In other words, the seal and the ward were two sides of the same coin.

"Pontiff Valerius," Clown's voice cut in, sharp and urgent. "That's true Mimicry magic, not just some cheap copy-paste spell. He's not just tracing your moves." That last exchange had made it terrifyingly clear: the Deputy Commander had simulated their entire formation.

"I know," Valerius bit back, his voice tight. A torrent of divine power began to surge from him, making the very fabric of space tremble. "Jack, Konak, Yriel—I am going to unleash the formation's full power. I will shatter the space around Staghelm into a fractal labyrinth to trap them."

"Even with a perfect copy of the Dodecahedron," he explained, the strain evident in his voice, "it will take them an eternity to navigate their way out. While they're lost, the three of you will move as one. Kill the Demigod of the Moonwell and raze Staghelm City to the ground. After we've crippled them, we can deal with the rest of these heretics."

The eyes of Clown, Konak, and Yriel lit up. If the four Alliance demigods were truly trapped, taking out Staghelm City would be like cutting off their anchor.

"Praise the Four!" Valerius roared, and behind him, the phantoms of four silent gods blazed with power. "Let the space be shattered!"

The Dodecahedron of Four Elements erupted like a dying star. In Clown's perception, the entire dimension, save for the pocket of reality containing Staghelm City itself, fractured. It splintered into an infinite, repeating pattern of identical rectangular prisons. Even if the Deputy Commander broke through one, another would be waiting, and another after that.

"Gentlemen," Clown said, a cruel smile touching his lips. He had always known the Pontiffs had deep reserves of power, but this was beyond even his expectations. "I believe that's our cue."

He, Konak, and Yriel stepped through the veil, descending upon the isolated fortress of Staghelm City.

At that very same instant, as the world outside fractured, Moonwelldemigod felt a new presence at her side.

It was Alexander.

The moment the space had shattered was the moment the Cult's formation had been at its most vulnerable. He had slipped through the cracks in reality, completely undetected.

"You're here," Moonwelldemigod breathed, a jolt of profound relief cutting through her fear. This meant the Alliance had committed five demigods to this fight, not three.

"They're coming," Alexander said, his gaze already fixed on the sky. He didn't look at her. He was watching the three descending figures. "Three of them. I'll take the fight to them. Your job is to run interference and block their attacks."

Without another word, his phantom form coalesced, his very essence forged into a single, deadly blade that hung suspended in the air.

"Whatever support magic you've got," the blade resonated, "lay it on me. Now."

Moonwell Demigod, a veteran of countless battles, was already moving. A stream of pure energy from the Moonwell surged forth, quenching the blade. Under the arcane baptism, its form solidified, and a faint, ethereal light began to pulse from within.

Next, beams of concentrated moonlight shot from the lunar reflection in the well, striking the blade and creating two perfect, phantasmal echoes of it that hovered at its sides.

"Hold," she commanded, and from the ancient trees surrounding the Moonwell, living vines erupted from the ground, wrapping themselves around the base of the blade. They wove together, forming a vibrant, emerald hilt that seemed to thrum with life, constantly nourishing the arcane steel.

"Good," the blade of Alexander vibrated with deadly intent. "Now that traitor dies."

With a soundless rush, the blade and its two echoes shot into the sky and vanished into the void. Moonwell Demigod kept her eyes on the heavens, her power coiled, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

***

The Fourth Layer of the Abyss, The Isle of Embers.

Though called an isle, its landmass was the size of a continent. Where Orion had first arrived, a new mountain now stood—a grotesque pyramid built from the corpses of Doomguard.

"My Lord," Eparus said, kneeling before Orion alongside Holrivus and Thronlis. "All hostiles have been eliminated. Confirmed kills: five hundred and thirty-one Doomguard." He held up a collection of storage pouches. "This is the spoils of war."

Orion ignored the offered loot. His gaze was hard. "What were our losses?"

"With the aid of the Wraith Knight armies and the First Army, our losses were… manageable, My Lord," Eparus reported, his voice low. "Twenty-seven of our brethren have returned to the Abyss."

Orion didn't speak, but a surge of cold fury washed over him. Twenty-seven? Out of just over a hundred? A few more battles like this and his entire Scourge Wardens army would be wiped out.

As if sensing his lord's rage, Eparus quickly added, "My Lord, our losses can be replenished. Quickly."

"Oh?" Orion's interest was piqued, cutting through his anger. "Explain. I recall you telling me the forging process was slow, even with the proper formation."

"My Lord, the Doomguard share our origin," Eparus explained, a flicker of something hungry in his eyes as he glanced at the mountain of corpses. "They are a corruption of our source. We can extract their core essence and use it to accelerate the forging of new brethren."

"You're saying you can use their bodies… to create more of our own?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"How many?" Orion's voice was sharp, urgent. If this was true, it changed everything.

"From these," Eparus said, his voice filled with grim satisfaction, "we can forge at least three hundred."

A booming, triumphant laugh erupted from Orion. "Excellent!" The tide had turned from a costly victory to a staggering gain. "Eparus! Tell me what you need. What support do you require?"

"None, My Lord," Eparus replied, a note of pride in his voice. "Just give us the time. We will inscribe the Coalescence Formation around the pyre. In three months, we will have consumed them all."

"Then they are yours," Orion declared, a wave of his hand dismissing them. "Get to work."

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