Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 287: Sudden Interruption!

The axe fell. The sword rose. The four Domains screamed as they crashed into a single point of existence.

And then... silence.

It wasn’t the silence of death nor was it the silence of destruction.

It was the silence of a paused tape.

The blinding white light of the Pantheon Sword froze in mid-air, crystallizing into a jagged sculpture of energy.

The magma erupting from Thraka’s Iron-Blood Furnace stopped its ascent, hanging suspended like droplets of red glass.

Even the sound of the wind was severed.

Damien blinked.

His body was locked. He couldn’t move a finger.

His will, a power that could overwrite reality, was currently being crushed by something infinitely heavier.

He moved his eyes.

To his left, Isabelle was frozen in her Demon Queen form, her violet flames solidified like amethyst statues.

In front of him, Emperor Thraka was frozen mid-roar, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, veins bulging on his steel neck.

*’Time stop?’* Damien thought, panic spiking in his chest.

’No. My mind is still moving. This is... Space binding. Absolute suppression.’

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

The sound of polished shoes walking on metal echoed through the silent battlefield.

A figure walked out of the thin air between the two colliding armies.

He wore a pristine black suit that looked aggressively modern compared to the barbaric armor of the Abyss.

His hands were gloved in white. His face was covered by a smooth, featureless white mask.

Damien’s pupils contracted.

He recognized that suit. He recognized the aura of lavender and old dust.

*The Sanctuary Lord!.*

The overseer of Layer 1. The man who sat on the throne of skulls in Abysshaven.

The figure walked casually into the center of the cataclysm, right between the frozen Thraka and the frozen Damien.

He looked at Thraka’s massive axe, which was inches from Damien’s head.

"So noisy," the Sanctuary Lord sighed, his voice smooth, cultured, and utterly bored.

He flicked the axe with one finger.

*DING.*

The massive weapon, wielded by an 8th Order Emperor, vibrated violently and was pushed back as if it weighed nothing.

"Layer 4 is meant to be a place of business," the Lord said, dusting invisible ash off his lapel.

"Yet here you are, cracking it’s very foundation."

"YOU!"

Thraka’s voice tore through the suppression, though his body remained rigid.

His red eyes burned with humiliation.

"The Gatekeeper of the First Layer? You are just a mere servant! Aren’t you meant to be bound to the surface entrance! How are you here?!"

Duke Varic, frozen in a mist of blood on the other side, hissed.

"The Sanctuary Lord... interfering in a Noble War? This is a violation of the Pact."

The Sanctuary Lord chuckled. He turned to face the Orc Emperor.

"A violation?"

He waved his hand.

*CRACK.*

Thraka’s knees buckled. The indestructible Abyss Steel skin dented as an invisible hammer slammed the Emperor onto the ground.

"You misunderstand your position, little Orc," the Lord said coldly.

"Even if I am trapped on Layer one, this clone of mine is enough to deal with the likes of ants like you."

He looked up at the purple sky of the Abyss.

"My Lord, Asmodeus, the Demon God of Lust, does not care for your petty wars. But you..."

He pointed at Thraka.

"...you are making so much noise that you woke him up."

The Lord turned his blank mask toward the horizon.

"Even Azazel is probably annoyed, after all everyone now knows you orcs are a front for the quest for domination"

"You trying to seize this layer so loudly has put him in quite a pickle"

Thraka went pale. The names of the Demon Gods were not spoken lightly.

The Sanctuary Lord turned away, dismissing the 8th Order Warlord as if he were an unruly child.

He walked over to Damien.

The blank mask stared into Damien’s Dual-Colored eyes.

"And you," the Lord chuckled, his tone lightening.

"The Human and the Half-Demon. You two are quite the surprise duo."

The pressure on Damien’s throat vanished, allowing him to speak.

"You..." Damien rasped, his Dual-Core spinning wildly to resist the aura.

"You’re the one who issued the Weeping Angel commission."

"I am," the Lord nodded.

"And you stole my blindfold, back then I thought about killing you on the spot, but didn’t ."

The Lord leaned in close.

"I hear you are heading down? To Layer 9?"

"That’s the plan," Damien said, gripping his sword.

"Cute," the Lord said.

"Layer 9... The Rotting King’s domain. Listen, if you actually make it there alive, look for the House of Asmodeus. One of my avatars acts as the Head Butler there. Come over for tea. I have a surprise for you."

Damien frowned. "Avatar? Then where is your real body?"

The Sanctuary Lord laughed. It was a sound that made the space around them fracture.

"My real body?"

He pointed downward. Not at the ground, but through it.

"Layer 1? Layer 9? Those are just the shallow end of the pool, little thief."

His voice dropped to a whisper that vibrated in Damien’s soul.

"If you want to meet the real me... you have to go deeper. To the 12th Region. Past the 100th floor... all the way down to the 900th Floor."

Damien’s mind reeled. *900th Floor?* The scale was incomprehensible.

"Now," the Lord clapped his hands.

"Let’s clean up this mess."

He snapped his fingers.

SNAP!

The world rewound.

The magma pits sealed themselves. The cracks in the sky stitched back together.

The corpses of the Iron-Blood Orcs and the Vane Knights teleported instantly back to their respective fortresses.

Thraka roared as space twisted around him. "You cannot do this! I will—"

"Hush," the Lord waved his hand.

**ZOOP.**

Thraka vanished, sent back to his Iron Citadel.

Duke Varic and his Blood Castle dissolved into red mist, forcibly returned to Crimson-Hold.

In a blink, the battlefield was empty. Only Damien, Isabelle, and the Sanctuary Lord remained on the pristine, healed bridge.

Isabelle fell to her knees, her Demon form shattering from exhaustion.

She gasped for air, reverting to her maid uniform.

The Sanctuary Lord raised his hand again. He sliced the air.

A portal opened.

It was a swirling, stable vortex of blue and grey energy.

"This leads to Layer 6," the Lord said.

"I skipped Layer 5 for you. It’s boring this time of year."

"Layer 6?" Damien asked, supporting Isabelle.

"Your friend is waiting," the Lord said.

"The old mage... Elian? He is there. I sent him ahead a few minutes ago."

He gestured to the portal.

"Go. Before I change my mind and decide to collect the debt for my blindfold."

Hearing this Damien didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Isabelle and walked toward the rift

This entity was beyond them. If he wanted them dead, they would be dead.

As Damien stepped onto the threshold, the Sanctuary Lord appeared next to his ear.

A movement faster than any teleport could .

"One last thing, Little Thief," the Lord whispered.

He tapped Damien’s chest, right over the Void Gem where the Veil of the Weeping Sovereign* was hidden.

"That mask... it contains the Law of Stillness**. It is a Divine Artifact."

The Lord’s voice turned cold.

"You are strong for a human. But you are still mortal. If you try to leave the Abyss with that mask..., well let’s just say you can’t."

Damien froze.

"Get stronger," the Sanctuary Lord hissed.

"Become a Demigod. Reach the 9th Order. Or better yet...become a God."

He pushed Damien into the portal.

"Otherwise... you are not leaving this abyss alive. With or without the mask."

WHOOSH.

The world spun.

Damien and Isabelle tumbled into the blue vortex.

Behind them, the portal snapped shut, leaving the Sanctuary Lord alone on the silent bridge.

He adjusted his cuffs.

"Interesting pieces," the Lord mused to himself.

"Let’s see if they survive the deep end."

"Prase be to Lord Asmodeus!"