Chapter 900: Hell’s way
Normally, after a new Sector Master seized control over a domain, they would remain silent for decades—sometimes centuries—consolidating their power, stabilizing their authority, and taking full advantage of their new position before even considering further conquests. Yet, in Sector 76, less than a single week had passed since Loatan’s fall before its entire military might was mobilized for war.
A sector of the Third Layer of Hell was vast beyond mortal comprehension, capable of housing billions of lifeforms. Devils were born killers, their instincts sharpened from birth, but moving such a monstrous host all at once was neither efficient nor necessary.
Instead, Overlord orchestrated a far more effective system: he activated only the strongest tenth of the population, a staggering army of hundreds of millions, while using the mutated Devil Superior Legends—the Nightmare Eye generals—as his direct proxies to command the legions.
The sight of their march was overwhelming. Rivers of black iron and crimson flame swept forward like a tide of annihilation. Yet even so, the truth was that the real strength of this campaign was not in the endless armies below, but in the entities that flew above them.
At the head of the host was Vlad himself, already fused with Jormungandr, the Eye of Gluttony glowing like a radiant star in his forehead. By his side moved Freya, Fafnir, Ouroboros, and Overlord. Behind them followed the seven Nightmare Eye Devil Generals, each trailed by their personal retinues of Legends and Sages.
Loatan had been taken by surprise and isolated, unable to mobilize his armies before Vlad struck him down in a one-on-one duel. But the hierarchy of Sector 53 was stable, fortified, and disciplined. If Vlad were reckless enough to face their Master without preparation, he would be surrounded and torn apart from all sides. This time, the army was not mere ceremony—it was a necessity.
Vlad’s sharp eyes scanned those flying behind him. The Legends and Sages carried themselves with poise and power, their auras blazing like suns. Even he, whose strength rivaled a Lord, allowed himself a soft nod of approval. Below, however, his gaze fell upon the Guardians and High Champions. Their power was negligible in a battlefield dominated by Superior Legends. Whether they lived or died would hardly change the outcome. And yet, it was tradition to bring them.
In Hell, every war was an opportunity for the strong to feast upon the weak. The slaughter of millions generated torrents of psychic energy, a raw tide of rage, fear, and despair. And Vlad’s Red Sun of Wrath fed upon that tide, converting it into endless strength. Their deaths, meaningless as individuals, would fuel his rise.
Pushing aside idle thoughts, Vlad fixed his attention on the coming battle. The Third Layer’s sectors were arranged in a ringlike formation. Sector 76’s direct neighbors were 75 and 74, but beyond them, accessible through a long corridor of territories, was his true target: Sector 53.
It was clear upon approach that Sector 53 was vastly superior to the one he had seized. Towering citadels of obsidian iron loomed like jagged mountains. Rivers of lava flowed with unnatural rhythm, channeled to power colossal furnaces of war. The quality of the ambient energy was sharper, more refined, and the Laws themselves thrummed with greater density. Here the foundation of power was stronger, and the Sector Master had clearly governed with ruthless efficiency.
Vlad frowned as he crossed its borders. At once, he felt the severing of his connection to the Infernal Monolith of Sector 76. Without it, no Origin Force flowed into his veins. The loss was tangible—a gnawing sense of weakness, however temporary. He gritted his teeth, forcing the discomfort aside. What mattered was the aura radiating from deep within Sector 53, an overwhelming force that dominated all around it.
"All the Origin Force of this place belongs to her," Vlad muttered coldly.
The one he referred to revealed herself in the sky.
The Sector Master of 53 was a vision of infernal sovereignty: clad in obsidian-black armor veined with molten light, her body radiated an aura that blended devil and dragon into a single monstrous whole. A vast, blazing halo of flame crowned her from behind, while immense curved horns jutted from her skull. Four jagged wings spread wide, each feather a blade of fire, while in her hands burned two greatswords forged of steel and living flame. A serpentine tail lashed behind her with lethal menace, and at her chest pulsed a molten core of light, the heart of her infernal essence, glowing like a dying star.
"Zialath... Queen of Hellfire," Vlad uttered her name with icy certainty.
Her troops, millions strong, roared beneath her, ready to clash with the invaders. Yet it was she alone who radiated the true terror of this sector. A sovereign who had ruled unchallenged, her stance was one of utter command.
Vlad’s eyes blazed. The Laws of Space, Life, and Lightning erupted from his body, intertwining with wrathful energy. His sword roared, vomiting torrents of dark fire infused with the Law of Death itself. Without hesitation, he surged forward, the Legends and Sages following like a tidal wave.
Zialath’s burning gaze narrowed as she took in his momentum. A pretender, barely risen, dared to march into her domain and challenge her supremacy? She would annihilate him before his forces could even settle. Her wings ignited, and she advanced, her Legendaries and Sages streaking behind her.
Their clash shook the sky.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!"
A cataclysm of dark and brilliant flames exploded outward, consuming the sky. Vlad’s flames embodied death, cold and devouring, while Zialath’s radiated heat, a primal blaze that suffocated like a collapsing sun. The impact of their collision could have erased entire continents, yet Hell endured, its monstrous Laws unshaken.
Vlad clenched his teeth as he met her blows. The sheer pressure of her heat threatened to suffocate him, his skin blistering under her aura. Yet he refused to yield. The Eye of Gluttony burned bright on his forehead, devouring the energy around them, feeding it back into his body. His muscles bulged, and with a roar he forced Zialath back.
Her eyes glowed, sharp with recognition of his strength, but she did not falter. Her flaming swords moved in flawless patterns, stabbing and slashing in a pincer rhythm designed to overwhelm even the mightiest of foes. Their blades collided faster and faster, flooding the battlefield with storm after storm of black and golden fire.
And beneath their duel, Hell itself descended into carnage.
The armies collided in waves of slaughter. Devils butchered each other with savage glee, their howls echoing through rivers of blood. The earth split beneath the fury of their war, and psychic energy surged like a storm cloud overhead, feeding the Red Sun of Wrath as it devoured every scream, every drop of agony, every soul torn apart.
This was Hell’s way.