The religious fervor in her voice created slight discomfort among conventional military commanders. But none objected.

The Fourth Order had proven effective enough that their zealotry was tolerated as price of competence.

"Once we reach Sanctum Lux," Liam continued, "three-pronged assault commences immediately. No siege. No prolonged engagement. We breach first wall within six hours or withdraw entirely. This is surgical strike, not conventional warfare."

"Surgical strike with two hundred thousand troops and catastrophic casualties." Patriarch Mordain's rumbling voice carried skepticism that had never entirely disappeared. "You keep using that phrase, but there's nothing surgical about this assault."

"Surgical in objective. Apocalyptic in execution." Liam's correction was precise. "We're not conquering territory. We're destroying specific infrastructure—the Cathedral of Divine Light where hero summoning occurs. Everything else is secondary to that objective."

He pulled forward schematics of Sanctum Lux that Fourth Order intelligence had compiled.

"First wave breaches outer wall. Second wave advances through breach to middle wall. Third wave penetrates to central district where Cathedral stands. Fourth wave provides rear security and prevents encirclement." His finger traced assault paths. "Each wave has specific objective. Each commander has explicit instructions. Success requires perfect coordination and willingness to accept that most participants in early waves won't survive to see final objective achieved."

The brutal honesty created heavy silence.

"I'm not going to pretend this is anything except what it is—apocalyptic gamble that costs more lives than any military operation in demon history. But I'm also not going to pretend we have better options." Liam's voice was firm.

"Defensive warfare fails. Negotiation fails—Lord Arcturus proved that through his betrayal. Hoping prophecy doesn't fulfill itself is delusion. This offensive, brutal as it is, represents our best probability of preventing extinction."

He looked at each commander directly.

"Tomorrow we march. Seventeen days from now, we attack. Some of you will die. Most of you will die. But those who survive will have accomplished something unprecedented—breaking prophecy that ordained our destruction." His grey eyes blazed. "That's what we're marching for. Not glory. Not conquest. Survival of our entire species."

"What if the summoning can't be stopped?" Veridia Zarthus asked, her venomous beauty sharp even in formal military context. "If we lose two hundred thousand demons and the Radiant Empire still completes hero summoning?"

"Then we failed trying rather than succeeded at nothing." Liam's response was immediate. "But I don't operate from assumption of failure. I operate from understanding that success requires sacrifice. That survival costs blood. That sometimes the only path forward requires walking through hell and hoping you emerge on the other side."

He gestured broadly to the assembled commanders.

"Every demon in this room is veteran. You've all made impossible calculations. You've all commanded soldiers who died executing your orders. You know that war doesn't offer clean choices—only terrible ones with varying degrees of necessity."

His voice was steady. "Tomorrow's choice is march toward probable death with chance of preventing extinction, or stay home and guarantee it. I've made my choice. Each of you makes yours. But understand—anyone who marches tomorrow does so knowing the mathematics. Knowing the casualties. Knowing this might be suicide mission dressed as military strategy."

Silence fell absolute.

Then Commander Torven stood. "Legion One marches at your command, Lord Azra. We've calculated the odds. We accept them."

One by one, the other legion commanders stood. Pledged their forces. Accepted the catastrophic mathematics.

Not through blind faith. Not through naive optimism.

Through cold recognition that terrible choices were all that remained.

---

The briefing concluded near midnight. Commanders dispersed to their legions for final preparations. Equipment checks. Troop formations. Last letters to families who might never see their loved ones return.

Liam remained in the command hall with Lilith, Koth, Zara, and Kael'thra—his forming inner circle.

"Well," Koth said finally. "That was appropriately grim. Very 'we're probably all going to die but let's do it anyway' energy."

"The queen is right, they needed honesty," Liam said. "Inspiration is for recruits. Veterans need acknowledgment of what they're facing."

"You gave them that." Zara's analytical mind was processing everything. "Question is whether honesty maintains morale or undermines it. Hard to march enthusiastically toward eighty-five percent casualty rates."

"They're not marching enthusiastically. They're marching grimly because alternatives are worse." Lilith moved to the maps, studying assault vectors they'd refined over three months. "The disinformation campaign should give us tactical advantage. If it worked. If Lord Arcturus didn't somehow warn them. If—"

"If doesn't matter now." Liam cut through the speculation. "March begins at dawn regardless of whether every variable is perfect. We execute the plan because it's the best available option given impossible constraints."

"The Fourth Order is deployed," Kael'thra reported, her professionalism unaffected by the casual atmosphere. "Advance scouts are already moving toward Sanctum Lux. Counter-intelligence teams monitor for Radiant Empire observation. Assassination specialists are positioned to eliminate any heroes who respond during march."

"And Lord Arcturus?" Lilith asked carefully.

"Under constant surveillance. His communication channels are monitored. He's been... cooperative since understanding his survival depends on useful service." Kael'thra's voice suggested cooperation had required encouragement. "The disinformation he provided appears genuine. Radiant Empire repositioned forces exactly as predicted."

"Appears being operative word." Liam's skepticism was evident. "We won't know if his cooperation is real until we're committed to assault."

"By which point, adjusting strategy is impossible." Zara's analysis was characteristically grim. "We're trusting intelligence from admitted traitor because alternatives require more time than we possess. That's concerning."

"Everything about this offensive is concerning." Lilith's voice carried exhaustion of someone who'd spent three months preparing for this gamble.

Silence fell.

"Get some rest," Liam said finally. "Dawn comes quickly. We'll need energy for beginning what might be civilization's final gamble."

They dispersed. Koth to his legion. Zara to intelligence coordination. Kael'thra to Fourth Order operations. Lilith to handle political matters that couldn't wait.

Leaving Liam alone in the command hall, staring at maps that represented so many lives about to be risked.

Somewhere in the city, two hundred thousand demons prepared for march.

Somewhere in barracks, soldiers wrote final letters to families.

Somewhere in the Cathedral, eight hundred faithful prayed for divine victory.

Somewhere in Sanctum Lux, the Radiant Empire prepared defenses against assault they supposedly knew was coming.

And somewhere between all those points, dawn approached with inevitability that couldn't be stopped.

The eve of apocalypse passed slowly.

Morning came anyway.

And with morning, the march began.

[Time Until March: 8 hours]

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