The Alliance of Four needed to send a message. It was time for the other three members to understand that this pact wasn't just ink on parchment—it was forged in iron and blood.

For the Blood Elf race, this demonstration was the first order of business. It was a grim necessity.

"Just wait," a voice whispered in the shadows of the council chamber. "The word will spread fast enough."

"Indeed. The summit for the Alliance of Four is imminent."

The Sixth Layer of the Abyss. The Donough Blood-Crow Nest.

Unlike the subtle maneuvering in the Titanion Realm, war here was visceral, loud, and immediate.

When the Conquest Legion marched, they didn't skirmish; they purged.

Facing them were the Chaos Demons. For these creatures, destruction wasn't a choice—it was a biological imperative. They were unburdened by morality, seeing the world only through a lens of slaughter and gore. They possessed no mercy, only hunger.

Individually, a Chaos Demon was a nightmare. But when organized into massive armies, they became a natural disaster.

The collision between the Conquest Legion and the Chaos Demons was instantaneous. There were no parleys, no warning shots. The moment the opposing forces registered each other's presence, the charge began.

From the sulfur-choked skies to the cracked earth, the battle raged across every vertical inch of the battlefield, involving everyone from the mightiest Arch Lord to the lowest thrall.

The ground around the Donough Blood-Crow Nest fractured under the stress of the magical output. Fissures, some dozens of feet wide, tore open the landscape as the demonic war reached a fever pitch.

It was a carnival of ruin.

"Anything that stands in the path of the Scourge Wardens gets put in the ground," a gravelly voice cut through the din. "Death is the only mercy they get."

Three Arch Lords—Eparus, Holrivus, and Thronlis—led the charge of the Scourge Wardens. One wielded a colossus of a greatsword, another a heavy lance, and the third a siege-grade crossbow. Moving in a tight triangle formation, they drove into the flank of the Chaos Demon armies like a dagger finding a gap in heavy armor.

The opposing armies hailed from a Demigod faction, meaning their ranks were bolstered by their own elite Arch Lord commanders.

Almost immediately, six Chaos Demon Arch Lords launched themselves from the depths of the Donough Blood-Crow Nest, rising to meet Eparus and his trio.

Below the Third Layer of the Abyss, few knew the true nature of the Scourge Wardens or the Doomguard. But here, in the Sixth Layer, their reputation preceded them. The Chaos Demon commanders swarmed out in full force, driven by an instinctual dread.

The Scourge Wardens were not just another species. Even the Arch Lord-level Chaos Demons felt a primal suppression in their presence, a biological hierarchy that screamed predator.

"The Scourge Wardens?"

Perched atop the highest spire of the Donough Blood-Crow Nest, Eudan watched the carnage with a detached amusement. "Bold. Very bold. Even House Julius wouldn't dare recruit that lot."

He swirled the crimson liquid in his goblet, taking a slow sip. "You embrace one side, you make an enemy of the other. And the other side... well, they aren't exactly pushovers."

Eudan was genuinely surprised to see them. He stood alone on the roof, an island of opulent calm amidst a sea of destruction. The landscape around his tower had been carved into deep ravines by stray energy blasts, yet his perch remained pristine.

So, he came himself, Eudan mused, his eyes narrowing. Interesting.

He could feel it—the chilling aura of the Deathly Soul-Reaper. Orion was closing in.

In the distance, standing atop the back of an Abyssal Dragon, Orion locked eyes with the noble demon on the tower.

Just a peak Arch Lord?

There was a note of disappointment in Orion's internal monologue. He had assumed that anyone brazen enough to invade his territory would be a Demigod—or at least someone stepping onto that threshold. Finding only a peak Arch Lord felt like arriving at a duel only to find a practice dummy.

"Xalathar," Orion commanded calmly. "Go. Slaughter everyone who dared step foot in our territory."

Orion's form dissolved into mist, vanishing from the dragon's back.

Xalathar, unshackled and eager, didn't hesitate. He roared, launching himself toward the aerial battlefield where the Arch Lords were clashing. He had only recently ascended to the rank of Arch Lord himself; he needed this blood to sharpen his edge.

Back at the tower, the air grew heavy.

Thrum.

It was the sound of a scythe shearing through the fabric of reality.

Eudan's eyes widened, the scarlet irises trembling with shock. He didn't even have time to set down his glass before his body was bisected at the waist. He fell like a bundle of straw.

But he didn't die.

His torso and legs dissolved into a pool of sanguine fluid, splashing onto the stone before rapidly coalescing a few yards away into a whole form again.

"A true Over-tier combatant. Damn it," Eudan hissed.

Reformed, terror flickered in Eudan's eyes before he buried it under a mask of sneering arrogance. Orion's power was far beyond his estimates.

Jealousy clawed at Eudan's gut. He hated prodigies like this. But that hate brought a twisted pleasure; crushing a genius was so much more satisfying than crushing a bug.

"You know," Eudan called out, smoothing his robes, "you've stepped into a mess you can't clean up."

Orion had burned one of Eudan's most precious protective artifacts with a single strike. The gap between a peak Arch Lord and a Demigod—or someone hitting with that weight—was astronomical. Eudan knew he couldn't win a straight fight. The pressure rolling off Orion was heavier than even the Demigod phantoms Eudan had encountered in the past.

Violence was a losing play. It was time to negotiate.

"A mess?" Orion's voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. "You mean yourself?"

Orion materialized and thrust his scythe-spear forward. It was a relic-class weapon, woven with Void Laws and wreathed in Doomsday Fire.

The black flames punched through Eudan's chest, incinerating his heart and lungs instantly.

"You have a lot of trinkets," Orion noted dryly.

He retracted the weapon. Impaled on the tip was a small, scorched statuette of a Demon. It crumbled to dust, but the lingering residue of Demigod Laws hung in the air.

Clearly, the work of a Demigod.

Orion glanced at the remains of the statuette with mild curiosity before stowing the shards away.

I wonder, Orion thought, turning to face the spot where Eudan was emerging from the void for a second time, how many lives do you have in your pockets? How many times can you cheat death today?

Eudan's face was twisted in a rictus of fury and fear.

His plan had been simple: exchange a few blows, survive, and retreat if necessary. He hadn't expected to be rag-dolled. Orion wasn't just strong; he was a monster.

"Listen to me!" Eudan screamed, his composure shattering. "Right before the Gray Realm faded, you looted a trophy that belonged to my ancestor."

Eudan pointed a shaking finger at the reaper. "You think I invaded your territory on a whim? You stole from us. Do you really want to declare war on the Abyssal Ruler of the Sixth Layer?"

A triumphant, cruel smile broke across Eudan's face as he played his ace.

He saw it—the slight furrow of the Deathly Soul-Reaper's brow.

Orion went silent. The scythe-spear lowered slightly.

So, they found out, Orion realized.

Eudan wasn't lying. In the chaotic final moments of the spores Unhallowed event, Orion had snatched a gray crystal. It had been an impulsive grab, driven by his desperate hunger to ascend to Demigod status.

He had known back then that the theft might offend an Abyssal Ruler.

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