The Colosseum was still vibrating from the chaos of the second round when the air suddenly thickened. A cold, almost tangible pressure descended over the arena, bending reality itself. Spectators froze mid-cheer, cultivators gripped their weapons tightly, and the floating platforms trembled as if the arena itself were shivering.
Lucien's clone leaned back, eyes narrowing, abyssal black pools reflecting the turmoil of the energy approaching. Beside him, Guru twirled his staff lazily, a mischievous grin across his face. Vaelion, the mythic rebel and old companion of the Monkey King, calmly sipped his tea.
Lucien's clone's voice cut through the charged air, calm yet commanding.
"Alright… let's see who dares to interrupt my game."
The energy condensed, crackling with raw force. A shadow began to coalesce in the metaphysical haze above the Colosseum. It grew into a humanoid figure, horns curling from his forehead, eyes glowing like molten embers. He laughed—a sound that rattled the very walls of reality, echoing in the minds of every being in the arena.
"Who… dares?" A voice as deep as the void itself resonated, and the figure fully materialized.
"I am Uriel Seymour, Ruler of Demons… The Demon Lord."
The arena's spectators gasped. Whispers ran through the crowd: this was the being who had transcended Azure Blue a century ago, ascending beyond mortal comprehension. His mere presence warped the air, bending light and reality around him.
Lucien's clone stood, letting the aura of his presence ripple outward lazily. "Ah… the Demon Lord," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Bold enough to show up and interrupt the Azure Games. Tell me… why?"
Uriel's horns gleamed as he laughed again, arrogantly. "I'm here because even games are trivial when I decide they're trivial. You think you can flaunt your power and I won't notice?"
Lucien's clone tilted his head, expression completely serene. "I could kill you myself, you know. Right now. But are you so sure you want to threaten the real me?"
Uriel's grin didn't falter. "It wouldn't make a difference… even if you killed me, the balance… the legacy I carry… it will endure."
For a moment, the confident facade of the Demon Lord wavered. A creeping sensation began to gnaw at his mind, subtle at first, like a shadow brushing against his consciousness. Then it grew—a flickering, burning image forming in his mind: a throne, impossibly vast, the very fabric of existence bending around it. And on that throne sat the real Lucien Dreamveil, in the merged Primordial Void and Metaphysical Plane, gazing down with eyes that were infinity itself.
Uriel staggered, the air pressing down on him like molten lead. His knees buckled involuntarily as the presence of Lucien—tiny as a speck of dust in scale, yet titanic in absolute authority—crushed his arrogance. The ground beneath him fractured, cracking from the weight of his own terror and the psychic pressure radiating from the true sovereign of all realms.
He fell to his knees in the arena, the crowd gasping as a crater formed where he knelt. His horns scraped the dirt, and his massive form quivered. His face, proud moments ago, was now pale, eyes wide and glassy, paralyzed by the sheer weight of witnessing absolute omnipotence.
Lucien's clone observed quietly. "You're a little late to understanding… the difference between arrogance and reality," he said dryly, his tone calm as ever.
Uriel didn't dare raise his head. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to flee, to submit, to never meet those eyes again. But he couldn't move, frozen in a state that bordered on worshipful terror.
With a subtle wave of his finger, the true Lucien severed Uriel's powers. The Demon Lord, once a being that could transcend universes, collapsed into mortal flesh, stripped of his energy, magic, and immortality. His body trembled violently, nothing more than a man now. The crater's edges remained, a testament to what had been moments before, while Uriel cowered on all fours, head pressed into the dirt, refusing to look at Lucien's clone or lift his head.
Lucien's clone sighed and, with a flick of his palm, summoned a small plate of steaming food, placing it gently before the trembling man.
"Eat," he said lightly. "You're still kneeling like a mortal, so you might as well enjoy yourself."
Guru laughed loudly, spinning his staff around his body. "Hahaha! This is priceless! Look at him! Kneeling like a dog before the little speck of a god!"
Vaelion chuckled, sipping his tea slowly. "I swear, for old folks, you two love being dramatic."
Uriel didn't speak. He ate quietly, shaking, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. The weight of the real Lucien's presence had left scars deeper than he could ever repair.
Lucien's clone leaned back, smirking. "Alright. Game resumes. Let's fix this arena."
He snapped his fingers. In an instant, the floating platforms reassembled, the energy waves stabilized, and the Colosseum returned to pristine condition. Spectators cheered, though most had no idea of the divine power that had just passed over them.
Aelira, sitting beside the Peak Disciples, tilted her head, looking curiously at the kneeling Uriel. "Papa… what happened to him?"
Lucien's clone smiled faintly, eyes glinting. "Lesson learned… patience, little one. Now pay attention—the games continue."
And with that, the Azure Games resumed, the mortals oblivious to the faint tremor in reality caused by the true Lucien's intervention, while his clone sat, calm and composed, overseeing the arena with the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.