Chapter 1261
Forged in Apocalypse
The Sixth Layer of the Abyss. Foundry Citadel.
Above the citadel, the sky wasn't just burning; it was being rewritten.
For the denizens huddled within the Foundry Citadel, the view was apocalyptic. The Doomsday Fire didn't just flicker; it roared, tearing through the suffocating gray spores like a dragon clawing its way out of a cage. Every ti a massive plu of fire ripped a gap in the haze, revealing the deep, dark void beyond, a wave of collective relief washed over the city.
The ground beneath them shuddered rhythmically. It was the heartbeat of the volcano, synchronized with the exertion of the Conquest Legion. Down below, the soldiers were pouring every ounce of their mana into the formation, fueling the counterattack.
It was a terrifying, beautiful spectacle.
In the crucible of this disaster, the Foundry Citadel was finally living up to its na. The heat wasn't just lting the spores; it was fusing the population together.
Pressure creates diamonds, Orion thought, gazing down from the Four-Sided Tower. Or in this case, a real army.
The magical formation controlling the Doomsday Fire had stabilized, no longer requiring him to manually throttle the output with his sword. He finally had ti to observe.
The Conquest Legion was a patchwork force. Orion had drafted them from the First Layer all the way down to the Sixth. They were different races, from different cultures, nursing different grudges. Before today, they were just coworkers—rcenaries fighting for a paycheck and survival.
But the Unhallowed had changed the equation.
The external threat had done what months of drills couldn't. It forced them to rely on each other. The soldier feeding mana into the array on the left had to trust the guy on the right not to falter.
After this siege breaks, they won't just be employees, Orion realized, watching the coordinated flow of mana. They'll be citizens. They'll be patriots of the Citadel.
Once they survived this, the Foundry Citadel would beco a legend in the region—the only fortress capable of withstanding the Graying. That reputation alone would attract high-tier talent and refugees by the thousands.
"The Abyss and Hell... they are twin nightmares," a cold, raspy voice interrupted his thoughts.
Wraith Knight Ashreign sat in a ditative posture behind Orion. He wasn't native to the Abyss, but the sight of the Unhallowed besieging the city had stirred old mories.
Wraith Knight Ashreign sat in a ditative posture behind Orion. He wasn't native to the Abyss, but the sight of the Unhallowed besieging the city had stirred old mories.
Orion turned, his interest piqued. "You ntion Hell often. What is it, really?"
He knew the "Hell" of this universe wasn't the biblical fire-and-brimstone pit of Earth mythology.
"My Lord," Ashreign said, his spectral eyes dimming. "The Abyss and Hell are similar in chaos, but different in nature. The Abyss is a lting pot—the living and the dead coexist here. Hell is exclusive. It is a closed club for the Deceased and the Undead."
Simply put: If you have a heartbeat, you don't belong in Hell.
A lightbulb went on in Orion's head.
Arthas.
His "brother" in the alliance was a high-tier Undead. Arthas was the silent, efficient type—unlike Leonidas, who treated every loot drop like a frat party and bragged about everything. Arthas kept his cards close to his chest.
If Arthas didn't have a foothold in the Abyss yet, he absolutely had territory in Hell. It was his ho field.
I need to have a serious sit-down with Arthas, Orion decided. That guy is definitely holding out on .
Orion's ambition flared. He already had a decent-sized undead regint in his army. If he could leverage his relationship with Arthas to secure a forward operating base in Hell...
Why settle for being a Warlord of the Abyss when he could be a cross-dinsional conqueror? He could run the oceans with the Kraken, dominate the Abyss with the Legion, and expand into Hell with the Undead.
"How big is Hell?" Orion fired off a rapid sequence of questions. "What's the geography? Is there a boss-tier entity like the Abyssal Ruler running the show?"
Ashreign let out a dry, rattling chuckle. "My Lord, you ask questions that have no simple answers."
"Hell is not a singular place," the Wraith Knight explained. "It is a collective term for infinite planes. Just as the Abyss is endless, so is Hell."
"However," Ashreign continued, struggling to find the right words, "the structure is different. The Abyss is vertical—layers stacked upon layers, with the dinsional pressure increasing as you descend. Hell is... fragnted."
"We divide it into Minor Hells and Greater Hells."
"Minor Hells—like the Realm of Malevolent Souls where I was exiled from—are isolated pockets. They vary wildly in environnt and are usually dominated by a specific type of wraith or undead species."
Ashreign paused, a shadow crossing his face as he ntioned his old ho. It clearly wasn't a fond mory.
"And the Greater Hells?" Orion pressed.
"The Greater Hells are massive planes, equal in status to each other. There is no hierarchy of 'layers' there. As for how many exist... a re Legendary Lord like myself would never know. I was a small fish in a very large, very dark pond."
"So, no supre ruler?"
Ashreign shook his head. "If there is a King of Hell, I have never heard his na. Not even in whispers."
Orion nodded, absorbing the intel. It was a chaotic, feudal system. Perfect for expansion.
"My Lord! Contact outside the barrier!"
The conversation was shattered by Eparus's booming voice echoing from the volcano's throat.
"We have a situation!"
Orion didn't even hesitate. He snapped his head back, eyes locked on the sky.
The do above was still a roiling sea of crimson, the Doomsday Fire chewing through the spores. But unlike normal combustion, where fuel ignites instantly, this was a slow, grinding war of attrition.
The fire had to lt the spores down before they would catch.
But Orion wasn't looking at the flas.
He was looking past them, into the infinite gray void beyond the barrier.
There, amidst the swirling ash and smoke, a pair of colossal eyes had begun to take shape. They were faint, ghostly outlines, but undeniable.
They were hollow. Dead. Void of any spark of life or emotion.
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