KETHMAR'S MISCALCULATION
As the last syllables of Abyssal rang through the chamber, Kethmar's smile curdled. The laughter that once seemed the product of an overconfident underling now rang with clarity.
She had not flinched.
She had not defended.
She had simply… let it happen.
Then—she gave the order.
"Remove your disguises," Velmora said, her voice quiet and smooth, as if discussing dinner arrangements.
The four lesser demons obeyed, their mortal forms melting like wax in fire. Horns extended. Skin blackened. Wings unfurled. Their full forms emerged—each one a towering presence of infernal might, far beyond anything the cult city had seen in centuries.
Kethmar's stomach turned.
The temperature of the hall dropped, despite the rising aura.
She had no aura. No bloodlust.
Only noble-born demons from the higher abyss are capable of such perfect suppression…
His pupils narrowed. She's not a decoy… she's a superior.
She is… from the higher abyss.
And he had struck first.
Kethmar's hand twitched. His calculation was wrong—grievously wrong. He needed to act, to correct it. He raised a trembling hand.
"Kill her."
GENEVIEVE'S SHATTERING
Genevieve stood behind Eryk, hands clasped tightly, knuckles white. Her entire worldview—the safety of nobility, the stability of bloodlines, the dominance of mortals—fractured.
She stared, eyes wide, as the monsters emerged and Velmora stood unchanged, unbothered.
This wasn't the calculated cruelty of mortals.
This was cosmic cruelty. Something older.
Genevieve finally understood: Eryk wasn't dangerous because of who he was… but who followed him.
And she had just boarded a ship with death incarnate.
THE ANGELIC WITNESSES
Far beyond Krav'Thorak, high atop the outer eastern cliffs, a disguised celestial encampment watched.
The angels, cloaked in mortal forms, flinched as a spike of dark energy pierced the sky.
One of them, an agent called Sereniel, staggered. "Do you feel that?"
The barrier surrounding the continent—ancient and maintained since the treaties—quivered. The energy punched through dimensions, like a blade splitting silk.
The lead angel spoke through gritted teeth.
"That's no ordinary noble. That's higher abyss royalty."
Then the pulse struck the Holy Land like a thunderclap.
In the sacred halls of the Grand Cathedral, Cardinals dropped to their knees, blood leaking from ears. Bells shattered. Statues cracked.
They had no name for what they felt. Only a knowing.
A threat had risen. One unaccounted for.
The angelic team prepared to break through and descend.
DIABLO WATCHES
In the shadows of the Abyssal Throne Chamber, Diablo's portal pulsed. Watching, his obsidian hand curled against his chin.
A notification blinked in arcane flame.
[REQUEST: Angelic observers requesting entry to Eastern Continent]
[DECISION: Deferred to Abyssal Authority Velmora]
He smiled, slow and cruel.
"Let them come. She's ready."
AURA UNLEASHED
As Kethmar's elite guard lunged toward Velmora, getting within five feet, she moved not a muscle.
Instead—her aura broke free.
It wasn't a scream. It was a dirge. A tidal wave of ancient, crushing authority poured forth.
The entire capital shook.
The continent trembled.
Clouds split.
Mountains cracked.
Every demon, mortal, and beast fell to their knees.
Even Kethmar, once proud, was driven to the floor—face-first, gasping like a drowning man. His limbs wouldn't obey.
The aura vanished just as suddenly.
Velmora tilted her head. "Forgive me," she said calmly, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulder. "I slipped."
THE SPIDER AWAKENS
She plucked the tiny spider from her shoulder and gently placed it on the obsidian floor.
She spoke in a dialect of noble Abyssal, ancient and forbidden. Even Kethmar, a veteran of the Lower Abyss, recognized none of the words.
"Krel-sh'zan dutor Velmora…aer'dan metra tal…"
The spider twitched once. Then contorted.
It exploded in size—eight limbs contorting, a disfigured humanoid shape emerging. Its torso bore rows of mouths, all filled with spinning, razor-like teeth, and its eyes burned like violet stars.
It shrieked.
And leapt.
Kethmar barely had time to defend. The duel was over in five strikes and three parries.
His head was gone.
His soul devoured mid-scream.
The spider creature swallowed it whole—then roared in triumph.
THE DEMON THRONE CLAIMED
Velmora calmly stepped down the stairs and approached the throne.
The cultists, once kneeling, pressed their foreheads to the floor.
The four lesser demons returned to her side and knelt in perfect symmetry.
She sat upon the throne.
And pointed skyward.
"Oh," she said, voice like silk, "they've arrived."
The demons vanished, breaking through space and reality.
A heartbeat later—six angelic forms, cloaked in golden robes, materialized in the throne hall—eyes wide, hands on their concealed divine relics.
They had arrived too late.