The Extra Can't be A Hero

Chapter 283: Demon Prince Vol’giman (1)

The Fourth Calamity: The Demon Prince Vol'giman.

As the inheritor of Autarch Zur'guth's bloodline, Vol'giman had naturally awakened the Aspect of Energy.

To him, all forms of power—no matter how vast or refined—were insignificant when measured against the depth of his soul.

In the Demon Realm, Suns were little more than amusements he devoured between battles, and stars were born at the idle flick of his finger.

For the Solaris House, whose strength was rooted in solar mana, Vol'giman was their natural nemesis. Even now, he was rapidly siphoning the solar mana saturating the Solaris domain, converting it into fuel for his own demonic essence.

With every passing moment, his presence grew heavier, more oppressive.

That was why he laughed when the Solaris Knights dared to assault him with solar power.

To Vol'giman, such attacks were not merely futile—they were nourishment. Anything the Solaris Knights attempted was doomed to fail from the start. They were Commanders who reigned supreme, crushing rivals and standing as unrivalled overlords upon the battlefield.

Yet before the Demon Prince, they were reduced to little more than livestock awaiting the blade.

[Inferior creatures… Are you insulting me?]

The Demon Prince snapped, clearly incensed by the attacks. He couldn't have known that the Solaris Knights were only capable of using solar mana, but it didn't matter. The wrath of the Demon Prince came at a hefty price.

[If you dare mock me, then… suffer the consequences.]

The Solaris Commanders did not need to understand the demon tongue to know what was happening.

Reality itself recoiled.

Vol'giman drew upon his power, and the world answered in terror.

Demonic mana poured from him like a ruptured abyss, flooding Solfea in an instant. The pressure alone crushed stone into powder. Buildings groaned, streets split open, and thousands of commonfolk collapsed where they stood, their bodies unable to endure the weight of his presence.

The Knight Orders moved in desperation, erecting barriers that shattered as soon as they formed. Above them, the sky was defiled. A colossal vortex of demonic mana strangled the sun, its light bleeding crimson as if the star itself were being bled dry.

Across the heavens, innumerable red mana circles ignited—vast, ancient sigils layered upon sigils—burning into the sky like open wounds.

The afternoon vanished, replaced by a hellish dusk.

Then Vol'giman unleashed his authority.

The first wave erased sound. Pillars of infernal flame slammed down upon the Solaris House, not merely striking it but obliterating entire districts in single impacts.

Towers vaporised. Fortified halls dissolved into molten slag. The ground ruptured in a chain of eruptions, flinging oceans of fire and debris into the air.

This was not an attack.

It was a natural disaster.

Knights died by the hundreds in moments. Some were incinerated before they could scream, others crushed beneath collapsing sanctuaries they had sworn to defend.

Those who tried to shield the weak were torn apart alongside them, their barriers shattering like glass under a god's heel.

And still, Vol'giman continued.

Massive orbs of condensed hellfire descended slowly, cruelly, before detonating with the force of collapsing mountains.

Entire battalions vanished in flashes of red light, leaving behind nothing but scorched shadows etched into the stone. Crimson lightning followed. Bolts as thick as city walls ripped down from the corrupted sky, spearing through sacred halls and annihilating the Solaris House's outer defences in a single, merciless cascade.

Wards that had stood for centuries were erased in seconds, reduced to meaningless fragments of shattered runes.

The destruction did not slow.

It compounded.

By the time the inferno began to ebb, more than half of the Solaris House—humanity's most storied stronghold—had been erased from existence.

What remained burned, collapsed, or screamed beneath a sky choked with ash.

And at the centre of it all stood Vol'giman.

Untouched. Unhurried.

As if this level of devastation required no more effort than a passing thought.

"Y-You monster!!!"

Alrock couldn't do anything as the Demon Prince destroyed his home. The helplessness and anger all culminated into one emotion, and the Solaris Lord rushed at Vol'giman without a single thought in his mind.

A foolish choice, powered by his desire for vengeance.

But that wasn't enough to even get the Demon Prince excited.

[A mere lesser being dares to try and strike me? How very, very insulting!]

Vol'giman thought nothing of massacring half of the Solaris House. His wrath stemmed from the idea that a lesser being dared even to attempt to strike him. A pale red flame appeared within his palm as he prepared to incinerate Alrock alive.

No matter how powerful Alrock was among humans… it was just that… among humans.

Even if Yval, the Golden Dragon Progenitor that the Solaris bloodline came from, was present, her fire could do nothing to Vol'giman. The Demon Prince's flames could even torch reality itself, let alone a mere human who inherited some weakened bloodline.

Therefore, the Demon Prince fully expected to turn Alrock to ashes, but…

The flame in his palm did not explode.

It vanished.

The sudden absence stunned Vol'giman. He lowered his gaze to his hand—and only then did he notice it: a thin, almost imperceptible line carved across his arm.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then his flesh parted.

Noble demon blood seeped from the wound, a dark, molten red that defied gravity as it fell. The sight froze him in place, his thoughts lagging behind reality as the truth finally settled in.

The impossible had occurred… He had been wounded.

[... what?]

The Demon Prince stood frozen, his mind utterly blank.

How many millennia had passed since he had last been wounded?

When he clashed with a rival Demon Prince? When he dared to challenge his own father in a duel that shook the Demon Realm?

Vol'giman could no longer remember.

But he knew this much—those were battles fought against beings who were his equals… or his betters.

So how?

How could he be harmed in this lesser dimension?

A world he could dominate simply by existing?

Yes, the laws of this realm suppressed his power. Yes, his full authority was restrained. But even so—how could an inferior being so much as scratch him?

Slowly, his gaze shifted, and he found the answer.

Amon stood between him and Alrock, his back straight, his presence immovable—shielding the Solaris Lord from further harm.

When Amon had sensed the sudden surge of demonic mana, he had acted without hesitation. His family came first. His mother was nothing more than a mortal woman in her late forties, untrained and defenceless. He had sent her away at once, using Yue's teleportation to place her beyond danger. His father and sister were exceptions—but everyone else had been removed from the battlefield.

Only then had he returned.

Too late to save the Solaris House from devastation.

Too late to stop half of it from being reduced to ruins.

But not too late.

Alrock had been moments from death when Amon arrived—one breath, one heartbeat away from annihilation.

Fortunately… Amon had returned in time.

Had he been even a fraction of a second slower…

"Grandpa Alrock, stand down. The Solaris Knights are no match for this demon."

"A-Amon… I can't let you face that monstrosity alone!"

"Don't worry," Amon shook his head. "I know my limits. At the very least… I won't die against him."

It wasn't spoken with mindless arrogance. Amon could sense that Vol'giman wasn't at his peak, and he hadn't become accustomed to the restraints of the lower realm. Otherwise, there was no way Amon's sneak attack could have inflicted that much damage.

And if it came to a life-threatening scenario… Amon could simply escape.

"Abandon Solfea and retreat as far as you can. I don't know if I can beat him, but one thing is for sure… our battle will destroy everything."

Once again, Amon spoke with complete confidence.

Amon was currently standing at the peak of humanity, while the Demon Prince was at the peak of demon-kind. If they went at it blow-for-blow, no one could tell who the victor was, but one thing was for sure… the surroundings would be utterly destroyed.

"I… understand…"

Alrock calmed down after hearing Amon's words. As he'd mentioned, there was nothing the Solaris Knights could do against the Demon Prince. If he wished to preserve the Solaris bloodline… it was more important to save the future generations.

"Amon… good luck."

As much as it pained him, Alrock was forced to leave his disciple behind for… he was a liability. The Commanders similarly felt the same. They were at the pinnacle of all Knights, but they were helpless against the Demon Prince. All they could do was cheer for Amon within their hearts as they prepared the evacuation.

Thus, Amon was left alone with the Demon Prince.

[Inferior lifeform… How did you injure me?]

Vol'giman's voice pierced through Amon's mind once more, but since he couldn't understand the demonic language, Amon didn't reply. Instead, he raised Nyx and an anger he'd never felt so intensely before bubbled up in his chest.

'So this is grief… anger…'

Channelling his seething emotions into the black blade, Amon felt only one desire—to carve apart the wretched existence that had reduced his home to ruin.

The Demon Prince opened his mouth, but Amon had no intention of wasting even a heartbeat.

Nine Moons emerged, one after another, ascending into the sky as a celestial array formed around him. A sanctuary of stars descended, sealing the space as reality itself bent to his will. Daylight was swallowed whole.

The ground liquefied into a silent, clandestine lake that reflected a starless night, while the heavens above darkened into an eternal dusk.

Lunar mana surged.

It pulsed like ripples through the void, invisible waves of power flowing with each breath Amon took. The cold moonlight of the nine moons converged, bathing Vol'giman in a pale radiance that felt alien, invasive—wrong.

The Demon Prince frowned.

In his arrogance, Vol'giman remained still, convinced that Amon posed no actual threat—that the earlier wound had been nothing more than an anomaly, a statistical impossibility. That mistake would cost him dearly.

Without warning, space itself screamed. Invisible slashes tore through Vol'giman's body, one after another, carving lines of darkness across his flesh.

Blood sprayed as pain surged through him for the first time in ages.

The Demon Prince staggered. His eyes trembled as he stared down at his regenerating wounds, watching flesh knit itself together even as more cuts appeared.

Once could be dismissed as a coincidence.

Twice could not.

There was no denying it any longer. This inferior lifeform standing before him could hurt him.