Chapter 899: Devouring the lifeblood of Hell
Wide smiles appeared on the faces of the True Depravitas as they followed Vlad’s gaze, circling around the towering Infernal Monolith. Its obsidian surface pulsed faintly with veins of crimson energy, as though the sector’s very lifeblood was caged inside it. Overlord cast one last glance at the seven mutated Devils he had reshaped with the Nightmare Eyes and gave a silent command.
At once, they obeyed, leaving the castle to stand guard and patrol the surroundings like loyal hounds. Only after the halls were empty did he rejoin the group beside the Monolith.
Vlad took a deep breath, his eyes glowing faintly as he began the delicate, dangerous work of siphoning Origin Force. He extracted it forcibly yet carefully, drawing more and more into himself before guiding streams of that power into the other True Depravitas and Overlord. Every motion was measured. He dared not make the Monolith react violently or alert the rest of the Sector to what was happening.
This act was no small crime. Draining Origin Force in such quantities would cripple the sector’s future. Its foundation, the very cycle of growth for every Devil born within it, would wither. In centuries to come this place would become barren—a desert of ruined cultivation where no devil could rise beyond mediocrity. Of course, the local Devils would eventually notice the decay, but by that time Vlad and his allies would be long gone, their mission in the Third Circle of Hell completed. The wrath of a crippled sector was irrelevant.
Expressions of bliss flickered across the faces of the Depravitas as they guided the golden, molten-like current into their Soul Dimensions. None of them wasted it by swelling their raw energy pools or soul force directly. Those could be nurtured by countless methods. No—the Origin Force of Hell was too pure, too rare. They fed it to the core of their existence.
Vlad drew it into his Red Sun of Wrath, every particle transforming into psychic might wreathed in hatred. Strengthening his Red Sun carried holistic benefits. The stronger it grew, the more devastating his Seal of Sin became, the more his Depravita Abilities surged, the more his Soul Dimension expanded, and the more his body itself—an extension of that Sun—was reforged in power and resilience.
Freya, Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir did the same, channeling the Origin Force into their Depravita Moons. Each of them longed to awaken their own Depravita Sun, a transformation that would exponentially increase their strength and make their fusion with Vlad unstoppable. The hunger in their eyes was unmistakable.
Overlord, being no True Depravita, handled the Origin Force differently. Instead of body or soul, he funneled it directly into his core consciousness, where his primordial A.I. code lay. The golden current seeped into his logic-mind, strengthening his cognitive abilities, heightening his intelligence, accelerating his thought speed, and sharpening his capacity for wisdom. While others cultivated strength, Overlord cultivated a mind that could out-think the universe itself.
For five relentless days, Vlad stole the sector’s lifeblood. Origin Force poured into them in torrents, fueling transformations greater than what five centuries of patient cultivation could have offered in the outside world. By the time Vlad finally released the flow, their eyes glowed with new sharpness. Their strength had not leapt into a new realm entirely, but each of them had advanced in a way that ordinary methods could never replicate.
The cost, however, was catastrophic. The quantity of Origin Force they had drained was more than a small world could provide across its entire lifespan. It would take this sector half a millennium to recover, if it ever did. For now, the damage remained hidden, a wound concealed beneath the skin, but in decades to come this land would be a hollow desert. The Depravitas did not care. They smiled at each other knowingly. Hell was meant to be devoured, and they had no pity for the Devils it spawned.
Their smiles faded quickly as memory of their mission returned. Vlad’s eyes blazed with renewed wrath as he clenched his fist, feeling power ready to explode outward.
"I have claimed a Sector. I have established a foothold," he said, his voice steady, each word carrying the weight of iron will. "Now it is time to expand, and march toward the core of the Third Layer."
He was right. A single sector was not enough. To discover the hidden portal to the Zanis Homeworld, they would need leverage. Information of that magnitude would be hoarded by Devil Lords, not lesser fiends. According to Overlord’s plan, the only way forward was conquest—expand their territory, rise in political standing, and build an army strong enough to interact with the true powers ruling this layer of Hell.
"I will mobilize the army immediately," Overlord said, rising from his kneeling posture. His eyes glowed faintly with mechanical wisdom, the cold efficiency of a mind sharper than any blade. The Depravitas, powerful as they were, could not help but feel like schoolchildren beneath that gaze.
The sector the True Depravita of Wrath had claimed bore the name Sector 76. Hell’s Devils were brutally pragmatic, and their naming system reflected it. No elaborate titles, no empty epithets—just numbers. There were eighty-one Sectors in the Third Layer, and the lower the number, the higher the standing. Sector 81 was the bottom of the pit, the weakest, the lowest in the hierarchy. Sector 1 was the throne, the strongest bastion of power.
It had taken Loatan tens of thousands of years to claw his way from 81 to 76. Vlad did not intend to waste even a fraction of that time. He had no patience for the lateral squabbles of Devils—skirmishing with equals, rising step by step. His plan was audacious, almost insane.
He would strike upward.
Not at Sector 75. Not even 74. His gaze burned with hunger as Overlord’s strategies unfolded in his mind. Together with his True Depravitas and their Nightmare Eyes Devil, the True Depravita of Wrath would march his army toward Sector 53.