Chapter 925: Reaching the core of the citadel
The forces of Sector Four of the Third Layer of Hell, led by the True Depravita of Wrath, found themselves before a chamber eerily similar to the one Orous and the Devils of Sector Three had entered. Fortune, if such a word could apply in this nightmare citadel, had been on their side.
Most of the phantoms that haunted this place had already been obliterated by the searing radiance of the Archangel who had passed through before them. Even so, the chamber remained perilous. A fraction of the mutilated phantoms survived, and that fraction alone was more than enough to test the strength and sanity of any Devil.
The phantoms were creatures of pure torment, their spectral bodies twisted beyond recognition. They could conceal themselves perfectly from the senses of most Devils, and any contact with them unleashed waves of unbearable agony. It was not physical pain alone but a psychic invasion—each phantom forced its prey to relive centuries of torture, dragging minds into the endless pit of its own suffering. Many of the Legendary Devils shuddered as phantom claws grazed them, their souls quaking under the weight of shared torment.
Yet while the rank-and-file Devils recoiled in horror, the True Depravitas smiled.
Vlad moved first. One instant, his blade slashed through empty air, and the next it pierced deep into the chest of a phantom no one else could see. The Laws of Space, Death, and Lightning flowed through his sword, unraveling the creature’s spiritual essence.
For the Legendary Devils it was nearly impossible to locate their enemies, but Vlad and his companions had no such trouble. The True Depravitas needed only to focus on the waves of hatred, despair, and sorrow radiating from these broken spirits, and they could find them anywhere.
The phantom did not fall at once. Even as its body cracked under Vlad’s assault, its spectral hand lashed forward and pierced his torso, flooding him with psychic venom meant to drown his mind in agony. Instead of horror, Vlad’s smile widened. The pain seared his flesh, but the psychic assault only fed the Red Sun of Wrath within him. The phantom’s torment was consumed, transmuted into power, fueling his essence. With a twist of his blade, he shattered the phantom entirely, devouring the fragments as they dissolved.
One after another, the mutilated phantoms fell. The Depravitas cut through them with efficiency and hunger, consuming every fragment of pain and despair. By the time the last spirit was broken, silence returned to the chamber.
The Legendary Devils stared in confusion and dread. They had fought the same enemies and nearly succumbed, yet the True Depravitas devoured them as though they were a feast laid upon a table. What made these beings so different? What secret power set them apart? The questions burned, but fear kept them silent.
Before they could dwell on their unease, Vlad raised his hand. An invisible force gripped five badly wounded Devils and dragged them before him. Their bodies shook with terror, their eyes pleading toward the Sector Masters for salvation. But no one moved.
In Hell, weakness was a sin. No one would save you if you could not defend yourself.
The Eye of Gluttony opened upon Vlad’s forehead, glowing with insatiable hunger. Screams tore through the chamber as the five Devils writhed, their life and souls stripped from their bodies, devoured utterly. Their memories and experiences bled into Vlad, feeding his Red Sun of Wrath. Piece by piece, the puzzle of the Zanis–Hell Portal grew clearer in his mind.
The rest of the Devils lowered their gazes. None dared speak. The fate of the weak was sealed, and all knew more would share it before this journey ended.
"Let’s go," Vlad ordered, his tone cold and absolute.
The forces of Sector Four obeyed.
The deeper they traveled, the clearer it became: this citadel was perfectly suited to the Depravitas. Every corridor dripped with darkness and psychic corruption. Every chamber oozed despair and madness. For Vlad and his kind, it was paradise. Every twisted horror they encountered was fuel, every nightmare a banquet.
For the Legendary Devils, however, each step was doom. Their faces grew more solemn as they realized how expendable they had become. Already, too many of their comrades had been consumed. With dangers increasing at every turn, how many of them would survive to see the tomb?
The truth pressed upon them like chains: there was no way back. Even if they begged for retreat, neither Vlad nor the Devil Lords would permit it. And even if they tried, the swarms of mutated beasts circling the outer citadel would tear them apart. Their only choice was to march forward into the abyss.
Following the Archangel’s trail, the group advanced through hall after hall, chamber after chamber, each more twisted than the last.
What had once been a holy sanctuary was now warped into a nightmare. The True Depravita of Wrath encountered truly horrifying sights.
A chamber of prayer, its altars soaked in rivers of blood. The holy hymns carved into the walls had been defiled, reshaped into ritual chants, birthing Blood Nightmares that wailed like broken choirs.
A library of sacred scripture, every book rewritten in gore, every page a writhing skin-bound text. From its shelves rose Inkbound Horrors, their bodies made of parchment and veins, shrieking fragments of forgotten prayers.
A baptismal hall, where water once blessed the faithful. Now it frothed with crimson ichor, birthing Drowned Martyrs—figures bloated and chained, forever gasping for air as they dragged intruders into the depths.
A cloister of silence, where a priest had once meditated. Now it birthed endless echoes of screams, forging Echo Wraiths, spirits that tore minds apart with unending sound.
The deeper they pressed, the clearer the pattern became. This citadel had once been a divine place. But something extremely dark and evil had twisted its sanctity into perpetual torment.
Vlad noted every detail, but he did not allow himself to be distracted. At every step he seized treasures, drained resources, and consumed the weak, carving a path of growth and preparation. His mind never strayed from the greater goal: survival against the Archangel, and the pursuit of the Zanis–Hell Portal.
Weeks passed in this grim march. Day after day, chamber after chamber, they fought, bled, and devoured. Many Legendary Devils perished. Those who survived were hardened but hollow-eyed, their numbers dwindling with each battle, and their hope of surviving this place faded.
At last, after more than a month of travel, the labyrinth shifted. The endless maze of halls and nightmare chambers ended. Before them lay a vast circle, etched into the very bedrock of the citadel.
Here the radiation of Laws was clearer, purer, heavier than anywhere else. It pressed upon their bodies, seeping into their bones, making them tremble. The air itself seemed to pulse with divine corruption and primordial agony that knew no end.
Vlad’s lips curved into a smile as he inspected himself and his allies. He and the other True Depravitas had feasted on horrors, grown stronger with every step.
But then his smile faded.
Something stirred.
Vlad’s eyes narrowed as he raised his hand, halting the entire force, not daring to press forward.