Just as the True Depravitas imrsed themselves in their respective pursuits—each striving to forge a miracle of their own—a solemn discussion was unfolding in the Ninth Layer of Hell.
In a hidden location, concealed even from the keenest infernal senses, Beelzebub and Baal faced one another.
Their expressions were complicated.
Both were recalling the words of that strange alien entity—the emissary of the so-called Master.
"Do you truly believe we can rely on their information?" Beelzebub asked, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Their knowledge may be nothing more than bait."
Baal remained silent for several monts, weighing the implications before giving a slow nod.
"If the information is false, we will know before we commit too deeply," he replied evenly. "And if that happens, we can retreat. I do not believe they would orchestrate such an elaborate approach rely to waste our ti."
Beelzebub considered those words carefully before nodding in agreent. Yet the faint frown on his face deepened.
"They are using us," he said at last. "The Alien Powers are confined within that green fog, unable to act freely. So they want us to do their work for them."
Even speaking those words felt unpleasant.
They were Devils—Gods of cunning and manipulation. Across the universe, they were known as masters of sches, beings who turned others into pawns.
So of their plans had stretched for thousands of years and ended in the demise of entire worlds. Yet, now, they were the pawns in the gas of others.
They were Paragons, the highest echelon of Hell. They were not ant to be the ones used.
Baal shared the sentint, yet in the end, he simply exhaled.
"The White Death is powerful, incredibly powerful. He shattered the limitation that retrain humankin for eons, yet his growth is sothing we can understand and handle. We will have countless opportunities to sche against him before his strength reaches a level we can not handle, but the Xaos King." The Devil Paragon clenched his fists, and a flash of dread crossed his eyes.
"If we do nothing, the True Depravita of Wrath will continue to grow at an exponential rate. In a few decades, maybe just years, he will surpass us completely. We must shatter him before he becos untouchable."
Beelzebub clenched his fists.
He was a Paragon—an existence ant to inspire fear across the cosmos. And yet here he was, feeling unease toward a man who had not even lived for a thousand years.
The irony was not lost on him.
Still, he quickly suppressed the emotion. His gaze sharpened as another thought surfaced.
"What about the upper layers and the Six Sun Alliance Army?" he asked. "We detected the White Death’s aura during the battle in the One Hundred and First Layer of the Abyss. If both he and the True Depravita of Wrath are truly in the Abyss, then nothing prevents us from striking their fortress, killing their Lords, and taking back control of Hell."
Baal nodded instinctively—but then slowly shook his head.
"We detected his aura, yes. But we cannot be certain he was truly there. It could have been a deception—a trap ant to lure us out while we are still wounded."
If they had been dealing with any other enemies, the two Devil Paragons would have analyzed the situation calmly and objectively, dissecting every possibility before making their move.
But the White Death and the True Depravita of Wrath had already deceived them once.
Baal still rembered how he had been drawn out, ready to ambush the White Death—only for Vlad to appear and pierce his chest.
Silence fell between them.
After a long mont, both released a quiet sigh.
"We will recover first," Baal said firmly. "Then we will follow the plan proposed by the Alien Powers. If we succeed, we may cripple the path of the True Depravita of Wrath... perhaps even push him into desperation."
With each word, a spark of anticipation flared within him.
The thought of revenge stirred sothing dark and exhilarating in his heart.
He did not care that the plan originated from a force intent on mutating the entire universe.
If it led to Vlad’s downfall, that was enough.
...
Peace was an almost forbidden concept within the Abyss.
War and bloodshed were as natural as breathing. Demons thrived on conflict, constantly craving the next battle.
And yet, for the mont, the Demon Lords ruling the layers beyond the One Hundred and First were cherishing every second of stillness they possessed. And they were not remining idly either.
Alliances were forming.
Rival Demon Lords who once sought each other’s destruction were now cooperating, bound by a shared understanding brought by the defeat of Demogorgon and Abaddon at the hand of the True Depravita of Wrath.
If they faced the Xaos King and the Six Sun Alliance alone, they would all die, every single one of them.
As a result, a shocking turn of events assailed the fiendish plane. The lower Abyss, that was once ruled by nothing more than chaos and madness, was becoming increasingly organized. Larger and deeper coalitions erged, pooling resources and strength in preparation for the inevitable clash.
Their strength reached a level that brought solmness to so of the Sovereigns of the alliance.
But the True Depravita of Wrath and Overlord did not concern themselves with those developnts.
What they were pursuing transcended temporary alliances.
If successful, their work would elevate not only themselves but the entire Six Sun Alliance to a higher level of existence.
Any coalition the Demon Lords ford would beco aningless. They would all crumble under the might of their miracles.
Within his sealed chamber, Vlad stood alone.
The room was completely isolated—no airflow, no external energy fluctuations. The space was saturated with blood.
Thousands upon thousands of Legendary-tier Devil bloodlines filled the chamber, their essence boiling and circulating like a crimson ocean.
Individually, their quality was insufficient to elevate his Peak Lord-tier Celestial Devil bloodline.
But together—boiled, refined, and condensed—their collective radiance stimulated his bloodline to its utmost limits.
His veins pulsed with heat and pressure.
It was in that heightened state that Vlad carefully introduced the last stream of Baal’s Paragon blood into his heart.
Every movent was executed with absolute precision.
His control was flawless, his focus unwavering. Not a single fluctuation escaped his notice.
He understood the stakes.
If he failed here, then even if Jormungandr succeeded in the first phase of the Unification Project, their overall progress would slow dramatically.
And ti was sothing they did not possess in abundance.
Every second lost increased the chance that the Alien Lords would take the advantage.
That was unacceptable.
So Vlad steadied his breathing, sharpened his will, and guided the Paragon blood deeper into the core of his evolving lineage—determined to force it beyond its limits.
The mont the last stream of Baal’s Paragon blood reached the core of his heart, the entire chamber trembled.
The countless Legendary bloodlines circulating around Vlad reacted violently, their orderly flow collapsing into chaos. Waves of power surged outward like a storm, slamming against the invisible spatial barriers he had erected around the room.
Vlad’s eyes narrowed.
The Paragon essence was not simply stronger—it carried a will. A gravitational dominance that sought to suppress and devour everything beneath it.
It had built up with the previous streams of bloodline that he had asimilated and now it reached its peak.
If he allowed it to spread unchecked, the entire refinent would collapse.
His soul ignited.
The Celestial Devil Bloodline awakened fully within him.
Space inside his heart folded inward, layer upon layer, forming a compact domain where distance lost its aning. Inside that domain, the raging bloodline slowed, its chaotic motion stretched and diluted across distorted space.
Then Vlad guided the Paragon blood deeper into his Celestial Devil Bloodline.
The mont it touched the core—
The world inside him shattered.
His veins burned as if stars were exploding within them. Spatial distortions rippled across his flesh, his body flickering between positions for an instant as the bloodline struggled to stabilize under the overwhelming pressure.
The original Celestial Devil Bloodline had always specialized in folding space, shortening distance, and opening portals.
But now it was being forced to evolve.
The Paragon essence did not rely add power—it changed the nature of the bloodline itself.
At the core of his lineage, a point of absolute collapse ford.
Not a portal.
Not a fold.
A singularity of compressed space.
From that point, new pathways spread through his body like a constellation. Each vein beca a channel where space could contract, expand, or invert at will.
Distance no longer needed to be reduced.
It could be erased.
The circulating bloodlines began to condense, their vast quantity collapsing inward. The crimson ocean burned under the might of a greater power.
Outside his body, the chamber warped.
Fragnts of space overlapped. Walls appeared closer, then farther, then briefly existed in multiple positions at once.
Vlad inhaled slowly, stabilizing the transformation.
When his eyes opened, a faint spatial ripple spread outward from him.
The Paragon-tier Celestial Devil Bloodline had been born.
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