Chapter 37 – Ancient.

  The wind split open.

  He descended.

  A black storm moved with him.

  The sky fractured beneath his presence, clouds crushed like brittle bones. Lightning shattered in reverse. Thunder silenced itself. The world bent—because wrath had arrived.

  Satan.

  He landed behind them without a sound. And yet, everything stopped. The ice, the air, the ancient silence. Even the demons.

  They turned.

  He spoke.

  “Begin.”

  Ash didn’t nod. She moved.

  Belzeebub walked forward first, the crunch beneath his boots devoured by the weight in the air.

  He reached the spot—the heart of the glow—and stopped. Cloak whipping behind him, breath steaming out slow.

  The atmosphere thickened.

  Belzeebub’s arms rose, and the wind changed direction.

  A low hum began to crawl from his skin.

  Two spirals of darkness twisted into his palms, whirling faster—pulling the cold, the moisture, the ice itself into a vortex that screamed as it bent around his will.

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  The land cracked. The sea parted at the edges. Wildlife vanished from instinct.

  Then—impact.

  The very mass of the Arctic roared as Belzeebub’s power detonated downward.

  Ice peeled away like wet paper, steam roaring upward. And beneath it—

  A shape.

  Colossal. Coffin-like. Carved in an ancient style the world forgot. Rectangular. Black stone with veins of deep crimson pulsing just once—like a heart.

  The capsule.

  Ash stepped forward next.

  Her fingers traced the air in symbols only the damned could read. Light slipped from her hands and joined Belzeebub’s spiral—amplifying it.

  Then Mammon. Then Lazaro.

  Power collided—not merged, not combined—fought.

  Clashing auras turned the air into shards.

  Ice platforms shattered and reformed under their feet.

  But still, the capsule only rose—eight meters. Hovering.

  Heavy. Unmoving.

  Strain painted over each of their faces—if only for a second.

  And then—

  “Leviathan,” Satan said.

  No command. No urgency. Just inevitability.

  Levi moved.

  He flew through the storm like it didn’t exist. Like gravity couldn’t be bothered.

  The others stepped back, not out of respect, but resentment sharpened by history.

  None of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

  Levi floated up—slow, steady. The shadows beneath his feet writhed like an ocean following his will.

  He hovered above the capsule.

  One breath.

  The shadows surged—coiling upward like a beast unleashed.

  They wrapped around the ancient weapon, holding it gently—like reverence, like threat.

  Levi’s eyes glowed. Purple. Dim first—then burning.

  And the capsule responded.

  It lifted.

  The full weight. Half a sun.

  No strain. No sound.

  Levi’s hand moved once—barely. The capsule rose with it. Slowly. Gracefully.

  And then—he placed it. On the surface.

  Perfect. Silent. Unshakeable.

  The others said nothing.

  The air was still again.

  Waiting.

  Because the ritual hadn’t ended.

  It hadn’t even begun.

  End of Chapter 37.