---
title: "Chapter 988: Invitations from the demons"
slug: "ch-994"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 994
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1086
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

Max’s gaze sharpened, his breathing steady but his muscles tensed.

Mathew’s lips curled into what he likely thought was a generous smile. "Join us, and you will live. With your potential, you might become the strongest human ambassador. You could stand at the same table as the leaders of the demons and the Ascendants. Not as prey, not as fodder—but as an equal."

The words were heavy, promising power and survival, draped in temptation. But Max’s face only darkened further. He sneered in his heart, mocking the sheer audacity of their offer. ’Did they truly think that by extending their poisoned hand politely, I would bow and take it?’

"Are you kidding me?" Max’s voice cut coldly through the air, his eyes burning with defiance. "Do you really think I’d join you traitors? Don’t insult me by putting me in the same pit as you."

The rejection was swift, sharp, and absolute.

Thunder Lord Xander’s eyes narrowed, lightning flaring faintly around his body like veins of rage. "Max, you aren’t seeing the big picture here."

"Oh?" Max arched a brow, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. "And what is this ’big picture’ you’re preaching about?"

Xander stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his words as heavy as rolling thunder. "You get to live. Your life, boy." His voice dropped into something colder. "Refuse, and we’ll kill you here and now. And what’s more..." His smirk grew vicious. "Your dear friend—the dark elf—is in our possession. If you don’t join us, you know very well what’s going to happen to her."

For a moment, silence. Then—

"Hahaha." Max suddenly burst into laughter, his voice rolling with scorn and amusement. It wasn’t the laughter of fear or desperation—it was mockery, pure and sharp.

Both Mathew and Xander frowned deeply, their eyes narrowing at him.

"What’s so funny about this?" Tower Lord Mathew demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Max tilted his head, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips as his eyes gleamed with biting sarcasm. "Funny?" His tone was razor-edged. "Funny is that you’re here, threatening me with my friend’s life... completely unaware that I’ve already rescued her."

Their eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across their faces.

"What you’ve got in that cell of yours," Max continued, his voice like a dagger slipping into their pride, "is nothing more than an illusion rune. An empty shell." His smirk widened as his words struck like lightning.

The revelation landed like a thunderclap, shattering their composure.

They had captured Max’s friend with one single purpose—to use her as bait. The plan was simple and cruel. Coerce Max into their hideout, drag him into their web of deception, and kill him the moment he tried to save his friend. It was a flawless trap, crafted with precision and confidence. But things had shifted, ever so slightly yet drastically enough to turn the plan into chaos.

A message had come. A message from above. From the demons themselves.

The order was clear, sharp, and absolute: They wanted Max alive. More than that—they wanted him to join them.

When Tower Lord Mathew and Thunder Lord Xander first heard the order, their jaws clenched and their stomachs churned. Unwillingness brewed inside them like boiling oil, but what could they do? An order from the higher-ups was not something they could ignore. They swallowed their protests, their ambitions of killing Max drowned in silence.

And now... the one person who could have served as their lever, their bargaining chip—the dark elf girl, Max’s dear companion—had already been taken away. Rescued right under their noses. Snatched from their claws before they could even wield her as a weapon to force Max’s submission.

Without her, their plan crumbled like sand slipping through desperate fingers.

Worse still, another message arrived. This one more ironclad, more suffocating than the first. Stricter words, etched with authority that made even lords bow their heads: Max must not be killed.

Neither Mathew nor Xander could understand. Why? Why spare him? Max was the single greatest genius of the human race. His existence was a threat that grew sharper with every passing day. Killing him would shatter the humans’ morale, crush their spirit, and rid them of a terrifying enemy for the future. Logic screamed for his death.

And yet the demons, the higher ups—their masters—saw differently. They desired Max alive, breathing, untouched by death’s hand.

The thought left both men restless, helpless even. They couldn’t kill him. They couldn’t recruit him now that his friend was gone. They couldn’t even harm him too severely. He was walking in front of them as a free man, mocking them with every breath, and yet their hands were tied by chains of obedience.

This left Mathew and Xander stranded in the most dangerous of positions. Forced to stand still before the strongest human genius, unable to strike, unable to bend him to their side, forced to wait for instructions they could not understand.

It was a bitter taste, sharper than poison.

But still, deep inside their hearts, Tower Lord Mathew and Thunder Lord Xander wanted only one thing—Max’s death. The boy’s very existence was a thorn in their flesh, a seed of disaster for their plans.

That was why, when Max had been exposed spying on them earlier, they had given Leone the order: kill him. If Max died under the claws of their Direkin "allies," then they could wash their hands clean. No blame would fall on them. The demons’ order would still stand unbroken—because technically, they hadn’t killed Max.

But even that failed. Leone had failed. The Direkins had failed. Max still stood alive before them.

And now... standing here, staring into the boy’s unwavering eyes, they felt the sharp sting of helplessness. No matter how much they schemed, Max always slipped from their grasp.

Bang!

Just then a deafening explosion tore through the hidden city. The ground quaked, buildings cracked, and debris rained from above. All eyes snapped toward the source, and what they saw made even the traitors’ hearts tremble.

A figure was sent flying, smashing through a row of stone buildings before crashing to the ground in a storm of dust and rubble.

Leone.

The mighty lion-headed beast, the proud Direkin commander, now lay battered and bloodied. His once-glorious golden mane was flickering weakly, his flames unstable and collapsing. His lion face was carved with deep wounds, blood dripping in streams.

His body—once the very image of demonic strength—was marred with dozens of gashes and burns.