The streets of Sanctum Lux ran with blood.

Liam moved through the carnage at the head of Legion One, watching his soldiers fight house-to-house against Radiant defenders who refused to surrender their capital without extracting maximum cost.

Every intersection was a battlefield. Every building a potential ambush. Every block paid for in demon lives.

"Resistance is stiffening," Commander Torven reported, his armor now so covered in blood and ash that its original color was indistinguishable. "They're falling back to prepared positions around the palace district. Estimates suggest another ten to fifteen thousand defenders concentrated there."

"The two Grand Commanders from the north?"

"Koth reports they disengaged fifteen minutes ago. He pursued, but they had better knowledge of the city terrain. They're likely regrouping with the palace defense."

So two Grand Commanders, plus fifteen thousand elite troops, all defending the king's palace. The final obstacle between the demon army and whatever constituted victory in this increasingly pyrrhic offensive.

"How far to the palace?" Liam asked.

"Eight blocks. Maybe ten minutes at combat speed." Torven paused. "Lord Azra, the troops are past exhaustion. We've been fighting continuously for nine hours. Casualties are mounting faster than we can count them. If we hit prepared palace defenses without rest—"

"We'll break them anyway," Liam interrupted. "Because we don't have time for rest. The longer we stay in this city, the more time they have to organize counterattacks that could trap us here."

"With respect, my lord, we're already trapped here," Torven said bluntly. "The moment we pushed into the city proper, extraction became hypothetical. Our only options are victory or death."

Liam knew he was right. They'd committed everything to this assault—there was no reserve force, no fallback position, no supply line that could sustain a prolonged urban siege. Forward was the only direction that meant anything.

"Then we choose victory," Liam said simply. "Rally Legion One. I want every combat-effective soldier ready to assault the palace in five minutes."

Torven saluted and moved off, shouting orders that rippled through the exhausted troops. Liam watched them respond—slowly, painfully, but responding nonetheless.

These were soldiers who'd marched for eight days through enemy territory, breached walls that had stood for three millennia, and killed thousands of defenders. They were beyond exhausted.

But they were still standing.

"They're magnificent," Lilith said, appearing beside him. Her armor was damaged now—actual cracks in the black metal that suggested even her overwhelming power had limits. "Insane, following you into this nightmare, but magnificent."

"How are the other legions?" Liam asked.

"Legion Two and Three under Koth are consolidating position at the northern breach. Legions Four through Seven are scattered across the city, clearing pockets of resistance and preventing organized counterattacks." Lilith's expression was grim. "But we're losing cohesion. Units are mixed together, command structure is strained, and casualties are... significant."

"Numbers?"

"Best estimate? Twenty-eight thousand dead. Another sixteen thousand wounded badly enough to be combat-ineffective. We're down to maybe one hundred and fifty-five thousand effective fighters, scattered across a hostile city, surrounded by an empire that wants us dead."

Over forty thousand casualties. More than twenty percent of the army they'd marched with.

The cost kept mounting.

"The palace?" Liam asked, pushing past the casualty numbers before they could paralyze him with their weight.

"Heavily fortified. Multiple defensive layers. The Radiant King—Aldric IV, if our intelligence is current—has a personal guard of two thousand elite soldiers. Plus the two Grand Commanders we know about, plus however many battle-priests survived the breaches."

"And the three heroes?" Liam asked quietly.

Lilith's expression darkened. "Unknown. Intelligence was they were training, learning their powers. They might not even be in the capital. Or they could be waiting inside the palace as a final surprise."

Three divine champions, untrained but powerful, potentially waiting as a last defense.

The variables were too numerous, the unknowns too significant.

Which meant planning was pointless.

"We go straight through," Liam said. "Fast and brutal. Hit them before they can fully prepare, kill everyone who resists, execute the king, and extract before the city garrison can trap us."

"That's not a plan," Lilith observed. "That's barely a concept."

"It's what we have," Liam said. "Unless you have something better?"

Lilith was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice carried something Liam had rarely heard from her—uncertainty.

"Liam, I need to tell you something. Before we assault the palace. Before this gets any worse."

The serious tone made him turn to face her fully. "What is it?"

"If the three heroes are in that palace..." She paused, choosing words carefully. "I can't beat them. Not plural. Not three at once. Maybe one-on-one I could match a single hero, even untrained. But three? With their prophesied power?" She shook her head. "We'll lose."

"You don't know that—"

"I do know that," Lilith interrupted firmly. "I saw what just one partially-manifested divine champion could do. They're not normal enemies, Azra. They're prophecy made flesh. They don't follow regular power scaling. They're specifically designed to end demons."

Liam studied her expression—genuine fear, carefully controlled but present. Queen Lilith, who he'd watched tear through Grand Commanders like they were made of paper, was afraid of what waited in that palace.

"So what are you suggesting?" he asked quietly.

"I'm suggesting that if we encounter the heroes, you run. Immediately. Phase Shift out, take whoever you can, and abandon the palace assault."

"I'm not abandoning—"

"You're the only thing holding this army together," Lilith said, and there was something raw in her voice now. "Your death doesn't just mean losing a powerful fighter. It means the Nameless Litany loses faith. The synthesis collapses. The empire fragments. Everything we've built dies with you."

"So you'd rather I run while you die?" Liam asked.

"I'd rather one of us survives to lead what's left," Lilith said. "And between the two of us, you're the one they believe in. You're the false god who became real enough to matter. I'm just the queen who started a losing war."

Liam wanted to argue, wanted to say something reassuring, but the simple mathematics were brutal. She was right. His death would shatter more than just the immediate tactical situation.

"I'm not running," he said finally. "But I promise I'll try not to die stupidly."

"That's not the promise I wanted," Lilith said.

"It's the only one I can give."

Before she could respond, Commander Torven returned. "Legion One is ready, Lord Azra. As ready as exhausted soldiers can be."

Liam took a breath that tasted like smoke and blood and the copper promise of more violence to come. His ribs ached. His Essence reserves were depleting faster than they regenerated. Every part of his body screamed that he'd pushed past safe limits hours ago.

None of it mattered.

"All forces advance," he commanded. "Objective is the palace. Resistance is to be eliminated immediately. No mercy, no hesitation. We end this today."

The demon army moved through Sanctum Lux like a dark tide, flowing toward the palace district where the Radiant Empire's final defense waited. Buildings burned on both sides of the main thoroughfare—some from demon action, some from defenders denying resources.

The city was dying around them.

And then they saw it.

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