The eye of the True Depravitas glowed with a strange, feverish thrill as they absorbed the weight of the words spoken. Even Overlord, whose expression was often as still as a frozen lake, betrayed a flicker of interest. To stop Emanon was, without question, vital—it was the only way to derail whatever grand design the Nightmare Universe’s kin had set into motion. Yet more critical still was locating the Zanis-Hell Portal, for it was the lynchpin of a darker scheme already unfolding. The Zanis Homeworld would unshackle a creature capable of reducing the Graecia Empire to ash and ruin, its flames devouring every stone and soul within its reach, so no matter what, they need to stop it. Vlad allowed the group to rejoice in the finding before a solemn and serious expression arose in his face. He finally spoke, each syllable heavy with consequence. "It is located within Sector Three, near the Infernal Monolith." At once, the gathered figures changed. The True Depriavta and Overlord abandoned their fleeting glimmer of excitement and donned solemn masks. Still, in their eyes, the faint ember of hope refused to die. Under ordinary circumstances, approaching the Infernal Monolith of Sector Three would have been unthinkable; the dominion of a top-tier Sector Master was inviolate, and none were ever permitted near their sacred territories. Yet fate had turned in their favor—the master of that sector was no longer Hell, but in the Sacred Dimension with them, givin them a chance. Vlad’s gaze darkened with resolve. A new path was already crystallizing in his mind. "Since we already know the location of the Zanis-Hell Portal," he declared, "we must alter our plans." Far away, within another corner of the infernal domain, Metatron pursued Orous through the burning citadel. Their pace quickened with each passing breath, stone and shadow blurring around them as their duel tore through the nightmarish landscape. Orous was filled with venomous hatred, his pride seared by the Archangel’s relentless pursuit. Yet beneath his rage coiled something else, something harder to suppress: fear. No matter what traps he triggered, what ancient wards he lured Metatron into, nothing slowed the celestial warrior. The Archangel annihilated every barrier with blasts of divine fire, his eyes alight with a singular, merciless intent to kill. Just as Orous despaired that he might be caught, salvation loomed ahead. A colossal portal yawned open, its surface rippling like liquid night. Without hesitation, the Devil Lord hurled himself through, but what awaited them on the other side stole even his breath. He emerged into a dimension that seemed torn from the marrow of creation’s nightmares. A desolate plain stretched to infinity, its soil blackened and scarred, split with burning rivers of molten lava. In the center rose a monolithic structure—an immense tower-tomb, so vast it nearly defied comprehension. Forged from stone blacker than void, its surface was cracked by a single fissure glowing crimson, a wound bleeding unholy radiance. The light it emitted was not illumination but distortion; reality itself twisted in its presence. Above, the skies churned with stormclouds of fire, bleeding rainless lightning. Strange runes, ancient and shifting, circled the tomb like planets in orbit, each glowing faintly with containment sigils. They were not wards meant to protect outsiders from what lay within—they were chains forged to bind a being whose very existence defied annihilation. Orous staggered at the sight, his voice a hoarse whisper carried only by the silence of his own thoughts. "This does not look like a tomb... I am in the presence of a prison." The next second his instincts screamed. He threw himself aside just as a hail of radiant weapons—shards of divine steel wrought from faith itself—rained down where he had stood. Metatron had entered the dimension, wings flaring as his eyes swept the scene. "A cage?" The Archangel murmured, echoing the Devil Lord’s thoughts. His mind flashed toward Emanon. There was a hidden design at work here, some greater purpose he could not yet discern. But the moment for contemplation had not come. His gaze turned glacial as it fixed once more on Orous. The Devil Lord’s death would precede his answers. Snarling, Orous released waves of infernal flame to counter the ceaseless barrage of holy armaments. Firestorms clashed with god weapons, each collision shaking the cursed ground. But Orous had lost too much—his reserves drained, his servants slain. Alone, he could not match the Archangel’s strength. The tide pushed ever against him, each divine strike pressing closer, each heartbeat drawing him nearer to obliteration. And then it happened. Metatron’s eyes snapped wide. From the corner of his vision, he caught the blur of a fist—colossal, seething with energy strong enough to shatter moons. He had no time to evade. His wings snapped closed around him, a shield of blinding light, just as the blow struck. The force hurled him across the scorched plain, gouging trenches in the earth, but he rose almost instantly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his face carved with defiance. "You still live, rat," he growled. The one who had struck was Hajack—the Demon Lord whom Vlad’s company had once battled. His immense frame loomed like a mountain of muscle and malice, his body flaring with abyssal energy. Every wound he had suffered was gone, every scar erased. The journey to the Primordial God’s Tomb had not only healed him but honed him into something stronger. Hajack’s eyes burned with hatred as he glared at the Archangel, but when he turned his gaze upon Orous, that same venom lingered. The Devil Lord met it with equal spite. Hell and the Abyss had been enemies since the dawn of memory, each realm locked in eternal war. Yet now, in the shadow of Heaven’s might, something shifted. Beneath the fury in their eyes flickered a reluctant recognition. Brotherhood born of necessity. Hatred tempered by survival. They despised one another, yes—but they despised Heaven more. The most update n0vels are published on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⁂𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢⁂𝔫𝔢𝔱 Unspoken, the pact formed between them. Together they would slay the Archangel. Afterward, they could tear one another apart as fate intended, fighting to the death over the right to claim the Primordial God’s corpse.