The war room in Valengard's commandeered fortress was cold despite the braziers burning in each corner. Liam stood before the tactical map, his hands pressed flat against the scarred wood of the command table.

The cartographer's ink showed their position with brutal clarity—a single red marker deep in Radiant territory, surrounded by a sea of blue fortifications.

One hundred and fifty miles to Sanctum Lux.

Eight to ten days of forced march.

Twelve days of supplies.

The mathematics of their desperation couldn't be clearer.

"The scouts returned an hour ago," Lieutenant Zara said, her voice cutting through his thoughts. She stood to his left, arms crossed, her sharp features cast in shadow. "The Radiant Empire has collapsed their outer defensive lines. They're consolidating everything at the capital."

"They're conceding territory to buy time," Commander Koth growled from across the table. The veteran's scarred face twisted with frustration. "They know we can't afford to siege properly. They're betting we'll break ourselves against their walls."

Liam's fingers curled against the wood. The gesture was unconscious, human—a tell he would have been punished for months ago.

But his Humanity Index was gone, burned away completely, and what remained was something else.

Something that wore his memories like armor and wielded ruthlessness like a sacrament.

"They're not wrong," he said quietly. "We have twelve days of supplies. Even if we reach Sanctum Lux in eight, that leaves us four days to breach walls that have never fallen in three thousand years of history."

"Then we make them fall in four," Lilith said.

She stood apart from the others, near the window where pale moonlight caught the gold of her eyes. The Demon Queen hadn't removed her cloak, and exhaustion marked her features in ways that Liam had learned to recognize.

Twenty-two days of forced march had been brutal on everyone, even her.

Especially her, who he realized spent her nights managing the politicalknives the Nine Houses kept sharpening for his back when she was not telling him to not die.

Commander Torven, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. The Legion One commander's blunt features were thoughtful.

"The Fourth Order's intelligence suggests the Empire is accelerating the hero summoning ritual. If that's accurate, we're not just racing against our supply lines. We're racing against the literal manifestation of divine prophecy."

"Kael'thra's report was unambiguous," Liam confirmed. "The Cathedral has tripled its ritual guard. They're burning through consecrated materials at an unsustainable rate. Whatever they're doing, they're doing it faster than planned."

"Because we forced their hand," Koth said with grim satisfaction. "This offensive has them terrified."

"Terrified enemies make desperate choices," Zara countered. "And desperate choices from an empire with three millennia of magical infrastructure could manifest as anything from accelerated summoning to scorched-earth tactics we haven't anticipated."

Liam studied the map again. The route to Sanctum Lux cut through increasingly hostile territory—farmland that would be stripped bare, towns that would be fortified or evacuated, terrain that offered fewer and fewer advantages to an invading force.

Every mile would cost blood and time they couldn't afford to lose.

"We'll maintain the pace," he said finally. "Eight days to Sanctum Lux, regardless of casualties. Commander Koth, I want the southern legions rotating through advance positions. If we hit resistance, we break through it immediately. No sieges, no prolonged engagements. We can't afford to be slowed."

"That will increase casualties," Koth warned.

"I know."

"The troops are already exhausted, Lord Azra," Torven added quietly. "Pushing them harder—"

"I know," Liam repeated, and this time his voice carried something colder. "I know exactly what I'm asking of them, Commander. But we don't have the luxury of caution. Every hour we delay is another hour the Cathedral has to complete their summoning. Every day we rest is another day closer to twenty-one divine champions manifesting to exterminate every demon in this empire."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Lieutenant Zara," Liam continued, "I want hourly updates on our supply consumption. If we're going to run dry before we breach the capital, I need to know immediately so we can adjust tactics. Work with Lord Arcturus—under Fourth Order supervision—to identify any possible resupply routes or caches between here and Sanctum Lux."

Zara's expression suggested she'd rather eat glass than work with the admitted traitor, but she nodded sharply. "Understood."

"Commander Torven, have your scouts map every approach to the capital. I want to know where their defensive focus is concentrated. If there's a weak point in their fortifications, I'll exploit it."

"Yes, Lord Azra."

"And Koth—prepare the legions for forced march at dawn. I want us mobile in eight hours."

The regional commander's salute was crisp despite his obvious fatigue. "It will be done."

As the commanders filed out, their boots echoing on stone, Liam remained fixed on the map. His mind was already calculating angles of approach, casualty projections, the brutal arithmetic of sacrifice and necessity. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts—in the part that still remembered being Liam Cross, failed actor and desperate coward—there was horror at how easy he threw lives away.

But that part was distant now. Theoretical. A memory of someone else's conscience.

Lilith already knew what he was thinking, as she stepped close.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The braziers crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the map where red and blue markers showed the positions of armies preparing to destroy each other.

"You're not wrong," Lilith said finally, and there was something in her voice that made his chest ache in ways he'd thought he'd burned away. "You're just... trying to survive. Like all of us."

"Survival isn't the goal anymore." Liam turned back to the map, breaking eye contact before something complicated could crystallize between them. "Victory is. Or at least, preventing extinction. That's the only thing that matters now."

He felt rather than saw her withdrawal—a subtle shift in the air as she stepped back, putting professional distance between them again.

"The troops will be ready at dawn," she said, her tone carefully formal once more. "I'll coordinate with the House representatives to ensure supply lines remain stable during the march."

"Good."

"And Liam?"

He glanced at her.

"Don't lose yourself completely," Lilith said quietly. "We need the monster, yes. But the man who could fake divinity convincingly enough to unify an empire? He was valuable too. Don't forget that."

Then she was gone, her cloak a whisper of shadow and fabric, leaving Liam alone with his maps and his calculations and the cold comfort of necessity.

He stared at the red marker representing their position. One hundred and fifty miles to Sanctum Lux. Eight days of brutal march. Four days to do the impossible.

The mathematics were cruel. The odds were worse.

But the alternative was extinction.

And Liam Cross—or Lord Azra—had already decided that extinction wasn't acceptable.

He would break the prophecy. He would burn the Cathedral. He would lead this army into the heart of enemy territory and tear down walls that had stood for millennia.

Or he would die trying.

Either way, at least he'd matter.

At least he'd finally be more than a failed actor swallowing pills in a studio apartment, waiting for oblivion.

The irony wasn't lost on him that it had taken becoming a demon to finally feel human.

---

Dawn came cold and gray, painting Valengard in shades of ash and old blood.

Liam stood on the fortress's highest tower, watching as two hundred thousand demons prepared to march toward their potential annihilation.

The legions moved with practiced efficiency despite their exhaustion—tents collapsing, supplies being loaded, formations assembling with the grim determination of soldiers who knew exactly what they were marching toward.

The Essence flowing into him from the Nameless Litany was fealt even hundreds of miles away, a background hum of worship that fed his abilities and reinforced his reality.

Eight hundred and forty-three faithful, all believing absolutely in his divinity. All willing to die at his command.

The weight of that faith should have crushed him.

Instead, it just felt... right.

"Lord Azra." Kael'thra materialized from the shadows like a blade drawn from its sheath. The Fourth Order commander's expression was impassive, but her dark eyes gleamed with zealous devotion. "The forward scouts are deployed. We've identified three potential ambush points along the route. I've positioned teams to neutralize them before the main force arrives."

"Casualties?"

"Acceptable," she said, which meant some of her people would die before the day was out. "We'll clear the path."

Liam nodded slowly. Acceptable casualties. The calculus of war reduced human—demon—lives to numbers on a ledger. Another piece of his old self would have recoiled from that coldness.

But his old self was ash.

He felt that more today than he had every other day of this war

"Make it clean," he said. "We can't afford to be bogged down."

"It will be done, my lord." Kael'thra bowed, her faith absolute. "The Fourth Order exists to serve your will."

As she vanished back into shadow, Liam felt the familiar pulse of the System updating.

[Nameless Litany: 843 → 851 members]

[Essence Generation: +640/hour]

[Current Essence: 93,890]

Eight new faithful. Eight more demons who had witnessed something—a miracle, a victory, his simple existence—and decided he was worth worshiping.

The numbers climbed. The power grew.

And with every increase, the thing he was becoming felt less like a performance and more like truth.

"Brooding already?" Lilith's voice was wry as she joined him on the tower. "We haven't even started marching yet."

"Just observing," Liam said. "Making sure everything's in order."

"Everything is never in order during war." She stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "But we make do anyway."

Below, Commander Koth's voice bellowed orders that echoed across the assembly grounds. Legions began to move, a tide of dark armor and grim purpose flowing toward the city gates.

"Eight days," Lilith murmured. "Then we'll know if this was brilliant or just elaborate suicide."

"Does it matter which?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I suppose not. Either way, we're committed now."

The first legion began to march, and the sound of thousands of boots striking stone filled the morning air like a funeral drum.

Liam watched them go—his army, his believers, his instruments of salvation or damnation—and felt the weight of command settle deeper into his bones.

One hundred and fifty miles to Sanctum Lux.

Eight days to break an empire.

Four days to prevent extinction.

The countdown had begun.

And Lord Azra, the Originator of Sin, was done waiting for fate to decide the outcome.

He would forge it himself.

In blood, if necessary.

In ash and fire and the screaming terror of his enemies.

Whatever it took.

The march continued.

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