Kael stood beyond the divine barrier—tall, armored, and radiating restrained fury.
His obsidian-plated armor pulsed faintly with infernal glyphs, each one thrumming with unspent violence. Power rolled off him in waves—thick, suffocating—like standing too close to a volcanic storm. His face, sharp and regal, wore the calm only centuries of discipline could forge.
But Alex saw through it.
Rage.
Not the wild, frothing kind.
No—this was cold. Measured. Calculated.
Alex instinctively tightened his grip on Doom Slayer, eyes narrowing as he assessed the figure. One glance was enough.
Another demon.
Like Malik—but more composed. More potent.
Far more dangerous.
"Do you even realize what you've done?" Kael's voice cut through the silence like a curse. "Malik wasn't just a contestant. He was a prince of the Demon Realm. Our future."
The crowd gasped. Shock rippled through the onlookers.
This was news to them.
Alex froze.
