Vlad did not waste a single second. He channeled his power through the blade inside the fallen Devil Lord’s body and devoured the remnants of its soul, pulling every fragment of power into himself before sealing the husk inside his space ring. Overlord followed suit, harvesting the Superior Legends with methodical precision. Their corpses and bloodlines vanished into storage, preserved for the Xaos Kingdom. Devil bloodlines were not just trophies—they were the backbone of power for the soldiers of the Xaos Kingdom. In recent battles, such bloodlines had become painfully rare, especially at Legendary levels. Yet this journey through the Third Layer of Hell had yielded more than anyone could have dared to hope. It was a harvest of strength—bloody, costly, but invaluable. The rıghtful source is 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝙣𝙚𝙩 Still, thoughts of the future had to wait. The present demanded focus. After clearing the battlefield, Vlad and Overlord advanced toward the heart of Sector Three. The castle loomed before them, its walls alive with Devils. All were bound to Orous, directly or indirectly, and all fell as the True Depravita and A.I. Chip Clone marched forward. They made no effort to conceal themselves as they did not have the time to worry about silence. The entire sector trembled with shock. Whispers spread like fire through every stronghold: a mysterious duo had carved through Orous’s forces, cutting a bloody path straight into his keep. Soon, word would ripple across the Third Layer. It was an act of madness—open rebellion against one of Hell’s entrenched powers. But only Vlad and Overlord knew the truth: Orous was already dead. Shattered by Metatron’s final radiance, consumed by the Nightmare Universe. His dominion was leaderless, so there was nothing to worry about. It did not take long to reach their destination. There, deep in the core of the castle, stood the marvel they sought: a colossal portal. It towered over them, vast enough to accommodate an entire army without strain. Its surface shimmered like liquid glass, a masterpiece of the Laws of Space and Time. The sheer wealth and resources required to construct such a gateway were unimaginable. One step through, and they would find themselves inside the Zanis Homeworld—within the forcefield that repelled even the Graecia Empire’s armies. It was a key, a direct passage into the heart of enemy territory. But their eyes did not linger only on the portal. Beside it loomed something even greater—the Infernal Monolith. Unlike the monoliths Vlad had encountered in lesser sectors, this one radiated life. It was no mere battery of power, no simple regulator of Origin Energy. It pulsed with a rhythm of its own, its core resonating with psychic and spiritual authority. This was not a tool—it was the beating heart of the Third Layer’s essence. Vlad and Overlord locked eyes, their expressions sharpening. A single nod passed between them. Without hesitation, Vlad released the four True Depravitas from within his soul and strode forward. His hand pressed against the Monolith, his aura flaring as he bound it to his essence. A shockwave of power tore through him. For a heartbeat, it was overwhelming, threatening to drown his consciousness in its torrent. Then clarity returned, and exhilaration followed. Strength unlike anything he had ever known flooded his veins. The exhaustion of previous battles vanished. The strain of sustaining multiple fused Depravitas evaporated. In its place, there was only boundless vitality. Yet beneath the thrill, a chill of dread crept into his heart. He realized then how dangerous their gamble in Sector Four had been. Had Nebolex called upon his Infernal Monolith during their battle—had his soul not been weakened by the interdimensional summoning—he would have crushed them with ease. Vlad exhaled slowly, steadying himself. The past could not be changed. Only the present mattered. He turned to his allies. Each of the True Depravitas, along with Overlord, had already taken their positions around the Monolith, forming a circle of focus. None of them wasted time. Their intent was not subtle—there was no need for subterfuge now. Together, they began the reckless, ravenous act of consuming the Origin Power of Sector Three itself. The effect was immediate. Thrill and bliss spread across their faces as the Origin Power surged into them, feeding their Depravita Suns and Moons, knitting their wounds, bolstering their strength. Power rippled outward in waves, shaking the castle. Overlord focused differently. While the True Depravitas drew strength to their psychic core, the A.I. Chip Clone concentrated on the architecture of his stolen body. Piece by piece, he rebuilt the Archangel’s frame, reforging it toward its prime. His soul pulsed with coded streams of data, his consciousness layering itself deeper into the vessel. The ground shuddered as Sector Three itself seemed to cry out. Devils across the territory froze in disbelief. They felt it—Origin Power shifting, bending, consumed without restraint. Rumors raced like lightning. Whoever these intruders were, they had seized the Infernal Monolith itself. Such a thing should have been impossible. Only the Sector Master could command it. The conclusion was obvious, yet impossible to accept: Orous had fallen. The disbelief of millions hardened into silence. They waited, refusing to act, telling themselves the impossible truth would be disproven when their Lord returned. But others would not be so paralyzed. In Hell, power abhorred a vacuum. It was only a matter of time before other Devil Lords came to investigate. Vlad ignored the gathering storm. By the time rivals arrived, he and his allies would already be gone. Days passed within the keep of Sector Three. The circle of predators devoured without restraint. Power swelled within them until their veins burned and their bones sang with energy. Freya’s body convulsed, her aura bursting outward in a corona of psychic flame. Her strength surged, her Depravita Sun blazing to life. The others looked on with awe and pride. Another among them had ascended. Hours later, the second breakthrough came. Oroboros’s body erupted with psychic might, his Greed manifesting in radiant force as his Depravita Moon evolved, doubling his power. Vlad’s smile widened. His companions were ascending, their potential blooming. Each success was proof that their path forward was working—that the Xaos Kingdom’s pillars were hardening into unbreakable steel. But triumph never came without cost. Even as celebration stirred, a shadow fell over Vlad’s expression. His senses sharpened, catching whispers at the edge of the sector. Multiple presences were descending upon Sector Three—presences vast and terrible. The other Devil Lords had lost their patience. Orous had not returned. The Origin Power was vanishing. Something had happened, and they were coming to see for themselves. Vlad did not halt the channeling of Origin Power. He could already sense the distant storm—the Devil Lords were on the move. They would march into the sector without a doubt, but Vlad knew the nature of his kind all too well. Paranoia was etched into their very bones. None of them would come charging blindly into Orous’s territory without caution. First, they would circle, searching for signs of a trap or ambush. Others might even suspect this was a ploy by Orous himself—an elaborate ruse to lure them in and devour them whole. Whatever the reason, their suspicion would buy precious time, and Vlad intended to use every heartbeat of it to strengthen himself and his group. He drew deeper upon his soul and psychic might, forcing ever greater torrents of Origin Power into the circle. His companions’ auras swelled higher and higher, each flare shaking the chamber like rolling thunder. Another eruption split the stillness. This time it was Fafnir. The dragon’s form trembled as his Depravita Sun ignited, flooding the room with a tide of destructive desire. His aura sharpened, evolving his path forward, and with his ascension, all five True Depravitas now stood awakened, their suns blazing. The circle was complete. But before the echoes of Fafnir’s breakthrough had even faded, a new blast rocked the chamber. This one was different—deeper, heavier. It was not psychic energy that surged forth but raw vitality and physical might, so intense it shook the very stones of the castle. The power came from Vlad himself. His allies turned to him, awe gleaming in their eyes. They watched as his body shifted, bones reforging, flesh hardening, his frame blazing with violent life force. The True Depravita of Wrath had evolved his body into the Lord Tier! It was a transformation beyond any of the others’ current reach. Not only did it amplify his strength to terrifying new heights, it also meant he could endure the crushing toll of the Depravita Samsara Typhon with far greater ease. His vessel would no longer splinter beneath the storm. Vlad clenched his fists, a radiant smile breaking across his face as he felt the overwhelming power coursing through him. His muscles sang with wrathful energy, his aura blazing like a crimson sun. "Right now," he said, his voice steady and burning with conviction, "even without fusing with Jormungandr, I can face a low-tier Devil Lord without trouble... and maybe even kill them if I play my cards right." The words were not boastful—they were cold, simple truth. Yet even as triumph filled the room, Vlad’s gaze shifted toward the horizon. His sharpened senses caught it first: the ripple of approaching storms, the march of ancient predators closing in. The patience of the Devil Lords had finally run dry. Their suspicion had burned away, and now they came with all their malice, converging on the castle like vultures drawn to carrion. Vlad’s expression hardened. His aura dimmed, not from weakness, but from resolve. The time for feeding was over. The time for war had returned.