Witcher: The Half Elf

Standing under the immense pressure of the demon's soul, Wayne felt an oppressive weight on his chest. Even though this was only a clone of a demon god, severed from its original body, its mere presence was overwhelming. He couldn't tell which of the Seven Demon Lords of Hell this entity belonged to, but that detail hardly mattered. Escape was no longer an option—this was a fight to the death.

Wayne steeled himself, suppressing the pain from the earlier encounter with the death magic. Clenching his teeth, he pushed his battered body to its limits, resisting the suffocating aura of the demon's soul. He gathered every ounce of magic within him and channeled it into the sword.

Thanks to the Lady of the Lake's blessing, the sword's power had been greatly enhanced. The lightsaber it formed wasn't just larger but now held concentrated magical energy, radiating divine light that greatly increased its effectiveness against dark and malevolent forces.

The blade grew to three meters in length, the glowing energy shifting from white to a brilliant platinum hue. The sacred radiance emanating from the sword eased some of the crushing pressure Wayne felt, allowing him to hold his ground against the demonic soul.

Just as Wayne prepared to strike, an unforeseen complication arose.

With a series of twelve flashes of light, the fallen sorcerers, who had previously been channeling magic to expand the spatial rift, appeared in a circle around Wayne and the demon's soul. Their faces were blank, their eyes lifeless, and their expressions eerily vacant. Yet their hands moved with swift purpose, waving staffs and channeling chaotic magic. They were preparing to unleash something destructive.

Wayne gritted his teeth. Allowing the sorcerers to intervene in this battle was not an option. He quickly reached into his storage bracelet and withdrew a resplendent scabbard—Avalon. 

He planted the scabbard firmly into the ground and poured magic into it. In response, a golden barrier erupted, forming a protective dome about ten meters wide. This was Avalon's most powerful magic—a barrier said to nullify all damage for a limited time. Whether it would live up to its mythical reputation didn't matter; it was the only option Wayne had to shield himself from the interference of the warlocks.

With the barrier in place, Wayne wasted no time. Casting the Six-Ring Mirror Spell, he conjured six identical clones of himself. Each figure was tall, agile, and imbued with his unwavering determination. Together, the seven Waynes launched a coordinated assault on the demon's soul, attacking from all angles.

The demon's soul, realizing the threat, ignited in dark flames and dove into the bisected body of the fallen sorcerer. The corpse began to burn violently, merging with the black, viscous blood pooling around it. Within moments, the black ichor bubbled and rippled ominously, as if conducting some dark and ancient ritual.

Wayne didn't hesitate. "Kill it while it's weak!" he roared to himself and his clones. He plunged the radiant sword into the churning black blood, the seven lightsabers piercing through it like spears of sunlight.

The demon let out a monstrous howl of pain as the divine power evaporated more than half of the dark ichor. From the remaining blood and the searing vapor, angry faces twisted and writhed before coalescing into a new, horrific form.

What emerged was monstrous—a twisted amalgamation of demonic might and unholy power.

The creature's upper body resembled a grotesquely muscular humanoid with crimson, sinewy skin, curved horns, and glowing eyes filled with malevolent intelligence. Its lower body was insectoid, with four barbed, chitinous limbs supporting its towering frame.

The grotesque form of the Demon Lord of Destruction, Baal, loomed larger and more terrifying with each passing moment. From its massive, muscular body extended eight black, whip-like tentacles, twisting and thrashing with a life of their own. The very air around it shimmered with dark energy, carrying a palpable sense of dread. This was no ordinary adversary; this was a nightmare made flesh.

"Despicable maggots, pitiful creatures of this lower world, how dare you offend me, Baal, the great Demon Lord of Destruction!" the demon roared, its voice echoing with fury and malice. "I will shred your flesh, devour your soul, and feast upon your remains!"

Yet, before the monstrous entity could complete its vile threats, Wayne acted. 

With a burst of determination, the six lightsabers of his mirror clones attacked from multiple angles, aiming for the demon's massive frame. Meanwhile, Wayne, positioned behind Baal, extended his right hand and unleashed a mysterious power, yanking at something unseen. 

For the first time, Baal felt something alien and deeply unsettling—an unfamiliar force tearing away at the core of its very soul. The Demon Lord of Destruction, who had never experienced such vulnerability, staggered. 

"What is this? This cannot be!" Baal bellowed, a flicker of fear in its voice.

A notification resonated in Wayne's mind: 

Ding! A Lucky Curse has been cast on the target. Luck points increased by 19. Current Luck: 29.

The sudden effect left Baal momentarily stunned. This brief lapse was all the opportunity Wayne's clones needed. The sacred lightsabers pierced Baal's monstrous body from every angle, their divine power destabilizing the demon's form. Though the injuries themselves were superficial to such a powerful being, they disrupted its cohesion.

The body of Baal had forcibly constructed using the corrupted sorcerers flesh collapsed, leaving behind only the demon's exposed soul core, a radiant, writhing orb of dark energy encased in flickering chaos.

"Impossible! How could this happen?" Baal's voice trembled with disbelief and rage. As one of the Seven Demon Lords of Hell, Baal had reigned unchallenged for eons. For its form to be undone so easily on a lesser plane was an insult it could scarcely comprehend.

As the soul core tried to reform its body, Wayne seized the moment. He dashed forward, gripping the sword, its platinum light blazing brighter than ever. Without hesitation, he plunged the sword into Baal's exposed soul core.

"This ends here!" Wayne roared, channeling every ounce of his chaotic magic into the strike.

The moment the sword pierced the soul core, an ear-splitting, otherworldly howl erupted. The sound reverberated through the battlefield, shaking Wayne to his very core. His vision blurred, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. The six mirror clones surrounding Baal disintegrated instantly, their lightsabers vanishing into harmless sparks of magic.

The demon's soul core thrashed violently in its death throes, emitting waves of dark energy that threatened to obliterate everything around it. But Wayne held his ground, teeth gritted and knuckles white as he forced the sword deeper.

This was Baal's final, desperate retaliation. As terrifying as it was, this was merely a fragment of the Demon Lord's power—a soul clone limited by the rules of this world and deprived of its true strength.

The Aernodight, though not a weapon recognized in the annals of legendary armaments, stood as one of the most powerful weapon in the witcher world. Enhanced by the sacred blessings of the Lady of the Lake and infused with unknown forces, it managed to gravely wound the fragmented soul of Baal, the Demon King of Destruction.

As Wayne's battle cry echoed across the battlefield, the holy energy within the sword surged. Under its relentless assault, Baal's soul clone began to twist and flicker uncontrollably. Finally, unable to withstand the assault, it disintegrated into dozens of fist-sized fragments of fiery soul flames.

But even as Baal's soul shattered, the true terror of the Demon King revealed itself. The soul of one of Hell's Seven Demon Lords was far stronger than anything an ordinary mortal—or even a seasoned witcher—could fathom. Each fragment of his disembodied soul retained a terrifying degree of power and autonomy.

As Wayne stood panting, believing the battle had reached its end, he was suddenly overwhelmed. More than half of the fiery fragments surged toward him at an alarming speed. Before he could react, they bypassed all defenses and merged with his soul, lodging themselves deep within his very essence.

The remaining fragments, about a dozen, tore through the protective golden barrier of Avalon, exploding in the sky like malevolent fireworks. From there, they scattered across the horizon, disappearing into the mist like vengeful meteors.

Baal, the Demon King of Destruction, was renowned for his insatiable thirst for carnage and his unquenchable desire to obliterate all creation. His soul was a wellspring of twisted rage and an overwhelming lust for destruction.

As the fragments of Baal's soul embedded themselves within Wayne, he experienced a torment unlike anything he had ever faced. His spirit was assaulted by waves of fiery anger, an all-consuming desire to annihilate, and a suffocating darkness. Alongside this, his body struggled against an influx of hellish magic, a power both immense and malevolent.

For a moment, Wayne's soul felt like a lone vessel caught in a raging storm. He was battered by torrents of Baal's destructive intent and burned by the searing tides of infernal power. The pain was indescribable, a mixture of physical agony and mental torment that tested his limits.

Amidst the chaos, a dark voice echoed within his mind, dripping with malice:

"Become my puppet, you wretched maggot. Your body will be my avatar in this world. I will raze everything you hold dear, turn your world into ash, and make this place my new hell."

Baal's influence was suffocating, a force that threatened to obliterate Wayne's very sense of self. The witcher could only grit his teeth and endure, his willpower stretched to its breaking point. He realized, bitterly, that his earlier victory had merely been the beginning of another, far greater ordeal.

Wayne's resolve began to waver. While he had always been resourceful and pragmatic, this level of spiritual and physical suffering was beyond his comprehension. Every fiber of his being screamed in agony as the demon's essence sought to consume him.

Just as Wayne teetered on the brink of collapse, a sound cut through the chaos like a beacon of hope:

Ding! Alien soul energy detected invading the host's soul. Initiate the anti-virus protocol?

The words were like salvation itself. The system, his greatest secret and most reliable ally, had intervened at the crucial moment.

Through the haze of pain, Wayne's mind latched onto the lifeline. "Yes! Start the process immediately!"

The system responded instantly. Like an invisible surgeon, it began purging the will of Baal from the fragments within Wayne's soul. The demon's twisted consciousness was stripped away, leaving only raw energy behind.

Unknown to Wayne, while the system had removed Baal's will and malevolent influence, it deemed the hellish power of destruction and rage beneficial. This immense, chaotic energy remained within his body, merging with his own magical essence.

As Wayne fell into unconsciousness, his body began to move on its own. Driven by the subconscious instincts of a witcher and the newfound power coursing through him, his actions became a strange blend of his training and the destructive tendencies inherited from Baal.

The power of destruction, the magic of hell, and the innate chaotic energy fused together in a volatile alchemy. Wayne's form became a conduit for immense power, his every movement brimming with the potential to wreak havoc.

Wayne's unconscious body strode through the mist like a force of nature.