"With our blood and our steel, we will pave the road to our future!"

Orion stood on a high dais, his Deathly Soul-Reaper form radiating a palpable menace. He drew the king's sword, Doomscourge, from his hip. Its blade erupted in reddish-gold flames, a miniature sun that captured the gaze of every follower and slave arrayed before him.

"We will tear our way into the higher planes of this Abyss. We will conquer its people, take their lands, enslave their children, and feast on their resources!"

He pointed the flaming sword to the sky, his final war cry before shattering the dimensional walls. The words—conquer, plunder, take, enslave, feast—were a litany of brutal ambition, a poison that seeped into the minds of his followers, stoking the fires of their greed and desperation.

"In my name as your lord, I make you this promise: every follower will claim half of all spoils! Every slave can earn their freedom with the resources and captives they personally seize!" He swept his gaze over the black, endless sea of the Slave Vanguard. They were cannon fodder, the engine of his war machine. "Or, you can trade your spoils to me for women, for power, even for your own patch of land!"

A flicker of hope, he knew, was the most effective whip.

"In the Abyss, only the hungry wolves can grow strong! For survival, for women, for territory… Conquer the Abyss!"

With a final roar, Orion slashed the air, once horizontally, once vertically. The flaming arcs of his blade tore a gaping, bleeding wound in the fabric of reality. As ten thousand eyes watched, he took a single step forward, the first to cross the threshold.

He was followed immediately by the banner-wielding Bloodfiend Vex, the abyssal dragon Xalathar, and Dracolich Phorzak.

Then came the Scourge Warden army. Their mission was to secure the exit on the fifth layer, to ensure the Conquest Legion's spatial passage remained stable. The remaining Wraith Knight army and the First Army would bring up the rear, a steel wall herding the Slave Vanguard into the portal.

***

The Abyss, Fifth Layer. The Crimson Plain.

Orion emerged into open air. The moment he cleared the spatial rift, he unleashed the full force of his archlord's aura. The effect was instantaneous. Any native Abyss monsters in the immediate vicinity broke and fled in terror. He paid no mind to the few that lingered at a distance, watching. Once his million-strong army had fully deployed, they would be an afterthought.

That's right. A million.

The commander of the First Army had absorbed another three hundred thousand followers of acceptable quality on the Isle of Embers. The rest—every man, woman, and child who hadn't escaped in time—were thrown into the Slave Vanguard. The First Army now numbered eight hundred thousand. He'd left two hundred thousand slots open intentionally. They would need room to recruit elite warriors from the stronger races they were about to encounter.

"My lord."

Vex, Xalathar, and Phorzak materialized behind him, taking up their silent guard. Vex slammed his banner into the bloody soil, his own oppressive aura stacking on top of Orion's, doubling down on the Conquest Legion's terrifying claim to this new territory.

"Sir, shall we dispatch scouts?" Eparus suggested, stepping forward.

Orion shook his head. "No." This was the fifth layer. The local fauna would be a significant step up in power. Until his entire legion was through, he would not risk a single soldier. Consolidate, conceal their strength, and maintain stability. It was the only play.

"An army of our size appearing out of thin air will not go unnoticed," Orion said with cold confidence. "If this territory has a master, they'll come to us."

The fifth layer was no longer a backwater Dimensional Fold. The ambient Abyssal energy here was thick enough to birth truly powerful demonic creatures.

"Eparus," Orion said, turning to the Warden. "This is the fifth layer. Once the troops are through, you and your people should take the time to train here. We must be stronger before we attempt to breach the sixth."

As Eparus had told him, the energy here was potent enough for them to begin their own attempts at reaching the Archlord stage. Orion didn't expect miracles, but any increase in power was an advantage.

"The plan is to forge a second army, a million strong, on this layer. We will need to plunder more resources, build our foundations deeper. There will be great battles here."

War was no longer a byproduct of his journey; it was the purpose.

"My lord, I will have my men prepare a place for us to train."

"Good. Go."

Orion nodded, glancing back at the rift. The Scourge Wardens stood like titans, their immense bodies physically holding the dimensional tear open. Holrivus and Thronlis anchored the line, two primordial guardians ensuring the gateway remained stable as the terrified Slave Vanguard poured through between their ranks.

This was a dress rehearsal for the far more dangerous jump to the sixth layer. Then, Orion would once again have to go through first, alone, to eliminate any potential ambushers and hold off any abyssal lords who might be waiting. The task of holding the gate would fall entirely to the Scourge Wardens.

What surprised him was the quiet. The area was completely deserted.

Then again, he thought, we've only just arrived. The wolves would be here soon enough.

***

The Crimson Plain, The Mosela Citadel.

A permanent, dark red mist clung to the fortress, but it was not a sign of blight. On the contrary, it was a physical manifestation of the sheer, overwhelming concentration of Abyssal energy in the region. The citadel had been built to harness it.

Now, a sickly, dim sunlight filtered through the blood-mist, painting the colossal fortress in shades of bruised purple and deep crimson.

And deep within that beautiful, violent darkness, something stirred. A presence that had been sleeping for an age began to breathe, and the very air trembled.

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