The elevator doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the main command center of Ouroboros.
Walls of screens glowed crimson with Wrath Ring warning markers. Tactical maps flickered, updating troop movements in real time. The air vibrated with urgency but not panic.
Ouroboros didn't panic.
It adapted.
Verosika and Malerion stepped inside, and the room adjusted around them voices softened, decisions tightened, focus sharpened. Their presence wasn't just leadership.
It was gravitational.
Quill glanced up first.
"Enemy formation confirmed," he announced. "Three known Wrath factions combined The Gnashers, Iron Vein Cartel, and the Molten Red Hands. They normally hate each other."
Liz narrowed her eyes.
"So someone convinced Wrath's idiots to cooperate. That's… unusual."
Rafe folded his arms, tone thoughtful rather than alarmed.
"Or opportunistic. They saw us pause expansion and mistook it for hesitation."
Verosika smirked darkly.
"They have no idea how badly they misread the room."
Bit focused the map.
"Our forces stationed there were already preparing defensive positions. They stalled the first push but they won't hold forever."
Skit added, tapping fast through comm logs:
"Message from Wrath Outpost: They're waiting for Dreg to reinforce before pushing back."
Malerion nodded once calm, controlled.
"Status on Dreg?"
Quill swiped one screen, footage appearing the helipad high above Sin Rouge. Dreg was already boarding a heavy-class combat helicopter, checking gear, loading weapons, expression carved from steel.
"He'll reach Wrath airspace in twelve minutes," Quill reported. "Seventeen until boots hit battlefield."
Liz tilted her head.
"So how do we handle the wait?"
Malerion stepped forward, voice steady:
"Quietly."
No roaring orders.
dramatic declarations.
Just precision.
He pointed at the tactical map.
"Quill keep the line stable and route intel directly to Dreg."
"Done."
"Rafe start pre-planning negotiations. If any surviving Wrath factions attempt surrender, we choose which are useful."
Rafe nodded.
"Oh, gladly."
"Liz scan communication feeds. If someone orchestrated this alliance, I want a name."
Liz smiled like she'd just been given dessert.
"With pleasure."
"Skit, Bit standby reinforcement routes. No deployment unless Wrath escalates."
The twins saluted messy but eager.
Verosika watched impressed, amused, and just a little bit proud.
He wasn't loud.
wasn't dramatic.
But every order shifted the room.
Every word tightened the system. breath steadied the storm.
She stepped closer just enough that their arms brushed. Not accidental. Not subtle.
"You've changed," she murmured quietly.
Malerion didn't look at her but his tone softened by fractions.
"No. I've grown."
She huffed a small laugh.
"Same thing."
The main screen beeped Wrath live-feed expanding.
The battlefield came into view:
Volcanic ground scorched black.
Metal barricades glowing red from heat.
Demons clashing blades, flames, brute strength.
And in the distance the helicopter approached.
Liz spoke first, low:
"He's almost there."
Verosika folded her arms.
"Place your bets how fast does he break them?"
Bit raised a hand.
"I say five minutes."
Skit countered:
"No way, two."
Rafe smirked.
"My prediction: he scares half of them into running before he lands."
Quill rolled his eyes.
"Forty five seconds after first engagement."
Malerion?
He simply said:
I will end them efficiently."
Verosika looked up at him eyes dark, voice soft.
"And after?"
Malerion finally met her gaze.
"…After, Wrath remembers."
The helicopter touched down on Wrath soil.
Dreg stepped out.
And the battlefield changed.
Not because he charged.
But because everyone else hesitated.
Ouroboros watched from the command center not cheering, not celebrating.
Just knowing.
Verosika leaned closer to Malerion, voice barely above breath.
"They were wrong, you know."
His expression didn't shift, but his attention did fully.
"About what?"
She smiled slow, dangerous.
"The pause wasn't weakness."
Her fingers brushed his hand once.
"It was a warning."
And when Dreg threw the first strike on screen brutal, precise, unrelenting
the Wrath coalition broke.
Retreating.
Fleeing.
Burning under their own arrogance.
Quill confirmed in a controlled voice:
"Enemy collapse detected."
Malerion exhaled not relief.
Just confirmation.
"Ouroboros does not fall back."
Verosika's gaze lingered on him longer than necessary.
"No," she whispered.
"You advance."
And Hell?
Would learn that pace was not mercy.