The first blow of the war was not fire.
It was discipline.
Vareth's legions advanced in perfect formation—ranks of armored demons moving as one, shields of obsidian locking together, spears of condensed hellfire crackling in synchronized rhythm. No screams. No frenzy. Just the measured march of conquest.
Thomas felt the difference immediately.
These were not freshly damned.
These were veterans.
"They'll break us head-on," Eddric said quietly, his many eyes tracking movement patterns. "Their formation channels momentum and fear simultaneously."
Liora's coils tightened. "They've done this before. Many times."
Thomas watched the Ashen Horde behind him—uneven lines, mismatched forms, fear trembling beneath newfound control. They were learning, but they were not soldiers.
Not yet.
"We don't meet them like this," Thomas said.
Vareth raised one clawed hand.
The legions halted instantly.
He smiled across the battlefield. "Already adapting. Good. It will make this more satisfying."
Thomas turned to the Horde. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice carrying across the cracked plateau. "They want us to fight their way. We don't."
He pointed to the jagged terrain behind and around them—the fissures, molten channels, collapsing spires.
"This is Hell. Use it."
Confusion flickered through the Horde, then understanding.
The first wave came anyway.
Vareth's command dropped.
The legions charged.
Thomas moved first—not forward, but sideways.
He slammed his claws into a fault line he'd noticed earlier, releasing pressure the Molten Labyrinth had taught him to recognize. The ground split violently beneath the advancing ranks, swallowing the front line into a river of molten fire.
Screams erupted at last.
The Horde surged—not in chaos, but in scattered, deliberate strikes. Smaller groups darted from cover, dragging enemies into fissures, collapsing spires, separating formations.
Vareth's smile tightened.
"Adaptation acknowledged," he murmured. "Counter."
His legions shifted instantly, reforming with terrifying speed. Heavy units moved to anchor the lines, elite hunters breaking off to hunt Thomas directly.
"Here they come," Liora hissed.
Three commanders broke through the smoke—tall, brutal demons marked with conquest runes, their movements fluid and merciless.
Thomas met the first head-on.
The impact sent shockwaves through the plateau. Thomas's claws bit deep, but the commander struck back with equal force, driving Thomas to one knee. Pain flared—but Thomas didn't retreat.
He remembered the Trial.
Control.
Timing.
He let the commander overcommit.
Liora struck from behind, coiling and constricting joints while Eddric severed tendons with surgical precision. Thomas finished it with a single, focused strike.
The second commander learned from the first.
The third did not.
The battlefield became a nightmare of ash, fire, and screaming metal.
Yet for every victory Thomas's side gained, two demons fell from the Horde.
Too slow.
Too afraid.
Too human.
Vareth watched it all, unhurried.
Then he moved.
He descended like judgment itself, his presence crushing the air. Thomas felt it—an oppressive certainty, the weight of countless conquered souls pressing down.
Vareth carved through the Horde effortlessly, every strike fatal, every movement efficient. He did not rage. He harvested.
Thomas charged him again.
Their clash was titanic.
Vareth struck Thomas aside, smashing him into the ground, planting one armored foot on his chest. Runes flared as pressure crushed down.
"You see now," Vareth said calmly. "They die because you hesitate. Because you remember what they were."
Thomas struggled—but didn't break.
"They die," Thomas growled, "because you forgot what you were."
For a moment, something flickered behind Vareth's eyes.
Anger?
No.
Recognition.
Then the sky shifted.
The Circle of Runes brightened—not intervening, but observing more closely. Symbols rearranged rapidly.
The war had crossed a threshold.
Vareth noticed.
"So," he said softly. "The Circle watches you now as it once watched me."
He stepped back, wings spreading.
"This war is not finished," Vareth declared. "I will return—with lessons you cannot shield them from."
With a single command, his legions disengaged, retreating in perfect order, leaving the battlefield littered with ash and broken demons.
Silence fell again.
The Ashen Horde stood—what remained of it.
Thomas rose slowly, battered, molten veins dim but steady.
They had survived.
Barely.
Liora looked at him, her voice low. "You've declared something dangerous."
Thomas stared at the retreating banners of black fire.
"Yes," he said.
"A future."