Enemies Unite

"Hell has grown weak. It is time to devour them." "Yet they are striking back!" "Do devils truly dare compete with demons in numbers? Which of us has the muddled mind?!" "Conferring with you fools is the most tedious waste of time." "Giving up geographical advantage to attempt a strike into the Abyss sounds like a conspiracy." "The new devil archduke is an idiot. I'll eat his flesh and throw away his brain." "I would rather settle scores with you first. Demogorgon, duel me!" …… Countless chaotic consciousnesses traversed space and time, echoing within the minds of certain demon lords. Within a layer of the Abyss known as the Brine Flats, the terrifying two-headed baboon irritably crushed the skulls of several demons. Though named a swamp, this world was in truth a colossal ocean, its waters thick with a foul, fishy stench, teeming with countless aquatic demons. Demogorgon dwelt in a massive palace that extended from the ocean floor all the way to the water's surface. Everything here came in pairs—especially the two serpent-like spires that rose relentlessly to pierce the sea's surface, topped with two colossal skulls. It was usually atop these twin towers that Demogorgon studied vile arcana or plotted malicious schemes. At this moment, Demogorgon was not upon the towers, but sprawled in the deepest reaches of the undersea palace, tearing apart the demons beside him and devouring their flesh to vent his inner irritation. Beyond his signature twin baboon heads, Demogorgon's body was constantly shifting. His arms bore numerous tentacles lined with barbs and suckers, though occasionally sharp claws sprouted instead, or both coexisted. His lower body was a fusion of fishman and reptile, morphing and transforming according to his whims; the shape and color of his scales changed from moment to moment, and even his tail shifted between bifurcated and fused. Such was the manifestation of chaos and disorder—even his physical form was in perpetual flux. Lying in the deepest abyss of this ocean, the recent telepathic exchange had left Demogorgon exasperated. Naturally, he felt irritated most of the time, for he could not tolerate the continued existence of order and goodness in the multiverse. Demogorgon's lifelong ambition was to spread chaos and evil to every world, dragging everything good and fair down into the Abyss. Compared to other demons, Demogorgon's wickedness was purer, truly befitting his title as the Prince of Demons. Hell was the ideal springboard, a nexus linking to every world. When it came to invading Hell, Demogorgon had always maintained the keenest interest. Unfortunately, demon lords were a pack of irrational trash, incapable of sustaining even the most rudimentary cooperation; almost as soon as they spoke of an alliance, they would turn on one another in bloody slaughter. It was precisely this nature that squandered the demons' overwhelming numerical superiority. The front along the River of Blood had seen no breakthrough for countless years. Demons died by the tens of thousands, and even several of his own avatars had perished, yet nothing had changed. This time, an upheaval had occurred in Hell, presenting the perfect opportunity. Regrettably, every attempt at an alliance ended just like the ones before: dissolving into chaotic bickering and mutual provocations. Demogorgon's right head spat out a few bones and said to the left head, "Aameul, why not accept the duel? I can hardly wait to rip his jaw apart!" "Hethradiah, you idiot, what do you know besides fighting? If you could actually control your temper, we wouldn't still be struggling to find suitable cultists!" Cultists of Demogorgon existed across countless planes, yet without exception, they were eroded by chaos. The more devout they were, the faster they turned into madmen. Every follower of Demogorgon was eventually consumed by this madness, spiraling rapidly into self-destruction. This was why Demogorgon's vile machinations consistently struggled to advance—it was all the fault of the executors on the ground. Demogorgon had always sought worshippers who could venerate the Abyss while retaining a measure of sanity, but over all these years, none suitable had ever been found. Everyone knew that Demogorgon's two heads possessed independent personalities and minds, yet precious few knew just how intensely the two heads hated each other. Demogorgon's left head was named Aameul. Between the two, Aameul was more calculating and strategic. Whenever Demogorgon needed to devise complex plots or command armies, Aameul took the lead. Yet whenever Aameul addressed the Prince of Demons' underlings and thralls, the other head would glare at him or sneer with disdain. Demogorgon's right head was named Hethradiah. Compared to Aameul, Hethradiah was far more savage and impulsive. Though Hethradiah proved more formidable in battle, his reckless ferocity often derailed carefully laid plans. Who was it that had challenged them to a duel? Neither Aameul nor Hethradiah could remember. Hatred among demons required no reason; perhaps simply forgetting the other demon's name would be enough to trigger an eternal blood feud. Aameul and Hethradiah fell into their everlasting bickering. Just as they were about to seize control of their respective arms and tear at each other, a swarm of ixitxachitls appeared, leading an ugly monstrosity behind them. Ixitxachitls were already hideous and savage—the quintessential demonic likeness—yet the creature trailing them could not be described merely as grotesque; it was foul beyond measure. It was a bloated demon hovering in midair, boasting a maw crammed with razor-sharp fangs and dense clusters of eyes, large and small. It was a beholder, sustained in levitation by immense magical power, resembling a purplish-black, rotting jellyfish covered in tentacles. Among the myriad kinds of demons, beholders were among the more intelligent, often adept in various magics and possessing intellect beyond mere mortals. Yet beholders possessed an exceptionally unpleasant racial trait: as they aged, every single beholder came to believe it was the most brilliant of its race, resorting to every conceivable scheme to prove it—including, but not limited to, betraying their kin, setting devious traps, and assassination. Consequently, adult beholders almost always operated alone. Still, no matter how arrogant a beholder might be, they all revered the Great Mother, obeying this demon lord's commands without question. The beholder before him possessed a staggering number of eyes set upon freely flexing stalks, indicating an ancient lifespan and high standing among its kind. Cast onto another plane, such a creature could easily perpetrate a horrific massacre, but before Demogorgon, it could only tremble in terror. Most of its hundreds of eyes were squeezed shut, not daring to meet the Prince of Demons' gaze. Demogorgon extended a tentacle, ensnaring the beholder, and hissed in revulsion, "You have one chance to convince me not to crush you into paste." Though the constriction caused a ring of its eyeballs to bulge, the beholder replied calmly, "I bring a message from the Great Mother, Lord Prince of Demons. The Great Mother has found partners for collaboration. This time, we may be able to slay the newly appointed devil archduke!" Demogorgon's two heads turned simultaneously, letting loose roars of contrasting pitch. Aameul: "With whom is your mistress allied?" Hethradiah: "You believe this already? Only cowards are obsessed with alliances—we need no such thing!" Aameul: "Shut up, this is not your turn to speak!" …… The two heads bickered for a few moments, but in the end, Aameul, as the voice of reason, prevailed, bidding the near-bursting beholder explain everything clearly. Many demon lords who had waged the Blood War for ages had sensed the shifting tides in Hell. The Great Mother was no different; she too wished to seize this moment to taste the newly minted devil archduke. Compared to other demon lords, the Great Mother's defining trait was her superior emotional control. Much like her spawn, so long as she was not thrown together with beholders of comparable stature, she could maintain relatively intact intellect without destroying everything around her in fits of jealousy and pride. No beholder stood higher than the Great Mother, allowing her to consistently maintain rational thought. Allying with the Great Mother was not a bad choice; Demogorgon simply had had little interaction with her in the past, and he had not expected her to take the initiative to reach out. What was more, the Great Mother brought good news. The new devil archduke seemed to have made many enemies, and those enemies were now banding together, seeking revenge under the cover of this opportunity. Demogorgon heard several familiar names: Cyric, the Prince of Lies; Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain; and Tiamat, the Dragon Goddess. Hethradiah, embodying fury, could not help but roar, "It's a trap, you idiot! Isn't that just a mortal who was recently elevated? Where would he get so many deities as enemies?! If this were true, he'd have been dead long ago!" Aameul, embodying composure, slapped Hethradiah across the face and roared back, "You're the idiot, you fool! I told you the story of that mortal, and you forgot it yourself!" The new devil archduke was indeed renowned. Anyone who cared to inquire could easily discover everything about him. Though Demogorgon's cultists were either dead or insane, gathering such information was not difficult. However, his chaotic mind bred forgetfulness; whenever his temper flared, crucial memories would slip away. Now, hearing these names, Aameul's clever head recalled it all. The mortal known as the Deceiver had indeed pulled off remarkable feats that astonished even the gods. Cyric, Loviatar, and Tiamat were all victims, so it came as no surprise that they were banding together. With that, Demogorgon's two heads reached a unified consensus, and he asked the beholder, "What is the plan?" The beholder caught its breath slightly, then explained, "Cyric will manufacture an opportunity to draw that devil out of Hell. He invites Lord Prince of Demons to join forces with the Great Mother and slay him within the Abyss!" It sounded simple, but in reality, it would be exceedingly difficult. Deities did not lightly leave their divine realms. The devil archduke had only just assumed his post; how could he possibly leave Hell and enter the Abyss? No devil archduke had ever personally stepped foot into the Abyss. Yet Demogorgon did not press for details. In any case, his true form would not enter Hell; it all depended on whether Cyric could pull the plan off. If the devil truly ventured outside his domain, Demogorgon would need no prompting to hunt down that foolish creature. And if Cyric failed, Demogorgon would seek out the Prince of Lies and taste what a deity tasted like. The beholder added, "Furthermore, Cyric stated that the devils will soon launch a massive counteroffensive, composed mostly of undead forces. He asks that you prepare accordingly." "Undead? Noted." Demogorgon nodded casually, then asked the beholder, "Are there any other messages?" The beholder shook its eye stalks and said, "That is all. If Your Excellency has a reply to relay to the Great Mother—" Before the beholder could finish, Demogorgon squeezed with tremendous force, popping its body. Thick ichor and venomous gore splattered everywhere as it died instantly. Demogorgon stuffed the beholder into his mouth, crunching and swallowing it in huge bites, then commanded the swarm of ixitxachitls, "Go to the Realm of a Million Eyes. Tell the Great Mother that I shall await the devil's arrival in the Abyss." As his thralls departed, Demogorgon entered the Twin Serpent Towers. Countless arcane runes materialized around him, inscribing themselves onto scrolls crafted from demon hide. Before long, vast quantities of spell scrolls were dispatched from the towers. Demogorgon mobilized hordes of demons toward the tributaries of the River Styx, preparing to greet Hell's undead army. Regardless of whether Cyric's plot succeeded, Demogorgon would do what he had to do. Namely, press on with the Blood War that had raged for uncounted aeons, slaughtering the devils to seize dominion over the First Layer of Hell. *** Meanwhile, in Hell, an army of over a million undead was assembling, ready to counterattack at any moment. However, this undead force was drastically different from ordinary ones. Aside from the cannon-fodder undead converted from demons, conventional undead could barely be found among this host. Anbaixiu's original plan had been to simply apply standard templates—Death Knights, wraiths, zombies, and the like. Cheap and practical, they could be churned out in mass production. Yet Ange Watson had approached Anbaixiu, advising him against wasting materials on standard undead. When Anbaixiu asked what manner of troops he actually wished to command, Ange Watson produced a thick notebook and offered it with both hands. Anbaixiu opened it and saw that the very first page contained technical data on the "Small Fry Mark I." Back when they fought aquatic races in the sea, the Small Fry Mark I had displayed remarkable combat effectiveness, boasting an absurdly high cost-efficiency. But once deployed on land, it had struggled to adapt, its fighting capability dropping sharply. In his notebook, Ange Watson had specifically analyzed the strengths and weaknesses of these unconventional undead and proposed his own modifications. Looking closer, Anbaixiu realized: wasn't this basically a simplified drone? Ange Watson had designed several distinct drone models, ranging from complex biomimetic bird types to simple guided gliders, detailing the operational requirements, advantages, and drawbacks for each. Not only the Small Fry Mark I, but also the undead warships Anbaixiu had previously deployed were documented in the notebook, complete with improvement plans Ange Watson had devised. Upon closer inspection, none of the suggestions concerned necromantic manufacturing techniques; they were all practical modifications for operational utility. Anbaixiu studied the designs carefully and found Ange Watson's concepts remarkably sound. He truly was a professional—far superior to Anbaixiu, who merely copied knowledge from his previous life. Every detail reflected insider expertise, and Anbaixiu learned a great deal just from reading them. Templates for these unconventional undead were by no means easy to craft. Anbaixiu had no choice but to bury himself in hard labor, postponing the launch date of Hell's counteroffensive slightly. Yet it was all worthwhile. Anbaixiu eagerly anticipated what manner of combat prowess these modified undead forces would unleash under Ange Watson's command. It was time to show these demons, who had fought for tens of millions of years, what modern combined-arms multidimensional warfare looked like.