Chapter 908: A tomb of a Fallen Primordial God
The True Depravitas, Overlord, and the Nightmare Eye Legends moved at a blistering speed, the terrain beneath them shifting constantly in an endless infernal panorama. Their journey carried them through all manner of sights—but none that could be called beautiful. They crossed rivers of blood that frothed and boiled like crimson seas, passed forests where the "trees" were forged from twisted corpses fused together by infernal flames, and skirted vast, reeking lakes of living flesh that pulsed like diseased organs. These were wonders of Hell, grotesque and typical, reminders of where they walked.
Normally, moving across sectors brought constant problems. Sector Masters were notoriously territorial, and armies often clashed over the smallest provocations. Yet Vlad needed only to flash the parchment marked with the infernal sigil of Devil Lord Nebolex. At its sight, every gate opened, every patrol withdrew, and every fortress bowed. Even the proudest Sector Master dared not challenge a bearer of Nebolex’s seal.
After nine and a half days of relentless travel, they reached their destination: the Fourth Sector of the Third Layer of Hell.
It was staggering in scale, larger than nearly every world Vlad and his companions had ever seen—Valhalla and a handful of unique realms being the exceptions. The very density of Laws here was suffocating in its richness, saturating the air and earth so thoroughly that even an ordinary Devil could cultivate affinities with terrifying ease. The power of this sector tempered existence itself.
What surprised Vlad most, however, was the sense of order. Unlike the savage chaos of lesser sectors, here the roads ran clear, the fortresses stood unmarred, and no shrieking mobs fought openly in the streets. Of course, he knew this was only surface order. In the shadows, the same backstabbing, scheming, and ceaseless killings played out. Hell was Hell. Only here, the brutality was disciplined, hidden beneath layers of control.
There was little time for sightseeing. Almost the moment they entered, a powerful presence approached, and it did not take long for the familiar figure of light with a single blazing eye to appear before them. Amur.
The arrogant Devil who had once thought he could push Vlad around, and nearly lost his head for his trouble.
"So, you came," Amur said, his lone eye gleaming with a mixture of disdain and frustration. The bitterness in his voice was impossible to miss. He had clearly hoped Vlad would refuse Nebolex’s summons, giving him the excuse to unleash his master’s wrath and extract petty revenge. Yet even with those thoughts burning in him, Amur did not dare falter in his duty.
"Follow me," he said curtly. "Lord Nebolex is waiting."
Vlad spared him not a word, only a cold nod, and led his group after the envoy.
The journey did not take long. Soon, a massive fortress loomed before them—a castle forged from black crystal that gleamed like frozen starlight. Its walls did not merely shine; they radiated ancient, cosmic pressure, as though the stones themselves had been harvested from the birth of Hell. The architecture was not just grand—it was primordial.
They passed into the halls, and the group immediately understood the scale. The corridors were so vast that moons could have rolled through them side by side without scraping the walls. Each step echoed for miles, resonating with a sense of eternity.
At last, the gates of the throne room opened.
Even Vlad, who had already slain a Devil Lord once, clenched his fists as his gaze fell upon Nebolex. The difference between this being and the Devil Lord he had killed in the void near the Zanis Homeworld was staggering. That one had been powerful. This one was overwhelming.
Nebolex sat upon his infernal throne like a nightmare incarnate. His body was a grotesque fusion of flesh and writhing appendages, each limb ending in talons that dripped with blood as though they were always rending unseen prey. He hunched forward, impossibly tall, his head crowned with jagged insectoid ridges and horns that jutted at unnatural angles.
His maw stretched wide, filled with serrated teeth glowing like molten steel, exhaling constant waves of sulfurous smoke. Eyes glimmered all across his body—some blinking, some lidless and fixed, all burning with baleful crimson light as they scanned the chamber for weakness. The throne room itself was titanic for one reason: Nebolex had taken the titan’s path, devouring and reshaping his body until he became a gargantuan fortress of flesh and power.
For a moment, the darkness of his aura smothered everything, blotting out the world. Only the infernal fire within his maw gave illumination, a hellish beacon of dominance.
But the True Depravitas and Overlord were not weak. Their minds and souls, sharpened by endless battles, pushed back the suffocating pressure. They forced themselves to breathe evenly, to stand tall, until the weight became bearable.
A flicker of meaning stirred in Nebolex’s myriad eyes. He saw how quickly they had recovered and smiled wider.
"Good. You have arrived—just in time," he rumbled, his voice echoing like an earthquake through the throne room.
He gestured to an empty space beside the throne, a place once reserved for Zialath, now meant for them.
Cautiously, Vlad and his companions stepped forward and took their positions. Only then did they glance around at the others gathered.
Ten teams stood assembled, each led by beings of terrifying might. Yet it was those nearest to Nebolex who drew the Depravitas’ full attention. Their auras burned higher than the Legendary Realm—entities that could only be Devil Lords themselves.
The meaning was clear. This expedition into the Sacred Realm would not be led by underlings, but by Devil Lords in person. That revealed two truths: the enormity of Nebolex’s power, to command such beings to march under his banner, and the staggering importance of the mission.
Until now, the Depravitas had known little beyond the barest rumor: there was a treasure hidden within a sacred dimension. But now, details would be revealed.
Nebolex leaned forward, eyes glowing like coals, his maw splitting wider.
"You all know the basics of your assignment," he said, his words crawling like fire across their minds. "Now, before you march, I will tell you the truth—so that your chances of success are not wasted. The Sacred Realm you are to invade is a tomb."
The throne room darkened further, as though the very mention of its name carried weight.
"A tomb belonging to a Fallen Primordial God."