After unleashing havoc and mayhem upon the demon army—shattering their ranks, burning their formations, and scattering their cohesion like dust in a storm—Grand Marshal Anglius raised his gargantuan sword from the flaming earth. The crimson inferno reflected off his armor as his eyes locked on his true target.
In the distance lood a High Legendary Demon, towering over the battlefield like a living mountain of obsidian and fla. Its body was a fortress of jagged black armor, each plate streaked with veins of molten lava that pulsed like a heartbeat. Vast, torn wings stretched across the storm-dark sky, their fire-eaten edges leaving burning trails.
The creature had been stunned by the power Anglius had unleashed, but the mont it felt the Marshal’s piercing gaze, fury ignited in its core. With a roar that split the sky, the demon thundered forward, trampling lesser fiends beneath its colossal feet without hesitation.
Anglius t its charge head-on.
He exploded forward, every step cracking the earth, his sword blazing like a newborn sun. Demons caught in his path were incinerated by the sheer pressure of his aura. The two titans collided at the center of the burning plains—flaming sword against claw—and the firmant trembled.
A cataclysmic shockwave rippled outward, erasing everything caught in its wake. The ground fractured, mountains crumbled, and rivers of molten rock erupted.
Though the High Legend Demon’s strength was monstrous, it soon beca clear that Anglius held the upper hand. His strikes were precise and brutal, every swing guided by the discipline of countless wars. A powerful slash broke through the creature’s guard and tore across its chest. The molten plates split, exposing a core of seething fire.
The demon scread, the sound shaking the sector, and black blood rained from its wound. The infernal substance hissed like acid when it hit the ground.
Yet the beast did not fall.
With a violent twist, its tail lashed out—an obsidian whip crackling with abyssal lightning. It slamd into the Marshal’s chest, hurling him across the mountains like a cot. Peaks shattered under the impact.
Anglius staggered to his feet, a thin line of blood tracing his face beneath the helm. His ribs ached, and his armor smoked from the blow—but his grin was feral.
"I can’t wait to seal your soul in my heart," he growled, his voice echoing across the battlefield.
Then he charged again.
Elsewhere, the plain of the Abyss had beco a living apocalypse.
Dozens of Legendary-Tier duels erupted simultaneously as Xaos Royal Guards and Bloodline Knights, and many more Legendary powerhouses engaged their respective opponents. Each warrior sought to claim a Demon Soul one rank higher than their cultivation—an act that could not only enhance their strength but exponentially accelerate their evolution.
The rest of the army fought with brutal precision. Their black armor glead under the light of infernal fire as they advanced through waves of snarling demons. Their formation was flawless—every strike, every maneuver executed with mathematical perfection. They fought like one organism, a single will of iron and fla.
They did not rely slaughter—they dismantled.
Every attempt by the demons to regroup or rally was imdiately crushed. The Xaos warriors would isolate small groups, destroy them, then move on to the next cluster, slowly grinding the endless tide into dust.
The battlefield was a canvas of devastation. Rivers of lava flowed between shattered ridges, reflecting the flashes of battle like molten mirrors. The air slled of ozone and blood. Despite the overwhelming difference in numbers, the Xaos forces dominated completely. Not one of them was below Sage Tier, and with their Superior Legendary Bloodlines, their might approached that of true Legends.
Their teamwork was seamless, their coordination absolute. It was not war—it was art.
For the first ti in countless years, fear appeared in demonic hearts. Demons were not creatures made for such emotion, but what they faced defied all reason. These invaders from Hell did not falter. Every breath they took, every movent they made, felt guided by destiny itself—as though they were manifestations of inevitability.
If a miracle did not intervene, the Abyssal host would be annihilated.
Then, the world trembled.
A thunderous crash split the distant mountains, and the very air turned heavy with despair. Every creature—Xaos soldier and demon alike—froze as a shadow vast as a continent erged beyond the flas.
The ground ruptured, and from the smoking chasm rose a being of nightmare.
It was a colossal, grotesque fusion of flesh, bark, and shadow—an abomination sculpted by hate. Its skin glead like wet obsidian, streaked with glowing crimson veins that pulsed like the rhythm of a dying star. Clusters of unblinking red eyes crawled down its chest, each burning with malicious intelligence. Jagged spines and writhing tendrils grew from its back, twisting and coiling like serpents hungry for blood.
The storm above darkened. The crimson sun dimd.
Even the flas bent away from its presence.
The Demon Lord looked down upon the battlefield with a sneer.
"Insignificant ants of Hell," it thundered, its voice like earthquakes. "You dare interfere with my designs?"
The re sound of its words shattered the nearby mountains into dust.
It lifted one gargantuan arm, and an orb of blinding plasma ford in its clawed hand—a miniature sun spinning with annihilating power.
"Let the Abyss cleanse itself of your filth."
The sphere fired.
A beam of incandescent destruction ripped through the sky, cutting across the battlefield. The light was so intense it turned shadows to glass. The blast would vaporize everything in its path—Xaos warriors and demons alike.
To the Lords of the Abyss, these lesser beings were nothing but disposable fuel. Their failure to defeat the invaders had already marked them as worthless.
Horror filled the ranks of the demon army. Their roars turned to shrieks as they realized death was coming from their own god.
But the Xaos soldiers did not break.
Not one of them retreated even as the plasma sphere descended, roaring like a dying star.
And then—a voice resounded across the firmant.
"GUNGNIR!"
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