Chapter 395: Vanguards of Hell

The sky resounded with the grinding of twisted matter. A colossal warship emerged from the ever-expanding Hellgate, an airborne dreadnought wrought in the forges of Hell. Its hull was the color of scorched rust, streaked with black, and upon either flank clung two pairs of folded bat-like wings.

As the vessel crossed from the infernal plane into the material plane, its wings unfurled. The sound that split the heavens came not from lifeless metal, but from the groaning bones of the living bat wings fused into the ship’s very body.

Tattered wings beat the air, riddled with holes, scattering sparks of fire in their wake. No laws of aerodynamics would support a vessel of this size and make, and yet the hellish dreadnought continued ever closer to the heart of the Isle of Dragons.

Armies continued to pour out of the Hellgate—legions upon legions of demons, far surpassing what had once appeared in the capital in scale.

At the forefront came the infernal worms, the lowest of Hell’s infantry. These massive creatures hurled themselves through the gate, burrowing into the earth and leaving ridges and fissures in their wake as they tunneled toward the island’s core.

Next surged the infernal fiends, stronger evolutions of the lesser breed, now the vanguard of the attack. Shoulder to shoulder with the worms, they drove forward in packs, charging at the isle’s heart and clearing the path for the ponderous dreadnought.

Hell’s legions were wide and varied in number. From the gate poured wave after wave of more advanced troops: aerial predators and ranged destroyers.

Darkened skies filled with the beating of leathery wings. They were creatures not unlike gargoyles, though marked with the unmistakable traits of bats. These were infernal firebats, their claws glowing with molten flame. Countless fireballs coalesced between their talons, ready to be loosed as burning rays or hurled as meteors of destruction.

Among their swarms glided beings far stranger—great brain demons, floating monstrosities resembling colossal, exposed brains. Their eyes and limbs were hidden within folds of gray matter, and from beneath their bodies dangled dense, swollen tendrils like grotesque brainstems.

Fragile though they appeared, they were engines of wizardry. Their bizarre physiology granted them mental power far beyond imagination, enabling them to bend matter with will alone and to ravage the minds of other beings.

Though their flesh was weak, each great brain was encased in layers of arcane shields and psychic barriers. To harm one, an attacker would first need to pierce those defenses—while weathering the blinding storm of firebat swarms.

And there were more. Some brain demons were clad in a shell of hell-forged iron, upon which stood robed figures, their crimson garments traced with gold, their backs pierced by grotesque protrusions that tore through the cloth. Their presence was unmistakable: they were spell devourers.

Edward had once faced their lesser kind,hell-summoners. These, however, were purebred—casters born of Hell itself, who had instinctive mastery of summoning and countermagic. The great Hellgate itself was sustained by their power.

On the far side of the portal, countless spell devourers anchored the rift against the material plane’s rejection. Those who crossed over divided their roles. Half maintaining the gate on this side. Half served as battlefield sorcerers, wielding Hell’s unique arsenal of spells.

Still the flood did not cease. Grotesque demons spilled forth, their sheer numbers already transforming the land. In the wake of the gate, the world bent toward Hell: magma surged from ruptured ground, sulfurous fumes spread, and the very air grew hot, empowering the hellspawn to fight unhindered upon the material plane.

“Enemies? Why would the demons appear here, now? Look—they’re headed toward the Isle of Dragons. What are they planning?”

Confusion rippled through Skyborne City’s forces. In the alchemical vessels below, captains and commanders frantically called for order across their magitech comms.

“For now, we’ll hold back. Our target is the abyssal spawn. If the reports are true, if such a creature truly exists, then even a host of infernal lords would be the lesser threat.”

The voice over the channel was cold, decisive. “You who have not faced abyssal creatures may not understand. But heed me: when such a being appears, there is only one choice. Abandon all else. Destroy it first.”

So spoke Astartes, quelling all doubt. Skyborne City would not engage the hellspawn.

“These are allies,” came Wang Yu’s voice, steady yet touched with awe. “The very same silver dragon who gave you intelligence brought them—aid, from Hell itself. I wouldn’t have expected her to manage such a feat.”

It had all been thanks to Aurelian. Through the Prayer Network, she had reached Sieg and the others and was overjoyed to find them safe. Then she revealed the truth: she had gone into Hell and returned with an army. Not even the Lady of the Night had known her plan.

Just as Wang Yu and the others had not imagined it possible to bring allies from that most hostile of planes, neither had Aurelian imagined an ally as powerful as Skyborne City would join the struggle to slay the abyssal monstrosity known as Milos.

“Allies, then. Truly good news,” came Icarus’s reply. “These interplanar beings are something the Abyss has little experience fighting. It will take the abyssal creature time to adapt. Let the demons form our vanguard. We’ll flank and provide supporting fire.”

The order spread through his ranks. Already, dossiers on abyssal creatures had been distributed to every combatant. All knew that the mere existence of such things was a catastrophe for mortal minds.

On the alchemical vessel in the lead, Wang Yu stood on deck as he watched the infernal legions clash with dragons along the shore. Beside him, Avia swiftly sorted through the instruments she would require with the help of her Perfect Fractal lens.

“Everything is prepared,” she said at last, turning to him. “Now is the best time to strike. Once Milos emerges, the shockwaves from the fight alone will make it impossible for us to draw near. We need to slip through while both sides are distracted by the demons.”

She had readied everything—even what he might have forgotten. For Wang Yu, all he had to do was keep his bloodpool at full capacity.

“I trust you,” he answered simply. “Then let’s move. Lady Darkness, we’re counting on you.”

Avia’s strategic mind was something he could hardly hope to match—and so he didn’t even bother trying. He was a warrior, not a strategist; that role had always been filled by Avia or Charles.

The Lady of the Night’s voice brushed through his mind like velvet shadow. “Leave it to me.”

Her power seeped from his door, cloaking him in black mist.

He lifted Avia onto his back and leapt from the ship. In mid-air, their forms vanished within a shadowy veil. Not even a splash betrayed them as they touched the sea.

Wang Yu entered the battlefield—but his task was one no other could know. It was enough that a few trusted friends understood. Let all others think that Wang Yu had withdrawn from the hunt for the abyssal horror out of a cowardly desire to survive.

“Where lies the target you spoke of? These dragons are troublesome, yes, but hardly worth the price of Bodhan’s sacrifice. That ancient dragon gave up everything to secure my aid. If the threat is only of this magnitude, then I must pity him for the bargain.”

Upon the broad deck of the infernal dreadnought stood scores of armored soldiers, skin the color of burning embers, horns jutting from their brows. They looked brutish, but were far from common fodder. These were no base fiends.

Each was born to the lineage of high demons and possessed human-like cunning, innate command of fire magic, and a body wrought for battle. In the savage crucible of Hell, such creatures were destined to climb high and far.

For the moment, all of them bore the same title: they were soldiers of the legion commanded by the infernal lord to whom Aurelian had appealed.

The towering projection of that infernal sovereign loomed before her, conversing with the silver dragon now clad in a human guise. Overhead, the dragons of the isle swooped down upon the newly arrived demons. Their titanic power smashed entire advance battalions into ruin within moments.

The infernal lord, however, remained unmoved. In Hell, the slaughters were harsher still. Losing an army was no calamity—only the prelude to raising another.

“You will see. It waits there.”

Aurelian’s reply was chill and spare. She lifted a pale hand as she pointed into the distance.

“Let it be so. Esteban, open fire!”

The infernal lord’s projection gave a curt nod, then issued a command.

The deck beneath Aurelian’s feet quaked. Esteban was the name of his warship. It was no mere vessel, but rather a living thing: a titanic demon clad in the guise of a ship, its hull nothing more than armor encasing its true form.

And now, that titan was stirring.

A bass roar rolled across the deck as great chains split open. The ship’s structure shifted. Twin molten horns that jutted from the prow drew inward, sliding toward the vessel’s core, ghostly chains shimmering along their length. At the prow’s yawning maw, a massive pillar of blazing crimson began to coalesce, glowing like iron fresh from the forge.

In its awakened form, Esteban was revealed not as a ship, but a living siege engine—a demonic titan wielding its own armor as a colossal ballista.

The deck shuddered. Light burst from the prow as the forward momentum of the warship was arrested by the recoil in an instant. A torrent of searing crimson energy ripped across the sky, tearing a blazing path straight toward the heart of the Isle of Dragons.

Flames towered skyward, mountains were sundered, and the earth itself quaked. The war began to unfold in full.

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