CHAPTER 974: IMPERIUM

The Demon Lord’s eyes widened the instant he heard that thunderous voice. The miniature sun of annihilation he had hurled toward the battlefield was pierced mid-flight by a streaking spear of golden light. The orb shattered, scattering its infernal fire across the crimson sky.

For a single, silent moment, time seemed to halt.

Then, through the burning clouds, a figure descended.

He fell like a fallen star, his motion graceful yet terrifying. Six vast wings of dark plasma unfurled from his back, each feather shimmering with the light of collapsing galaxies. Black armor covered every inch of his body, etched with shifting runes that pulsed like living veins of darkness. The aura radiating from him seemed to embody the essence of Hell.

To those watching, it felt as though reality itself had become a chessboard, and this being moved the pieces with absolute control.

The difference in their size was absurd. The Demon Lord was a walking continent of obsidian and flame, his shadow stretching for miles, while the newcomer seemed no larger than a man. Yet it was the mountain that trembled.

The Demon Lord felt his core constrict. The power that lingered in the wake of that spear was unlike anything he had ever faced. Had it been aimed at him, he doubted even his vast strength could have deflected it.

"I am Akarus, Lord of the Abyssal Realms, sovereign over the Layer one to Sixty-Seventh," the giant bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder through the ruined plains. "Why does a Lord of Hell dare trespass upon my dominion?"

The six-winged being hovered in silence for a heartbeat before answering. His voice was calm, deep, and layered with mechanical undertones.

"I am Imperium," he said. "And I have no interest in you. My purpose here is simple: to train my soldiers—pitting them against your kind, as the ancient accords dictate. The strong shall rise, the weak shall perish. That is the balance between our realms."

As he spoke, the temperature dropped. The wind itself seemed to bow before him.

Then, Overlord raised his hand slightly, and the sky rippled like water under his aura, hundreds of golden portals manifesting.

"However," he continued, his tone turning to steel, "if you dare interfere again—if you break the old laws of blood and trial—I will tear your soul from your body and scatter it across the void."

The weight of those words shook even the Demon Lord.

Akarus clenched his fists, his molten veins pulsing with fury. His demonic instincts screamed for him to fight—to rend this insolent Lord limb from limb. But even his rage could not drown out the truth. The being before him was beyond dangerous. His aura was disciplined and absolute.

After a long silence filled only by the hiss of molten rock, Akarus released a snarl and turned away. His titanic form receded into the mountains, vanishing into the depths of the Abyss.

He would not risk his life for an army of lesser demons he had already planned to erase for their weakness.

Only when Akarus’s presence vanished completely did Imperium allow his energy to settle. His wings folded inward, and his gaze swept across the battlefield below.

He understood the delicate balance of this realm. Armies of Hell marching into the Abyss—and vice versa—was not unusual. It was an ancient ritual between the two infernal powers: a brutal exchange that weeded out the weak and sharpened the strong. It benefited both sides and maintained the equilibrium of destruction.

But if he personally intervened, that balance would collapse. Even with all his power, he could not afford to provoke the full wrath of the Abyss. He still remembered his last excursion, when he had ventured into these realms to harvest essence for Terra’s evolution—and barely escaped alive, almost losing a limb in the process.

Overlord, calculating as ever, knew better than to tempt fate twice.

With a final nod toward his army, he dissolved into streams of light and vanished.

On the battlefield below, chaos reigned.

The demon army was paralyzed—shocked by the sight of their Lord’s retreat and the divine annihilation that had nearly destroyed them all. They had never seen such power, nor such humiliation.

The Xaos Legion, on the other hand, had been waiting for this moment.

The instant Overlord vanished, the Nightmare Knights struck.

They moved like thunder and shadow, surging across the plains with renewed fury. Their formation tightened, their aura burned brighter, and in seconds the battlefield became a sea of flames. The stunned demons barely managed to raise their weapons before they were cut down by the merciless onslaught.

Minute by minute, the storm of war intensified.

The air filled with screams and the sound of metal clashing against bone. Demons were known for their endurance, but even they were reaching their limits. The ground beneath their feet had turned into molten rivers, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

The warriors of the Xaos Kingdom, however, remained resolute. Their movements were sharp and methodical, their attacks relentless. Wounds were inevitable—some suffered shattered armor, others torn organs—but the Nightmare Knights refused to fall.

Their physiology had been enhanced beyond the limits of humanity. So long as their hearts beat and their brains remained intact, they would rise again. They were soldiers not of flesh, but of will and machinery—a fusion of science and Depravita essence.

Four and a half hours later, silence fell over the battlefield.

The once-mighty Abyssal army—led by more than a dozen Legendary Demons, including several High Legends—lay in ruin. Bodies carpeted the scorched ground, rivers of black blood glimmering in the firelight.

Grand Marshal Anglius’s body trembled with exhaustion. His chest burned with pain, and yet a wild smile curved his lips.

Before him knelt his prize: the colossal High Legendary Demon he had fought since the beginning of the battle. Now it was bound in golden chains, its body sealed and its soul suppressed.

Gasps and murmurs of awe spread among the Xaos soldiers. Capturing a Legendary Demon alive was a feat few could claim. Killing one was difficult enough—but binding one was much more challenging.

Nearby, the Royal Guards and Bloodline Knights had completed their duels. Of the dozens of demon legends they faced, only two had been captured alive. The rest had been slain, as the warriors were incapable of neutralizing them without killing them.

Anglius slung the massive demon over his shoulder, grim determination in his glowing eyes. The extraction ritual—wherein the demon’s soul would be harvested and transformed into a power source—had to be done in secrecy.

Around him, the other soldiers who had managed to capture their prey followed suit.

Then, the sky darkened once more.

A strange buzzing filled the air.

From the red clouds above descended millions of winged insects, each no larger than a finger. Their translucent wings shimmered with bioluminescent light as they swarmed over the battlefield, descending upon the corpses of the fallen demons.

They were the Thimatos Units, constructs of Overlord’s design, bred in the Obelisk that once belonged to the Leviathans.

The swarm descended like a tide of locusts. They dug their metallic proboscises into the flesh of the dead, draining the black blood and devouring the flesh and bone.

Each corpse they consumed became biomass, stored and refined to forge new soldiers and machines of war.

Overlord never wasted a resource.