Devourer-Chapter 231: New Angle of Attack

Regari walked through the opulent halls of the palace. His eyes were bugging out of their sockets at the sheer luxury on display. The walls, forged from obsidian and streaked with veins of molten gold, pulsed faintly as if alive with the anger of a thousand battles. Towering pillars, carved from crimson stone, reached high into a ceiling lost in shadow, their surfaces etched with violent depictions of past wars and brutal victories.

Braziers lined the corridors, their flames burning not with ordinary fire, but with seething, blood-red embers. The air itself was thick with the scent of smoldering metal and something darker, something that stirred the wrath deep in Regari’s core. The air itself seemed to make him angry like a nagging fire in the back of his mind

Massive banners of scarlet and black hung from the towering walls, each emblazoned with sigils. Regari had never seen anything like it. Every inch of the Wrath Palace pulsed with violent majesty, a temple to rage itself. And he had barely crossed the threshold.

Beyond the entrance, the palace stretched into an expanse of chambers and corridors, each more imposing than the last. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming, vast halls flanked by monstrous statues, their stone-carved faces twisted in expressions rage. Some clutched weapons of jagged iron, frozen mid-swing, while others loomed with clawed hands outstretched as if ready to seize intruders. Their eyes, inlaid with glimmering rubies, glowed faintly in the dim firelight.

Regari had never seen such grandeur, and for a moment, his mind reeled at the contrast between this place and the life he had once known. The palace was a towering monument to conquest and violence.

He had spent years shivering in the cold, his body little more than skin stretched over brittle bones, his stomach a hollow pit that ached without mercy. He had feared even the flames fo worth lest someone stronger take what little he had. His shelter had been scraps of cloth, damp and rotting. He had fought for every crust of bread, every drop of water, every moment of survival, while the world turned away, uncaring, merciless.

But here, the very walls pulsed with power. The floors shone like polished glass, reflecting him back in a distorted vision of fire and shadow. The warmth in the air was not the bitter heat of crowded streets or the stinging burn of sun-scorched stone; it was alive, thick with the essence of fury itself.

As he passed beneath a vaulted archway, its structure forged from fused swords, their serrated edges still dark with ancient blood, he felt the weight of something pressing into his bones. A deep, rhythmic thrum vibrated through the stone, reverberating in his chest like the distant pounding of war drums.

Ahead, a colossal door barred his path, its surface wrought from interwoven chains of blackened iron. Upon it, a single symbol was emblazoned, one he recognized instinctively, though he had never seen it before. The mark of Wrath. It pulsed with an eerie, internal glow, as though it was alive, as though it knew him.

“Like what you see?” the Great Beast rumbled and Regari instinctively flinced. He turned to look up at the Great Beast and felt that familiar thrill of fear crawl up his spine.

“You get all this shit when you have power, if you don’t have it you die in the dirt.” the Great Beast replied with a low laugh, and Regari just mutely nodded.

Regari quietly followed closely behind as he watched how the other demons reacted. Before he came here, Regari was not sure how he would personally be treated. Maybe he would be seen as some kind of servant but when he looked to some of the champions of Hell he saw fear. He saw fear even when they look at him? If they wanted to they could kill him with thier bare hands but here they were trembling at the sight of him.

“Power cast’s a long shadow young one.” the Crowfather said amiably from the side as if reading his mind.

“How do you do that? Are you using magic?” Regari muttered.

The Crowfather merely laughed in response before giving him a reply, “No, magic is not necessary. I have merely lived long enough to deduce such things.”

“Still think its magic…” Regari muttered, and at those words, the Crowfather gave him another light-hearted laugh.

As Regari followed the Great Beast into the throne room he balked at the sight of four Daemon Princes standing in line, their heads bowed ever so slightly. Even from here, Regari noted that it seems like a highly unnatural posture for them.

“Ah a new addition to my collection.” the Great Beast rumbled as he gazed down at Leviathan.

“This is what I do enjoy about you demons, you are far from stubborn unlike the angels, and you know what is best for you.” the Great Beast said as he leaned down, his stinking blood scented breathe coating them like a miasma. Regari saw all of them wrinkle their noses ever so slightly but they remained silent.

“So shall we begin?” the Great Beast asked and the four Daemon Princes nodded.

Regari followed the group into a large hall that has been repurposed into a meeting room. In the centre of the opulent room was a massive table and the around it was a small army of adjutants, specialists and tacticians.

Regari saw bill boards flooded with maps and lists labeled with titles like “Tithe Schedule”, “Deserter Execution List” and “Logistics Schedule”, by the seven hells did Regari hate logistics.

Just from a cursory glance the amount of planning required for what was to come was immense. The forces of hell placed a high priority on shock and awe tactics. Every army in the seven rings prioritised the ability to dish out a high amount of damage quickly and also to absorb such a strike.

Regari was not well versed in this topic to any stretch of the imagination but the Crowfather has been making strides in ensuring that he had an adequate education.

In his words, “weak of mind, weak of body.”

The reason behind this doctrine amongst the rings was that unlike heaven which was one giant cohesive world, hell was split into rings. The World Gates acted as natural chokepoints. Thus, any attack between the rings needs to emerge from a World Gate. This means that each gate was effectively a perilous choke point.

Beelzebub approached the table and with a wave of her hand, a projection appeared showing a battlefield.

As you can see the battles have already begun

Even now our forces are battling against the forces of Pride…

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.♚.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Rol knelt in his trench as a hellfire blast flew over head. The forces of Pride were pouring through the gate. It seems Lucifer wanted Lust to fall quickly. Rol himself served Gluttony and Lady Beelzebub, but she has sent some of her own troops to reinforce the Lust-Pride Border.

Now Rol was kneeling in a trench with a hellfire rifle in one hand and his trusty sword on his hip as the forces of Pride threw everything they had at this defensive line.

The fortifications of the Lust Ring were built to withstand the wrath of any invading force, even the might of Pride. The first line of defense was a vast trench network, dug deep and reinforced with obsidian-laced walls to absorb hellfire blasts. Spiked barricades lined the edges, enchanted to impale and hold any who fell into them, their writhing bodies left as grim warnings to those who followed.

Beyond the trenches, a thick maze of bunkers with overlapping fields of fire jutted out like black grave stones. Even now their specialised weapons spat burst of hell fire bolts into the mass of soldiers charging through the worldgate.

Further back, great towers of dark stone rose above the battlefield, their tops manned by elite marksmen wielding cursed rifles and arcane ballistae. Between the towers were raised platforms covered in artillery emplacements. They rained hell onto the battlefield below, with their guns and mages having all presighted designated firing zones.

The initial push had failed. The forces of Pride were now trapped in a brutal battle of attrition, their advance slowed to a crawl.

The trenches still held, their spiked barricades and cursed walls stained with the blood of countless attackers. The maze of bone and obsidian had done its job, splitting squads apart and leaving them easy prey for Lust’s defenders. The pits and shifting ground continued to claim victims, dragging armored warriors into the abyss.

Pride’s mages struggled to keep their barriers intact, their energy drained by the constant bombardment of Lust’s magic. Without full protection, their soldiers were exposed to relentless counterattacks and deadly traps. Yet, despite their losses, they continued to press forward.

Rol peaked his head over the top of the trench the moment there was a lapse of fire and he looked ahead into what has been affectionally called the death trench. It was a cheaply made decoy trench, filled with undesireables, prisoners and slaves. They were there to draw in the enemy, and the trench Rol was in had perfect vision into the trench. The death trench would bog down the enemy and the trench Rol was in will kill everything in it. If a slave, undersireable, or prisoner somehow survived. They would be given their freedom, but most don’t survive for obvious reasons.

The trench below was a swarming melee of desperate souls. Rol raised his rifle and pointed it at the swarming mass. No need to aim, he pulled the trigger and a burst of red crackling energy bolts shot into trench. His bolts hit a Pride knight and a nearby slave. The Pride Knight staggered but his armour held. The slave on the other hand had his torso blown open from the bolt. The entire trench he was in opened up with their own bursts and soon the entire lower trench was covered in red energy bolts. The knight from before took a few dozen hits before collapsing under the weight. From above the trench Pride soldiers returned fire, and Rol ducked down just as a well aimed shot wizzed over his head.

Next to him he saw one unlucky Lust conscript not duck fast enough as the bolt slammed into his face. His head exploded as he crumped to the ground.

Rol growled as he peaked over the trench just in time to see a red bolt go straight towards his head…

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.♚.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

I looked down at the table as Beelzebub droned on. The meeting has been going on for hours. It seems Pride was starting to break through into Lust. Asmodeus was nervous to say the least. The first line has taken a massive beating, and estimates showed it would last maybe two days more. This means that it won’t be long before all out war breaks out.

The plan now was simple, Beelzebub and Asmodeus would try to hold best they could. In the mean time I would take my hive and throw everything I had into linking up with Beelzebub and Asmodeus’s forces. If we don’t make it in time, then this was going to be a long war…

Pride has the strongest military by far, Wrath comes second but in a straight fight, Pride would still win. Lucifer has hoarded most of the old relics of the old World and he has yet to use any of them.

Even without them and using conventional means, Asmodeus’s defences were buckling under the strain.

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“What about the relics? What does Lucifer have?” I asked I as I turned to Satan who merely grimaced at the question.

“When we split, he made sure that information was taken out.” Satan growled.

I laughed at those words and expected as much. If I could do that, I definitely would. It seems Satan is the lesser half of Lucifer.

“So what do we do?” the Crowfather asked from his seat at the table.

I leaned back slightly and lightly tapped one of my blades on my side. Infiltration is an option but honestly I am not confident it won’t go undetected. I could send Mahaila but then Cecilia is unguarded so I can’t have that.

I could still try with my hive forces and at the very least it would cause Lucifer to waste resources on defending from my insurgents…

Or I could poke the bear…

Yes that could work, but depending on how I do this, I might start another war on Terra…

Alright fuck it, let’s pop the question.

“By the way, where are the World Gates for Lust and Gluttony?” I asked as I turned to face Asmodeus and Beelzebub.

Vulpus Maxima and the Elven Forest