused constructs — shattered against the skin. The mana dispersed. The barbarian — cut but not dismembered — continued forward. Bleeding. Wounded. But not dead.

"What is this?" Mira whispered. The word was not a question. It was a realization.

The demonification was adapting. The demonic energy in the barbarians’ bodies — the artificial mana, the substitute power — was responding to her attacks. Learning. Reinforcing. Each cut that landed, each blade that pierced, was met with a surge of demonic energy that hardened the surrounding tissue.

’They’re adapting mid-battle,’ she thought. The realization was chilling. ’The demonic energy is reactive. It responds to damage by reinforcing the damaged area. The more I cut them, the harder they become.’

’This is not like the soldiers. This is—’

"If it’s demonification, I can handle it."

The voice came from behind.

Mira turned.

Helena hovered in the air. Ten feet behind her. Ten feet above the camp. The nanny — the first wife, the woman who had given birth hours ago — was flying. Her body — the thick, pregnant, recently-delivered body — was suspended in the air, the World Tree Sovereign’s flight ability carrying her. Her brown hair — loose, flowing — caught the wind. Her eyes — the violet-and-gold, the Demon Sovereign’s mark — burned.

The aura hit Mira.

Not the killing intent — not the ’I-will-destroy-you’ pressure that Mira herself projected. This was different. This was the Demon Sovereign’s passive aura — the fear authority, the ’all-beings-below-sovereign-rank-experience-terror’ field that radiated from Helena’s body like heat from the sun.

Mira felt it.

Fear.

Not the rational, ’she-could-hurt-me’ fear. The deep, primal, ’this-being-is-above-me-in-the-hierarchy’ fear. The demon-kin recognition of a superior. The same response that Nora had experienced — the blood-deep, instinctive, ’kneel’ response.

Mira’s body flinched. Her teeth clenched. Her hands tightened.

’What has my husband done to her?’ she thought. The fear — controlled, suppressed, but present — colored the thought. ’This is — this is Demon King level. No. Beyond Demon King. This is—’

’What have you done to her, husband?’

Helena lifted her hand. Toward the demonified barbarians below. The men — the black-skinned, red-eyed, berserk brutes who were still jumping, still clawing, still screaming — didn’t see her. Not yet. They were focused on Mira. On the blades. On the ’kill-the-witch’ objective.

"I can handle it," Helena said. Her voice was different. Deeper. The Voice of Dominion and the Silver Emperor’s Tongue and the Demon Sovereign’s authority — all three, woven together — made every word land like a physical force.

The Crimson Blood Monarch activated.

Not Mira’s. Helena’s.

The blood — the demonified blood, the dark, almost-black fluid that ran through the barbarians’ veins — responded. Not to Mira. To Helena. To the Demon Sovereign. To the being whose authority over demonic energy was absolute — whose rank, whose power, whose ’I-am-above-all-demon-kin’ supremacy extended to the demonic energy that had been artificially pumped into these men’s bodies.

The barbarians screamed.

"AAAAAHHH—!!"

"WHAT — WHAT IS — MY BLOOD—!!"

"AAAARGH—!! IT’S — IT’S MOVING—!!"

Their blood moved. Inside their veins. The dark fluid — the demonified blood — trembled. Shifted. Responded to Helena’s command. Not gently. Not slowly. The blood ’yanked.’ Pulled. Tugged at the walls of their veins, their arteries, their capillaries. The sensation — the ’something-is-inside-me-and-it-is-not-me’ feeling — was enough to drive the berserkers to their knees.

Hundreds of them. The demonified barbarians — the black-skinned, red-eyed brutes who had been jumping and clawing and screaming — fell. In mid-air. In mid-jump.

Their bodies — the enhanced, demonified bodies — went limp. The blood inside them was no longer theirs. It was Helena’s.

They fell.

"KHHHUURGHHH!!!"