ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ʙᴀᴇʟ:- ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢᴇꜱᴛ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ!

Chapter 27

High above the heart of the Underworld, the legendary coliseum known as the Abyssus Crucible, a monument of grandeur and power, thrummed with electric anticipation. Towering stone spires encircled the grand arena, each a testament to the might of bygone rulers. Their ancient surfaces, etched with the sigils of past glory, added to the aura of the place. Crimson banners, enchanted and radiant with the emblems of the Four Satans, fluttered restlessly in the charged, spell-laden air. Tens of thousands of devils—noble and common-born alike—packed the stands, all drawn to witness a battle that promised to reshape the destiny of the Underworld: Naruto Bael versus Sirzechs Lucifer, a duel for the mantle of Lucifer itself.

Suspended in a gleaming, glass-panelled commentary box high above the magical field, two announcers surveyed the scene as the stadium underwent a breathtaking transformation. Below, the vast terrain shimmered and shifted—glyphs pulsed, landscapes contorted, as though the very ground was awakening its ancient memories of war. The anticipation and excitement in the air were palpable, adding to the event's grandeur.

The lead announcer's voice, steady but tinged with awe, echoed across the arena via powerful spellcraft. "Honestly, I didn't expect them to choose the One Day Long War format." He glanced at his co-host, excitement shining in his eyes. "Nothing this brutal has been attempted since the Old Satan Faction era."

The co-announcer—an older devil with greying horns and a seasoned, knowing grin—chuckled as he settled his crimson cloak. "This isn't a schoolyard scuffle. This is a clash of legends. The Council chose wisely—only a battlefield that records every moment and sacrifice could do justice to a war like this."

"Twenty-four hours of relentless battle," the first announcer continued, his gaze flickering over the swirling magical display below, a mesmerising spectacle of shifting landscapes and pulsing glyphs. "From volcanic mountains to ruined cathedrals and shadowed forests. No resets, no pauses. The instant one King falls, the war is decided. Otherwise, when the sun goes down, the side with the most players standing claims the crown."

His partner's voice grew grave, the weight of history echoing in each syllable. "This kind of fight tests more than just brute strength: it challenges spirit, leadership, cunning, and endurance."

Suddenly, a deep, resonant hum vibrated through the seats as the arena's ancient barrier activated, signalling the final countdown. The very stones seemed to hold their breath.

The lead announcer leaned in, a wry smile curving his lips. "Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats—or better yet, hold onto them. Because tonight, history will be written here, in the Abyssus Crucible."

As the magical dome above the Abyssus Crucible shimmered to life, a pulse of deep crimson light rippled through the arena, unveiling the battlefield's dramatic expanse. Jagged volcanic peaks loomed to the west, their fiery veins casting a sullen glow across the land. Twisted ruins, choked with obsidian flora, crept through the centre, while the east brimmed with misty woods and shattered cathedrals—each stone steeped in arcane power and blood-soaked memory. This was not merely a battleground—it was a living relic, resurrected from the oldest scars of devil history.

But tonight, beneath that shimmering dome, the battlefield was more than earth and ruin. The air vibrated with primordial energy, for this war would be fought inside a conjured dimension—painstakingly woven by the most excellent devil artisans, echoing the lost grandeur of the Old Fonts. Ethereal glyphs, their runic curves flickering at the edge of awareness, spiralled along invisible boundaries: the code and bones of a world conjured for violence and remembrance. Here, volcanic mountains and haunted citadels weren't mere facsimiles—they were memory, myth, and magic incarnate, shaped by ancient magic to recreate the Borderlands where fate itself was once contested.