Conflict Rekindled

"The Endless Blood War... another war quest. Perfect timing to grind some Faction Contribution and upgrade my bloodline." Mounted on his fully barded wyvern, Mantou circled high above the concession. From his vantage point, the players bustling across the ground looked like swarms of ants. Plumes of dust and smoke rolled through the area amid an incessant din, with trucks and tractors dispatched by the Machine Cult rumbling everywhere. Yet as a self-styled "hardcore pro," Mantou had long since turned his nose up at such menial labor. In his own words, a paltry handful of Faction Contribution wasn't worth his personal intervention. Just then, something caught his eye. Looking closer, he spotted a familiar bald head gleaming faintly in the crowd. "Noodles, let's head down and take a look. Finally bumped into an acquaintance." Mantou patted the wyvern's neck. The beast banked into a spiraling descent and touched down with a heavy thud, throwing up a cloud of dust. As the haze cleared, Mantou vaulted off the saddle. Grinning at the familiar face, he called out, "Brother Zhankuang, no wonder you've been MIA lately. You've been hanging out in Avernus this whole time!" Tiansheng Zhankuang rubbed his glossy, polished bald head and offered a good-natured grin. "It was an undercover infiltration quest. We weren't allowed to leak any intel, not even on the player forums. I've been stuck in Avernus for nearly a month. I was just about to message you guys when you showed up." Right at that moment, wind howled across the sky, followed by a burst of dazzling white light. Mantou instinctively shielded his eyes. "What's that...?" Bathed in radiant brilliance, a figure clad in ornate armor, wielding a longsword, and astride a wyvern descended before them—it was Singo. *Roar—* The wyvern let out a low, menacing cry. Faint luminescence leaked through the gaps between its scales, and miniature sun-like crests burned within its slit pupils. Mantou couldn't help asking, "What's that? Some kind of entrance effect? Where'd you get it?" "A new arrival in the Imperial Contribution Store," Singo replied. "A bloodline potion of the Radiant Dragon branch. Grants a wyvern abilities akin to solar divine magic." "How much—" "Don't bother, completely sold out. Apparently it was an experimental batch with only three bottles in stock. By the time I got there, only the last one was left." "Damn it," Mantou cursed under his breath, feeling as though he had just lost a fortune. With visuals that flashy, he would have bought it even if it had no combat stats at all! Singo patted the wyvern's head, leaped down from its back, and strode over to the two. "Long time no see, Zhankuang. Wait... is that a high-tier infernal contract?" Singo pointed at the inverted hexagram array inscribed across Tiansheng Zhankuang's chest, looking visibly stunned. Tiansheng Zhankuang made no secret of it before his teammates. "Yeah. It's the secret quest reward. Temporarily grants infernal power on par with a pit fiend." "That insane of a reward? What the hell have you been doing all this time? Don't tell me you went and assassinated an Archduke of Hell?" Mantou marveled. Yet to Mantou's overtly joking remark, Tiansheng Zhankuang merely blinked, then slowly nodded. "..." Mantou fell dead silent. It took him a long while before he stammered in disbelief, "Hold on, bro... you *actually* went to assassinate a Lord of Hell?" "Not quite that absurd," Tiansheng Zhankuang chuckled, rubbing his bald head again. "We were just along for the ride. Duke Bel was the one doing the heavy lifting..." Since the quest was officially over, non-disclosure was no longer an issue. In a few concise sentences, Tiansheng Zhankuang recounted the entire operation—infiltrating Zariel's sanctum and assisting Bel in pulling off the coup. Upon completing the quest, Bel had even bestowed an honorary title upon Tiansheng Zhankuang, granting him the status of an Infernal Baron. Even high-ranking devils hesitated to cross him. Listening to the tale, Mantou was speechless for a long time before finally uttering two words: "Holy shit." Even Singo marveled, "I only heard that a coup broke out in Baator and shook several layers of Hell. I never imagined you were right in the thick of it." Singo paused, then asked, "Zhankuang, you've been in Hell longer and hold high standing, so you must know more than us. How's the situation with the Blood War?" Tiansheng Zhankuang shook his head, his expression turning grave. "Not good. Three Abyssal lords have allied for this invasion, pouring tens of millions of demons into Avernus. Duke Bel's forces have suffered defeat after defeat, and he doesn't even dare show his face." "Tens of millions?" Mantou swallowed hard. Not only was he awed by the sheer number, but he was already running mental calculations—just how much EXP would that translate to? It was an astronomical figure. Tiansheng Zhankuang nodded again. "Yes, and as the Abyssal rifts expand, that number keeps climbing. An old devil told me that over the past millennium, the largest demonic incursion took place over a century ago, when the Prince of Demons, Demogorgon, led over a hundred million demons to storm Hell. The reigning ruler of the Holy Fadlan Empire at the time, Emperor Aragorn I, personally led his grand army to battle, and even the heavens and the gods joined that colossal conflict..." "As expected of the Infinite Abyss, the living embodiment of cosmic chaos. Its scale is truly absurd," Mantou remarked with feeling. Tiansheng Zhankuang nodded in solemn agreement. "Indeed. Twenty million demons might sound overwhelming now, but across the hundreds of thousands of years of the Blood War, it's just business as usual." Singo asked, "If Duke Bel's forces are retreating across the board, why haven't the demons assaulted the Bronze Citadel right away? Why give us time to prepare?" Tiansheng Zhankuang answered, "Just days ago, Cassius descended into Hell. He halted the demonic offensive, shattered an avatar of Kostchtchie, and temporarily locked the Abyssal host outside our defensive perimeter." "So that's how it is..." Singo lowered his head, lost in thought. Right then, Mantou pointed toward the distant horizon, his voice trembling slightly. "Look over there!" "The Abyssal host—they're coming!" "Hurry, pick up the pace! We have to finish the defensive line before the demons arrive! Do not slack off!" Across the distant sky, a dense swarm of demons darkened the clouds, violently beating their wings. Stretching for miles with no end in sight, the demonic horde surged toward the Bronze Citadel, as though seeking to drown the entire realm in shadow. Piercing shrieks, wails like crying infants, and raspy roars echoed through the heavens, tangling together into an unprecedented wave of madness that battered the eardrums. Across the plains below, demons surged southward like a pitch-black tide, nearly covering half the desolate expanse. Wherever the demonic army marched, all vegetation withered, and the land warped into corrupted Abyssal blight. Among the horde were bloated, festering nalfeshnees, balors shrouded in roiling flames, and Abyssal wyrms covered in dark crimson scales... Yet the most prominent among them were a brigade of Tanar'ri frost giants. Unlike ordinary frost giants, their skin was a mottled gray and bristled with jagged spikes. Corrosive venom dripped from the corners of their mouths, and their eyes burned with an icy, baleful glow. They were remnants of the once-mighty giant civilization. But unlike their kin who had faded into obscurity, these frost giants had chosen to follow Kostchtchie, casting themselves into the Abyss and willingly embracing the corruption of chaotic blood. They revered the Lord of Wrath for his sheer belligerence and brutality, even turning their weapons against fellow frost giants who refused to serve him. The frost giants raised their scepters and chanted ancient incantations. Howling blizzards swept across the plains, instantly freezing everything in their path solid. They were frost shamans, elite servants meticulously groomed by Kostchtchie, wielding the ancestral runic powers of the ancient giants. Farther along the horizon, three titanic silhouettes loomed through the thick chaotic mist, casting shadows that made all creation tremble. The figure on the left was a centaur-like aberration clad in fine gray scales, drawing a massive longbow, its blood-red eyes brimming with monstrous bloodlust. The figure on the right was bloated and grotesque, dripping viscous black slime, with hundreds of thick tentacles flailing wildly through the air. Towering far above the other two stood the central colossus. Gray-skinned and powerfully built, clad in light armor sewn from white dragon hides, the giant radiated bone-chilling cold from his pitch-black eyes. At this very moment, Mastiphal the Lord of the Hunt, Ixiniks the Lord of Black Waters, and Kostchtchie the Lord of Wrath had projected their wills into Avernus simultaneously! High atop the Bronze Citadel, Bel beat his broad bat wings and raised his infernal broadsword, his voice ringing out with impassioned vigor. "Warriors of Hell! Devils are the finest soldiers in existence! We possess superior tactics, unyielding morale, and finer arms! "We shall claim victory in this war and drive those beasts back into the Abyss! Avernus belongs to the devils forever, and devils alone! "Do you seek status and power? Do you yearn for promotion?" Bel thrust his sword toward the distant demons and roared, "Slaughter them all! In the name of the Lord of Avernus, I swear that you shall receive everything your hearts desire!" "Slaughter them all!" "For the Nine Hells! For Avernus!" The devils raised their weapons and roared in fury, their thunderous war cries shaking the sky. As spawn of lawful evil, hatred for demons was ingrained in their very nature. They would never allow these incarnations of chaos to claim Hell. Faced with their common foe, the devils gladly set aside their internal schemes, vendettas, and past grudges, uniting shoulder-to-shoulder to repel the demonic invasion. "For the Abyss!" "Die, infernal mongrels!" Roaring ferociously, the demons crashed against the defensive lines. The devils had long prepared: volleys of arrows rained down, fireballs exploded across the front ranks, and steel tridents skewered demon flesh. Different devil castes operated in tight concert with precise division of labor, skillfully intercepting the Abyssal advance and halting an army that outnumbered them dozens, even hundreds of times over. Meanwhile, within the Cinder Empire's concession, players watched the approaching demonic tide, chattering excitedly. "There are so damn many of them!" "Yeah, they're covering the whole sky. You can't even count them all." "The pressure is off the charts! Wait, who queued the boss music? Are you boosting the enemy's morale or what?" Ordinary mortals facing such an apocalyptic tide of fiends would have collapsed unconscious in terror or descended into madness. Even the devils, whose very heritage was forged in the Blood War, felt a chill run down their spines. Yet the players felt no awe or dread whatsoever. Their eyes gleamed with undisguised greed, as if gazing upon walking sacks of gold and juicy bundles of EXP. Some even drooled at the sight of the hideous monstrosities. "Look at all those demons... If we wipe them all out, how much EXP is that...?" While solo players were still busy marveling, the major guilds had already launched into high gear. The Machine Cult, reigning supreme among the player factions, deployed its Skitarii legions to march out and meet the enemy head-on. Clad in long robes, their flesh replaced by alloys, the Skitarii occasionally exposed tangled circuitry beneath their frames, their muscle tissue swapped out for translucent synthetic polymers. Swinging their titanium limbs, the vast army opened fire from grafted gun barrels, spewing a relentless storm of lead toward the demonic host. In an instant, the vanguard demons were shredded into bloody, rancid mulch by the tempest of steel and gunpowder. Hovering high above, massive airships extended heavy cannon barrels, unleashing searing heat rays that triggered chain explosions, engulfing demons and reducing them to charred husks. "Listen closely! The hour of the Machine Cult is at hand!" "The Machine Spirit rejoices!" "Praise be to the Omnissiah! Praise the Machine God!" *Clang—* Amid tolling iron bells and roaring engines, players of the Machine Cult charged into the demonic ranks aboard power armor and tanks, crushing the fiends under forged steel. Dragonscale Marines leaped from the sky, crashing heavily onto the earth before carving their way through the demonic horde in a frenzy of slaughter. A massacre—it was an outright massacre. Artillery, bullets, and machinery merged into a terrifying meat grinder, ruthlessly shredding and butchering every demon that drew near. Beneath the Machine Cult's furious storm of firepower, the lower-tier demons crumbled like paper. Within minutes, tens of thousands were laid to waste. In the rear of the battlefield, Mantou suddenly slapped his thigh in realization. "Damn it, they're greedy! The Machine Cult is trying to hoard all the resources!" He vaulted onto his wyvern, took to the air, and let the beast loose with a shrill screech as it surged toward the front lines. Other players quickly caught on as well. Deploying every trick in their arsenal, they rushed the vanguard—flying, teleporting, or even launching themselves across the field via human cannons. The players charged in droves. Facing a demonic horde that outnumbered them tenfold, even a hundredfold, they showed not a shred of fear, heedless of their own lives. Compared to the Abyssal demons, they looked far more like the invaders.