Varun lifted a hand and pressed his fingers hard against the side of his temple.

A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes.

He rubbed slowly, trying to push away the forming headache, but it only grew sharper the more he thought.

A demon, half a step into Rank 4.

That was not normal.

Varun lowered his hand and let out a long breath, his face tightening with strain.

"This is bad," he muttered, voice low. "Very bad."

Varun glanced at Ruel, then at Michael, then at the Starborn. His gaze lingered longest on the silver-eyed figure who had dropped the news.

"The demonic supernaturals attacking the Federation settlement are strong and troublesome. Dangerous, even. But the balance of the first floor, of Hell itself, will not crumble just because some demonic supernaturals took control of a few outposts. The Federation and the other races can handle that kind of disturbance."

"Of course, any damage they cause to our own races would have to be explained by the Federation and would put us in a bad position on a universal scale."

Then his voice dropped lower.

"But a demon half a step into Rank 4? That is different."

The entire room fell silent again.

"That is not a level of monster meant to appear anywhere in the first twenty floors. If something like that exists on the first floor…" He shook his head. "It means something is wrong."

The Starborn tilted his head slightly. "Does anyone think this might be connected to the demonic supernaturals from your side?"

That made Varun's frown deepen. He fixed the Starborn with a steady look.

"Friend," he said, voice controlled, "let's not jump to conclusions. We do not know enough. Assuming a link without proof would only complicate this further."

Michael stepped forward before the Starborn could reply.

"It does not matter what their background is," he said calmly. "What matters is this: there are two important things happening in Hell right now. Neither is good. And both need solutions."

Varun gave a humorless laugh.

"And what do you suggest?" he asked. "We know all this. We know the dangers. But what do you expect us to do without help? Even with reinforcements on the way, we're still blind."

Michael didn't answer directly. Instead, he turned his gaze to Ruel.

"What is the highest power level you've seen among the demonic supernaturals?" Michael inquired.

(A/N: To avoid spamming words, we'll use Rank 4 instead of Emperor-class, but keep it in mind in case it shows up in later chapters.)

"They're all still Rank 3," Ruel said. "From Rank 4 upward, the lowest floor they can enter in Hell is floor fifty, unless they willingly accept suppression from Hell itself."

"I'm not sure if you know, but if a Rank 4 or above forces their way into the lower floors, Hell's rules crush their strength down to Rank 3. Their realm will drop temporarily. They won't be able to use some of their abilities. They remain powerful, but not with the insane gap their true rank normally provides."

Ruel continued.

"That is why factions don't send Rank 4 troops below floor fifty. It is inefficient and dangerous. A suppressed Rank 4 is still strong, but not invincible."

"These rules also work on demons."

Ruel paused after saying that, then noticed Michael was still watching him quietly.

Michael spoke again.

"How many of them do you think there are?"

Varun's brows pulled together.

The Starborn tilted his head.

Even Ruel blinked, caught off guard by the question.

"Pardon?" Ruel asked. "How many what?"

"Rank 3 demonic supernaturals," Michael clarified. "Estimate it for me."

Silence pressed into the room for a moment.

Varun looked between the two of them, clearly not following Michael's train of thought yet.

Ruel hesitated, then answered anyway.

"On the grand scale of things, Rank 3s cannot exactly be called as rare as phoenix feathers," he said slowly. "But they are not easily mobilized either."

He frowned, replaying the battle in his mind.

"From what I saw before I escaped, and with my own rough guesswork… I would say the number of Rank 3 demonic supernaturals on the first floor right now should not exceed sixty."

"Sixty?"

Ruel nodded.

"Unless," he added, "the demonic supernaturals are planning on going to war."

Michael did not look surprised. If anything, his eyes simply grew calmer.

"Not more than sixty," he repeated softly. "Good."

"What's good about that?" the Starborn asked in confusion, but Michael did not answer immediately. Everyone started to hear strange words coming from him.

"If I say… five, no, four slots per level, then some extra from advancing… two hundred doesn't look big, right?"

"…No. No, that still sounds huge. Sixty? No? What about… eighty?"

*

The frozen landscape of the first floor of Hell stretched endlessly, a wasteland of cracked ice and drifting snow.

Where once a Federation settlement had stood proud, now the traces of a brutal clash scarred every surface.

Blood stained the snow in long frozen trails.

Walls were cracked.

And at the center of the ruined base, the floor gate hummed, a faint pulse of unstable light running through the formation.

Armored figures stood around it in a defensive ring, weapons drawn, breath fogging in the frigid air.

A man with a horned mantle over his shoulders, who seemed to be the leader, stood at the front. His expression was grim.

"Status," he ordered.

One of the demonic supernaturals stepped forward immediately and saluted with a fist over his chest.

"The channel leading to Aurora remains locked," the man reported. "The Federation cannot interfere for now."

The leader clicked his tongue.

"I know that."

The other man continued and gestured toward the humming gate that led upward.

"That passage leads them straight to the second floor. If we force our way in, we'll be met by dozens before we can even stabilize a foothold. It's the same for them; they can't do anything to us either."

As for using the natural entrance of the second floor to come down to the first, they can't do that. Their forces would be separated and their effectiveness would drop drastically. In any case, with our preparations, the settlement on the second floor won't dare make a move with their numbers.

The man was still speaking when the gate the Federation had made for smooth travel between the first and second floors activated. A figure appeared in front of him.

He was a very blurry man, but the moment he materialized, a series of attacks met him.

A ripple of harsh laughter passed through the surrounding demonic supernaturals as the smoke from their attacks cleared.

"Seriously? This is boring," one of them scoffed. "All that buildup just to kill one guy?"

"Is the Federation that desperate?"

More snickers followed as the smoke thinned. Their amusement faltered a heartbeat later.

Because the man they thought was dead wasn't.

Black armor rippled across his skin like living metal, clinging to him seamlessly. It looked less like armor and more like an extension of his own body.

A few supernaturals stiffened.

"That armor… what is—"

"Doesn't matter," the leader said. "Kill hi—"

Ghost moved first.

He did not raise his hands into any recognizable stance.

He simply stepped forward and punched the air in front of him.

The air howled.

A translucent shockwave burst from his fist and tore across the frozen ground. The nearest demonic supernatural barely had time to widen his eyes before the invisible force hit him in the chest.

His body left the ground and flew backward like a broken doll.

"What the—?"

Before the shock in their voices faded, Ghost punched again.

Another wild swing at nothing.

Another deafening boom.

"Spread out!" the leader snapped.

The surrounding fighters moved at once, aura flaring as they darted to the sides. Blades lit with energy. Spells crackled in the air.

Ghost did not track anyone in particular.

He just kept punching.

Left.

Right.

Up.

Down.

Wild swings.

Every punch shook the surroundings.

Shockwaves roared outward in jagged arcs.

"This is ridiculous!"

"He's not even aiming!"

Ghost took another step forward.

A footprint sank deep into the ice.

He punched downward.

The shockwave slammed into the ground and rebounded, erupting like a geyser beneath a group that had thought they were outside his range. The ice pillar that formed carried them upward for a brief instant before the force shattered, flinging bodies in all directions.

However, what the others failed to realize was that, by the time they stopped focusing solely on Ghost, dozens of people now stood around the gate. The worst part was that every one of them possessed aura not necessarily weaker than their own.

Color drained from their faces as they seemed to realize what was happening.

The stalemate had been broken, and not by ordinary people.

Immediately, they all started to feel the smell of death hanging over them.

Without hesitation, demonic supernaturals did what they loved doing best.

Run from the strong.

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