Chapter 202: The Tower

The moment Lucifer crossed the sanctum’s archway, the air changed.

It wasn’t just colder.

It was older.

The corridor stretched forward like a mouth—stone walls pulsing faintly with veins of black-red energy, alive with something ancient and forgotten. His boots touched obsidian tiles, smooth and silent. With each step, runes flickered dimly beneath his feet, whispering in languages long dead.

This was the Trial Tower.

Not a temple. Not a dungeon.

A place for monsters.

A place for him.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t look back.

He walked straight into the dark.

Then the light disappeared.

Total silence.



Not even his heartbeat.

A shift—like falling without motion—and suddenly, his body dropped straight down.

No wind. No gravity.

Just descent.

Then—

Impact.

He landed hard, knees slightly bent, boots cracking the stone. Dust exploded around him.

When it cleared, he stood in the middle of a vast chamber. Ceiling gone. Sky gone. No stars. Just black. The kind of black that swallowed thoughts.

A voice scraped the walls.

"State your name."

Lucifer didn’t flinch.

"My name is Lucifer."

The walls trembled.

"Lineage?"

He looked up.

"Son of Damaris. Blood of the Progenitor."

A low hum responded. Then silence. Then—

"Accepted."

The ground split.

And from the cracks, something began to form.

A monster. No... a vampire. But older. Twisted. Feral. Its body was lean, starved, ribs sharp like blades. Claws like obsidian sickles. Eyes bloodless. This was a lost one—a vampire that had gone too deep into hunger and never returned.

It shrieked.

Then lunged.

Lucifer didn’t move until the last second. Then—

Shift.

Blood exploded from his feet—Crimson Slide—and he reappeared behind it.

One hand out. Blade formed from blood wrapped in shadow—Sable Fang.

He slashed.

The creature turned just in time to take the cut across its chest. But it didn’t fall. It spun, screeching, claws aimed at his neck.

Lucifer stepped forward, closing the distance with brutal speed. His hand glowed red—Pulse Drain—and he grabbed its face.

The monster screamed, body shriveling in seconds.

Then silence.

Dust.

He stood alone again.

But the chamber didn’t fade.

Another gate opened.

Two this time.

Clones.

Of him.

Same face. Same body.

But wrong eyes.

Soulless.

They rushed forward at the same time.

Lucifer dropped into a stance, shadow trailing his limbs. He moved—Crimson Phantasm—a blur of blood and silence.

The first clone threw a punch. Lucifer blocked it with his forearm, letting the skin rip and heal in the same breath. He caught the arm, twisted, and snapped it backward.

Then kneed it in the chest—shattering its ribcage.

The second clone spun with a sweep kick—too low to dodge. Lucifer took it—let it hit—and rebounded off the ground with a backflip, twisting mid-air.

He landed crouched.

Snapped his fingers.

Blood from his wound ignited around his body—Bloodflame Mantle.

The chamber lit up red.

Lucifer charged again—driving his palm into the second clone’s chin, launching it skyward. Then appeared above it, both palms open.

Crimson Scatter.

A burst of sharpened blood shards rained down.

The clone screamed, body pierced a dozen times.

The first clone, half-crippled, still came back—dragging itself, healing, grinning.

Lucifer grabbed it by the neck.

Eyes glowing black now. Not red.

He whispered something only it heard.

Then crushed its skull with one hand.

The pieces hit the ground like broken glass.

No hesitation. No mercy.

The blood around him stilled.



The tower rumbled again.

Then the next stage arrived.

This time—ten figures.

Not monsters.

Not clones.

Vampires. Warriors. Full-blooded. Old armor. Black blades. Faces like ancient warlords.

And every single one of them stared at him like prey.

They spoke in unison.

"We were kings before you were born."

Lucifer tilted his head.

"I don’t care."

They attacked.

Instantly, the entire room ignited.

Sword clashes. Blood. Shadow. Screams.

Lucifer ducked under a spear, grabbed the shaft, and ripped it out of the warrior’s hands. Then used it as a javelin—threw it through another’s chest.

He took a blade through his side—didn’t slow.

Elbowed the attacker’s throat.

Grabbed their head.

Twisted.

Snap.

A massive brute came charging, hammer overhead.

Lucifer raised his hands—Blood Lock.

The hammer froze mid-swing.

Lucifer punched the vampire so hard it shattered the spell on impact and caved in his chest.

Another one tried casting.

Too slow.

Lucifer bled his own palm and flicked the drop forward—Crimson Spike.

The blood hardened in mid-air and went straight through the vampire’s skull.

One by one.

He dropped them all.

The floor soaked red.

Breathing heavy now. Not from fatigue.

From focus.

Lucifer looked up, blood dripping from his hand.

"Is that all?"

A rumble answered.

Then the walls shattered.

A giant hand emerged—twice the size of his body. Bone and blood.

A god-level vampire.

No face. No name.

Just rage.

It slammed down.

Lucifer rolled, barely dodging, and shot upward with a blood pillar—Ascend.

He landed on its shoulder, dug both arms in, then pulsed.

His blood—his will—invaded the monster’s body.

The creature roared, body rejecting him.

But he held on.

Eyes glowing now—one red, one black.

The black one flared.

And his voice dropped an octave.

"Submit."

Blood Sovereign’s Command.

The giant trembled.

Then fell to one knee.

Lucifer stood on its shoulder like a dark king. The Trial Tower began to shake. Walls melted. Runes burned. The floor below cracked and split open, revealing a spiraling staircase of black glass.

The next phase.

Lucifer jumped down, his boots landing with a final thud.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t pause.

He walked forward, past the corpses, past the blood, past the monsters and kings and gods he just killed.

This tower wasn’t here to test him.

It was here to remember him.

And as he vanished into the spiral corridor, the air whispered his name.



Not like a title.

Like a warning.

Lucifer.

A/N

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