Primordial Awakening: They Targeted My Daughter, I Became The Butcher! Chapter 52: Demon Lord

Black fractures spread across the sky like shattered glass.

The mountain range trembled violently.

The underground city shook.

Space distorted.

The very laws of existence seed to groan beneath an invisible weight.

And then—

Everyone below S-rank disappeared.

Researchers.

Guards.

Assassins.

Executives.

Awakened.

Every single one.

Gone.

Not cut.

Not burned.

Not destroyed.

Erased.

As though they had never existed.

The city beca silent.

A graveyard.

A kingdom of ghosts.

The three S-rank elders barely remained standing.

Blood poured from their mouths.

Cracks spread across their bodies.

Their souls felt as though they had been torn apart.

Their breathing beca feeble.

One elder’s arm had vanished completely.

Another had lost half his torso.

The third had collapsed to one knee.

All three stood on the verge of death.

Far deeper within the headquarters.

A hidden presence trembled.

SS-rank

A Monster concealed even from the organization’s leadership.

For the first ti in decades—

Fear entered his heart!

Because he finally understood.

The Butcher wasn’t fighting them.

He was executing them.

Above the mountain.

Amon looked down.

Then tilted his head slightly.

"...Too much."

The Ninth Form had exceeded his expectations.

Far exceeded them.

After all.

Even the S-ranks had nearly died from collateral damage alone.

A faint chuckle escaped him.

"The Eighth Form would’ve been enough."

His figure vanished.

The next mont—

He appeared before the three dying elders.

The cute cat mask stared down at them.

Their pupils contracted and fear consud them.

Amon casually raised Winter Frost.

"Eighth Form."

A black fracture appeared and a silent slash crossed the room.

The three elders never even saw it as their bodies disintegrated instantly.

Nothing remained.

Amon lowered his sword then slowly turned.

Because he had sensed sothing.

Far below, a presence was fleeing.

Fast.

Very fast.

An SS-rank.

Amon’s eyes narrowed.

The next mont—

The fleeing man suddenly froze.

His face turned pale.

In front of him a cute, cat faced mask stared down at him.

His heart thumped in horror.

How had the butcher arrived here so quickly?

He quickly turned around and began running in a different direction...

But the butcher was already before him.

His eyes widened in alarm as he realized the butcher possessed a space related skill or talent.

The distance between them no longer mattered!

The SS-rank laughed bitterly.

Then madness entered his eyes.

"If I die..."

His voice trembled.

"...you’re coming with ."

The man bit into his palm and blood erupted instantly like a fountain.

A forbidden ritual circle appeared beneath him.

The blood of countless sacrifices hidden throughout the headquarters suddenly responded.

The blood of children.

The blood of infants.

The blood of decades.

Millions of lives condensed into crimson rivers.

The entire underground city began shaking.

Amon frowned.

For the first ti since arriving...

He sensed sothing dangerous.

The SS-rank laughed hysterically.

His body rapidly withered.

His flesh collapsed.

His life force burned away.

Everything he possessed was offered.

Everything.

The blood throughout the headquarters surged toward a single point.

Countless screams echoed through the darkness.

Ancient.

Agonized.

Unending.

Then—

The world trembled.

A vast crimson halo slowly materialized above the ritual.

It was vague, incomplete, and barely visible.

Yet the pressure it emitted caused space itself to distort.

Amon’s gaze sharpened.

Because he instantly recognized one thing.

The being attempting to descend...

Was not human.

And judging from the pressure alone—

Not even ordinary gods would dare underestimate it.

The SS-rank collapsed.

A satisfied smile appeared on his dying face.

Then his body crumbled into dust.

Leaving only the crimson halo behind.

And from within that halo—

Sothing slowly began to open its eyes.

The crimson halo expanded.

Slowly.

Silently.

Yet every second felt heavier than the last.

Space warped.

The mountain range trembled.

The clouds overhead twisted into spiraling vortices.

Even the residual energy left behind by the Ninth Form began to destabilize.

Amon narrowed his eyes.

The phenonon before him no longer resembled a summoning ritual.

It resembled an invasion.

Sothing was forcing its way into reality.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Tiny fractures spread across the crimson halo.

Then—

A hand erged.

It was pale, perfect and human-like.

Yet the mont it appeared, the surrounding space collapsed inward.

The world seed unable to bear its existence.

Amon’s expression finally beca serious.

The hand was followed by an arm.

Then a shoulder.

Then a figure.

It was tall, ancient and draped in flowing crimson robes.

A black crown rested atop its head.

Its face was impossibly handso.

Its eyes contained neither emotion nor life.

Only indifference.

As though all creation ant nothing to it.

The pressure radiating from the figure eclipsed everything Amon had encountered since arriving in this world.

The crimson halo slowly settled behind him.

Like a divine sun.

Or perhaps...

A gate.

The figure glanced downward.

His gaze swept across the destroyed headquarters.

Across the countless deaths.

Across the shattered remains of the organization.

Then his eyes landed on Amon.

For several seconds.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

The silence itself felt suffocating.

Finally—

The figure smiled.

"A mortal."

His voice echoed across heaven and earth.

Every word distorted reality.

Every syllable carried unimaginable authority.

"You destroyed my vessel."

The remnants of the ritual circle instantly disintegrated.

Mountains collapsed.

Space cracked.

Amon tightened his grip around Winter Frost.

Danger!

For the first ti since arriving in this world...

His instincts scread.

Run.

The figure tilted his head.

Curiosity appeared in his eyes.

"You possess a fragnt of divinity."

There was a pause.

Then amusent.

"And yet you stand before ."

Amon slowly raised Winter Frost.

The darkness around him surged and his leather jacket fluttered wildly.

The cute cat mask remained fixed upon his face.

Completely out of place.

Completely absurd.

And sohow—

Even now—

He looked unafraid.

The Demon Emperor chuckled.

"A strange creature."

Amon said nothing.

Instead—

He took a step forward.

The world darkened.

The ancient phantom of death erged once more behind him.

Larger than before.

More complete.

More terrifying.

The heavens trembled and reality scread.

The Demon Emperor rely watched, his eyes filled with curiosity.

Like a man observing an insect perform an unexpected trick.

Amon inhaled.

Then exhaled.

"Ninth Form."

The phantom behind him roared.

The skies shattered.

Countless black fractures spread across existence itself.

The authority of absolute death descended.

The strongest sword art Amon could currently execute.

The culmination of the Elegant Netherblade Sword Technique.

The embodint of extinction.

"Primordial Nether Extinction Sword Art."

The sword fell.

The world disappeared.

Darkness swallowed everything.

The slash crossed heaven and earth.

Carrying death.

Carrying annihilation.

Carrying the end of all things.

The Demon Emperor looked at it.

Then casually raised one hand.

His palm faced forward.

Nothing more.

No technique.

No preparation.

No effort.

The slash arrived.

And stopped.

Amon’s pupils contracted.

The attack capable of erasing thousands.

Capable of shaking nations.

Capable of distorting reality.

Could not move another inch.

The Demon Emperor’s expression remained calm.

Almost bored.

Then he closed his fingers.

Crack.

The Ninth Form shattered.

Like fragile glass.

The attack disintegrated instantly.

The ancient phantom behind Amon let out a distorted scream before exploding into countless fragnts.

Silence followed.

For the first ti.

Amon froze.

The Demon Emperor lowered his hand.

Disappointnt flashed through his eyes.

"I expected more."

Then he took a single step forward.

The distance between them vanished.

Amon reacted instantly, but it was too late.

The Demon Emperor’s palm landed against his chest.

Gently.

Almost casually.

No explosion occurred.

No shockwave.

No dramatic impact.

Yet the mont contact was made—

Everything around Amon disappeared.

Light vanished.

Sound vanished.

Mana vanished.

Space vanished.

His body began breaking apart.

Not physically.

Conceptually.

As though reality itself was forgetting he existed.

Cracks spread across his arms.

Across his torso.

Across the cat mask.

Across Winter Frost.

The Demon Emperor’s voice echoed faintly.

"A mortal should remain a mortal."

Then—

Amon vanished.

Completely.

Leaving behind nothing.

No body.

No soul.

No trace.

Only empty space.

The mountain range fell silent.

The Demon Emperor stood alone beneath the crimson heavens.

His expression remained indifferent.

Yet after several monts...

His gaze slowly shifted.

Toward the place where Amon had disappeared.

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

For the briefest instant.

Because sohow...

Sowhere...

He could still feel sothing.

A presence.

It was small and faint, but it was not completely gone.

And for the first ti since descending—

The Demon Emperor’s eyes narrowed.