Demon Lord: Erotic Adventure in Another World-Chapter 486: The Teeth of Her Majesty

The blizzard pulled tight like a closing fist.

Wind spun sideways, howling across the mountain basin, but there was no whistle—only pressure. The kind that made lesser demons grip their weapons tighter and glance toward the horizon with dry mouths.

Then four figures emerged.

They didn't run. They didn't posture.

They cut through the storm as if it parted for them.

Scael moved like a shadow between snowflakes. His insectoid frame gleamed wetly in the cold, plated in smooth, obsidian armour that curved like a sculpted exoskeleton. His tail, long and whip-thin, swayed behind him like a conductor's baton, ending in a crystal stinger, humming with stored frost. He didn't walk so much as glide, his pincer-claws tucked together in front of his chest, forming a ritual pose as if already mourning his victims.

Kaaz followed two paces behind. Sleek, dark skin wrapped around a blade-arm as long as his torso. His upper body twisted slightly as he walked, shifting his weight with the efficiency of a fencer waiting to sidestep. His feet didn't drag or crunch snow. He moved like a razor already mid-slash. His black eyes flicked only once, toward Asmodea.

Gorrhan lumbered beside them like a siege engine trying to be polite. Each of his steps left craters in the snow, his stone fists dragging twin trenches behind him. He talked to them as he walked, murmuring to his own arms in a childlike growl.

The air shifted again.

Thin strands floated ahead of them—black and wet and alive.

Yuzuha descended in silence, her body wrapped in pale exoskeletal silk that shimmered like bone china. The strands curled in slow patterns behind her fingers, already weaving the battlefield.

A single breath passed.

Levia raised her shield.

"They're not scouts. They're executioners."

The pressure deepened.

It wasn't just mana. It was weight. The kind that bent the horizon.

Snow no longer fell. It hovered in the air—suspended like dust in water. The ground below their boots began to groan, cracking in jagged, radial lines that spread outward from the centre of the battlefield.

Something ancient stirred in the storm.

Asmodeus stepped forward, just one pace, his breath misting against the sudden stillness. And then he saw her.

High on the slope beyond the four elites stood a woman in pale, frost-armoured robes, her halberd planted into the ground like a war standard.

Hair the colour of midnight ice. Skin a rich, familiar bronze. Her body narrow, but statuesque. Not clad in the extravagance of a monarch, but the sharpened beauty of a killer.

Sariel—

No.

That wasn't Sariel.

His gaze narrowed.

"...Riel."

The snow around her flared outward in a ring, the blizzard warping around her body like a spinning lens, refracting light, bending space.

And then the battlefield split.

A single pulse surged through the frozen plain. Not a shockwave—a push. A distortion.

The frozen winds flung the women back, not violently, but definitively—each shunted several meters apart, forming isolated quadrants.

And in the centre?

The four demons waited.

Kaaz locked eyes with Asmodea, his blade-arm twitching like it already knew her rhythm.

Gorrhan tilted his head at Vinea and grinned, raising his arms like a child begging to play.

Scael's tail curled in an elegant spiral as he began drifting toward Levia, pincers slowly opening like a flower preparing to bloom.

And Yuzuha?

She was already gone—threads unravelling in Lumina's direction, invisible until they whispered across the air.

Asmodeus exhaled once. No surprise. Only clarity.

"She's separating us," he said. "She wants to test her best against mine."

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No words were exchanged.

No orders were given.

Each fighter stepped forward with quiet inevitability, as if they'd already been paired by fate.

Asmodea's lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin. She glided through the snow, her fingers dripping red with bloodvine, thorns already blooming.

"Don't blink, pretty boy," she called out. "You'll miss the part where you start bleeding."

Kaaz didn't answer. His expression barely moved. Only his blade arm shifted, tilting backwards slightly, like a predator winding its spine before a lunge. His gaze locked onto her throat.

Levia's feet dug in, shield raised. Her breath fogged behind her helm. She knew the type—thin, fast, smug. Scael was circling her like an artist sketching footwork in snow.

"You reek of discipline," Scael said, tail lazily coiling. "Let's see how long that shield lasts before you start screaming."

"You'll need to do better than a tail and bad perfume," she muttered.

Vinea's stance snapped low and sharp. The second Gorrhan cracked his fists together, she vanished. Snow exploded behind her as she closed the distance. The stone-fisted brute gave a delighted wheeze.

"Fast!" he bellowed. "Let's hit!"

Her sword came down hard, aiming for the joint of his elbow—but his arm moved like a mountain, redirecting the strike with a twist that nearly dislocated her shoulder.

"Not bad!" Vinea hissed, flipping back. "But you telegraphed that."

Meanwhile, silk drifted across the field.

Lumina moved like falling snow—light, silent, without pause. Her weblines split the wind before they were even visible. She didn't speak, didn't blink.

Yuzuha's threads answered in kind, slithering mid-air like snakes chasing butterflies.

"You weave well," Yuzuha murmured. "But you're messy. I'll show you how to stitch."

Only Asmodeus didn't move.

Until Lagun stepped in.

The first punch came from below—no windup. Just brutal, rising torque.

Asmodeus blocked with crossed forearms. The impact lifted his heels, skidding him two meters back.

He dropped low, eyes narrowing. Fast. Heavy. No wasted motion.

Lagun didn't speak. His chest rose once. All four arms twitched.

Asmodeus rotated one shoulder.

"You must be the strongest—!"

Lagun lunged again—silently.

The silence shattered.

Scael struck first. One blink—he was gone. Levia felt it before she saw it: the crack of air pressure behind her.

She twisted, spear raised.

His tail whipped through the space where her ribs had been. She caught the motion, pivoted hard, and parried with a downward hook of her spear's haft. Sparks burst. Frost scattered.

He laughed. A crisp, clean sound.

"Nice. I didn't expect reflexes with armour that heavy."

Levia lunged, point-first. He slid back with the grace of a ribbon in the wind, tail lashing the ground for balance. But her spear scraped his side—just barely.

A line of black ichor hit the snow.

His grin sharpened.

"Oh? You drew first blood? How forward of you."

Elsewhere, Vinea was flying.

Not literally—but her boots barely touched ground as she danced around Gorrhan's massive, quake-like strikes. The stone-armed demon slammed his fists down in wild arcs, and every impact rattled the landscape, cracks spreading like spiderwebs beneath them.

She slid between his legs and struck at his spine.

A clang. Not a cut.

"What the hell are you made of?" she spat, already moving again.

"Rock," he replied cheerfully, turning his whole body in a clumsy—but terrifying—spin that forced her back.

Across the field, Kaaz blocked Asmodea's vines with the flat of his blade-arm. The red thorns writhed, coiling mid-air, diving in from every direction like serpents.

He moved surgically—cutting two, dodging three, deflecting the sixth with a perfectly angled shoulder roll.

"Messy," he muttered.

"You're gonna hate how I finish," Asmodea shot back. "It gets sticky."

Behind them, silk snapped.

Lumina caught a black thread mid-flight.

Her fingertips dripped with a sticky fluid as she spun the thread, redirecting it around her wrist and binding it into a double-loop.

"You're not the only one who weaves."

Yuzuha narrowed her eyes.

"Cute trick."

She vanished into the snow.

At the centre, Lagun and Asmodeus met again—fists colliding, shoulders grinding.

No banter.

Only pressure.

Only thunder.

And neither had moved back.

Asmodeus ducked low, just under a hook from Lagun's second arm. The other two came in close behind—one to grab, the other to break his guard.

He moved through them like water through stone.

A palm strike to the elbow. A twist of the waist. A downward pivot that dropped him just beneath Lagun's central core.

He didn't punch.

He let his shoulder hit like a hammer.

Lagun skidded back, boots gouging furrows into the snow. A long mark carved across his chestplate where Asmodeus's momentum cracked into him.

Still, Lagun didn't speak.

He just raised all four arms again.

Behind them, the snow deepened.

Asmodea's vines were blooming now, growing thicker, more tangled. Kaaz was still slicing through, never in place long enough to be trapped—but she could feel it. He was breathing harder now.

Lumina's threads danced in tighter patterns, testing Yuzuha's defence. Neither had touched the other yet.

Levia and Scael circled one another like predators sharing a cage. He moved with elegance. She with faith. The next clash would not be shallow.

Vinea had scored a line across Gorrhan's neck. It didn't bleed, but his smile faltered.

She grinned.

"Heavy, but dumb."

He growled low, and the stone along his spine began to crackle.

And then—

The storm shifted.

Again.

But this time, it wasn't pressure. Or heat. Or cold.

It was stillness.

A moment that cut through the noise.

Asmodeus turned.

So did Lagun.

Above them both, standing at the edge of a frozen rise, was Riel.

She hadn't moved.

Her halberd was buried in the ice beside her.

Her armour glowed faintly in the wind.

She said nothing.

But her gaze met his.

Not through fog. Or magic.

Just eyes.

And for a moment, she looked like Sariel.

But not weak.

Not dreaming.

Not wanting.

Just… waiting.