Command—in other words, Acting Guild Master Levin and the commanders there—were informed of the encounter with the mysterious sage. His warnings were relayed. When Monarch gave the news to Levin, the attack on Dawns was already happening.

In fact, when Monarch went to ask about that exact incident, Levin jokingly asked if her Guild Master was secretly collaborating with the Sungrazers. Naturally she didn't take this joke well.

As terrible as the situation was in Dawns, especially for the Baptists present within the borough, it ultimately wasn’t the Royals’ responsibility. They had to focus on finding and locating the Void Demon within the final level of Darkrealm’s Hold: the Abyss Layer.

Even if their operation was already compromised by a third-party.

The fifth layer of the Hold, the Deepmarsh, was mutually agreed on being the worst of the layers to trek through. There was no such thing as solid ground here. Just mud that crawled up to your knee, sometimes up to your neck even. And you had to endure the sensation of dozens insects skittering all over you, not to mention the ungodly amount of leeches.

For those who had loose clothing, the experience was several times worse. Like Damien who was wearing casual clothes underneath his robes.

His hatred for Darkrealm was beyond irrational at this point.

They waded through the swamp. Sometimes the thick water unluckily splashed into his mouth, giving him a taste of the putrid stew. A part of him thought he’d die from whatever was in the water. Parasites, bacteria, who knew what Darkrealm put in here. Another part of him wished he did. One time, there was a slug inside one gulp.

“Is it all just swamp?” Damien asked, arms high, slogging through.

Mark was moving in the same way, equally hating it. “I think so, yeah. Deepmarsh is, like, ninety-percent swamp and ten percent actual land. And it keeps going. It’s the largest layer by far and I fucking hate it.”

“Maybe you ought to invest in a flight skill,” Problem said as he casually levitated above the team, far enough that he wouldn’t risk getting “accidentally” splashed by his teammates (Damien had tried that earlier).

“Go to hell, Problem,” snapped Mark.

About an hour later, after following the paths that the first surveyors had marked, the team finally arrived at the first campsite and recuperated. They spotted only a few clusters of monster spawns, all of which had been lurking underwater. Less than the other layers but anything living here meant it was stupidly deadly. Sort of like Australia where everything there could kill you.

Like for example, thirty minutes into their march towards the second camp, the mud underneath their feet began to tremble. The water shivered, and distantly waves were seen rattling across the surface.

A couple hundred meters ahead of them. Approaching fast. Even in the damp darkness, the beast was visible, hidden underneath a moving mound of rough waters.

And before anyone had thought to bark orders and move into formation, Monarch pushed through to the front. Above her head shone the fiery glory of her signature, the [Excalibur Valfyre], the golden blade inspired by the most famous mythological weapon on this earth.

Its blinding light swallowed the conjured lanterns that the team used for illumination, and Damien’s heart thumped wildly in a fearful response to the sudden emission of high-grade holy energy.

Monarch, simply, made an upwards slash into the waters, generating a cutting wave. The impurities within were eradicated, surging through the surface in a pristine color.

The marsh split apart like a bullet disrupting air. Damien blinked and heard a catastrophic explosion a hundred meters out, a pillar of foul swamp soaring so high that it hit the ceiling, then solid rain cracked around them. Pebbles and stones and flesh-bits.

There went that thing.

Damien had read countless articles about [Excalibur Valfyre] and its creation process. Honestly the details sounded like they came from an original epic: it had taken a year to gather the materials and forge the holy blade. Hard scales harvested from a fallen Primordial Dragon of worlds away, gems chipped from an expansive crystal cavern, taken to the blacksmith Judas, etched with the runes of promised victory, enchanted by a fairy’s kiss, and went on a pilgrimage across the Christian holy sites and ended with a ceremony in St. Peter’s Basilica, blessed by the Pope himself.

That signature was fitting of its SS-Rank appraisal. Even as a filthy demon, Damien admired it.

From afar. He was going to admire it far, far away where the holy energy wasn’t attacking him like tear gas.

It wasn’t the only commissioned piece, as Monarch's armor was enchanted to heaven and back. Damien didn’t know as many details compared to [Excalibur Valfyre] but he knew he couldn’t scratch it. [Duskfire] included.

That was Ordo for you. Although a large portion of its population were Asian, the west had majorly influenced its culture. As seen with Royals and Angels, whose Guild Masters were empowered with faith.

Wasn’t Damien’s first choice for schooling but the Slayer Capital was particularly resistant against the whims of the international hands.

But had he known that he needed to conquer Darkrealm’s Hold… He honestly would’ve stayed in America.

***

The Deepmarsh was controlled by Ordo once again. It’d taken the longest of the layers due to the size and terrain. Camps were established on the wet islands, acting as resupply points for the trickling Slayers. For many of them—like Damien—there was no easier transportation method than going on foot. Darkrealm had specifically prevented any long-range teleportation as great as that would’ve been, alongside other “cheap” methods.

Everyone arrived to the last of these camps: Camp E. Upon arrival they were greeted by a sign put up by Darkrealm herself, which read: Congratulations! You’ve conquered the Deepmarsh, but now you must tackle the most dangerous layer yet! The dark and scary Abyss! I believe in you! Mwah! ♡♡♡

- by Darkrealm, the #1 Genius Inventor-Artificer-Machinist in the Entire Multiverse!

(While you’re here, give me a good review and send all feedback through the appropriate channels, please and thank you!)

Damien had the sudden urge to kick the sign over and stomp on it repeatedly. He didn’t allow himself to, though.

Because he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. At the far end of Camp E, a detachment of scouts were placed at the entrance to the Abyss Layer: a simple spiral staircase like the others. Monarch approached them first and took their reports, then returned to the main group.

“They’re unable to conduct a full composition report of the Abyss Layer,” she told them. “But they said this: the entire environment changed, and they’re pretty certain that nothing’s alive down there. Other than our Nemesis.”

“So we're sticking to the original plan?” asked Mark, flicking a glob of mud off his forearm. “You don’t need us?”

Monarch nodded. “That’s what it looks like. Fusil, stay here in Camp E. If there are any changes, notify us on the System immediately and we’ll consider our options then. We don’t know what we’re walking into, after all.”

“Yes, ma’am. Good hunting.”

Having Fusil stay here was for the best. He didn’t have any faith magick like High Dominion or Monarch and negotiating with the demon was out of the question. The less they had going into the layer, the better. Everyone was well-informed of the threat that the Void Demon posed. Everyone knew that they were powerless against it without the correct tools.

The demon who could consume the physical and conceptual world. Your arm just as likely as your concept of time. The stars and your System. The SS-Class Nemesis who had arrived to this world to consume.

Nobody knew what it looked like. Nobody knew the full extent of its powers. Encountering this demon was as rare as winning the lottery ten times in a row. Although Monarch and High Dominion were the most fitting for this subjugation, their lives were not guaranteed.

Damien’s certainly wasn’t.

Monarch knew this, as she couldn't conceal the instinctual fear in her eyes. But courage were the actions taken in spite of fear and she was its shining example. “We’ll penetrate the last layer just like we planned. White Herald?”

White Herald nodded and stepped forward. Unlike the Guild Master his eyes were professional and certain, like a surgeon performing the same operation for the thousandth time. “Just like we planned. There are no problems here in High Dominion. But…?”

His eyes trailed to Damien and Problem.

Problem spoke on the behalf of the Dawn Baptists, “The only problem here is me. Joking aside, we’re ready.”

Damien put his only hand over his heart, felt it uneasily beat. He turned over his shoulder to the dark staircase and sensed the intense demonic energy below. Crashing with the overwhelming presence of so many holy individuals before him.

What a poetic thing.

***

It was empty here.

It was the darkspace between the stars.

A single step was taken and sensation fell apart. A haunting ringing in his ears then a silence that was so loud like banging bells. So the bells rung and the smell of metal boiled his nostrils, then nothing and what was left in that absence was the distinct scent of wetness like sewer sludge. A faint taste of mud was left on his tongue, followed by a numbing blandness that reminded him too much of himself. Hairs stood on his exposed skin. The unsettling atmosphere gave way to him rubbing his fingers together, tapping them to the beat of his favorite songs, to the songs that he couldn’t hear inside his head. He had to physically look if he was tapping his fingers because he couldn't feel them. Exactly when your arms were pines-and-needles but without the painful sensation.

Only his sight wasn’t stolen by the darkspace but he’d be fooled if it wasn't for his party members. Everyone cuddled together in the moving beach-colored barrier, silently, like playwrights listening to the chatter of a roaring audience just before the show's beginning.

It was dark here.

The Abyss Layer had said to resemble an otherworldly stage underneath the stars. Designed to be the closest representation of the Space Beyond. Maybe that was why the Sungrazers were sent to Ordo; maybe the cosmos had been so enraged by this blasphemy and they wanted to destroy this world because of it. Starting with the most reputable stronghold of humanity’s defense.

No, that thought was stupid. It was Sirius Aethfell, always had been.

Damien shook his head, placed his hand on his cheek but couldn’t feel himself slapping the skin. All he could sense was his heart telling him to turn back because being stuck in the middle of these holy warriors, as the Scion he was, was suicide.

What the hell was going on with him?

“...Keep your wits about you,” said one High Dominion member, Zeal, wearing a mystical robes as white as wedding dresses. She was one of three maintaining the barrier. “It’s affecting my cognition with absurd thoughts.”

“Because this is an absurd place to be in,” followed Ivory Knight, the main member who was holding the barrier. “The demonic energy here is high. And I can’t make out anything here. It’s all black.”

He was correct, of course Ivory Knight was correct. As one of the senior members within High Dominion, that simple comment was indicative of his experience and intellect, so yes he was correct.

The place they were venturing in was the epitome of the Void, nothing but that quality and everything of it.

The walls weren’t visible. The ceiling disappeared. The floor beneath them was gone. They were trembling across a glass bridge over a deep valley. 'Left' and 'right' were meaningless directions. The only exit was forwards.

“—Damien,” Votary called to him and sounded like she had been for quite some time. She physically pulled on his sleeve, yanking him down an inch. “You’re sweating.”

“Am I?” Damien replied, laughed but that was a nervous laughter, he hated that laugh. He needed a better laugh. “I couldn’t feel it.”

Because he couldn’t feel anything, really.

He took heavy breaths and smothered half his face with his only hand. Nope, didn’t feel wet.

Something straightened his pathetic posture. Votary, again. “Problem, what’s going on with him? He’s more affected by this space than we are.”

Problem took a good look at his partner and shrugged. “I can’t give you a solid answer. Maybe it’s his status as a low-ranker, the overwhelming demonic presence, the insensibility of it all—”

“All of the above?” Damien suggested through clattering teeth, stepping without footsteps.

“All of the above,” agreed Problem. “Tell us if anything significant changes in you. We don’t want our ace in the hole dying before we encounter the demon itself.”

A fast nod left him. “I wouldn’t keep anything from you, haha… What about you? Do you feel anything?”

“A minor disturbance,” answered Monarch who was leading the team with White Herald. Even their auras were smothered in the nothingness construct of this sensationless hell.

“I only have weird thoughts,” Problem followed, but his tone betrayed him. Even the calm ritualist had cracks in his composure. After all, he was a child. Just a child fighting an adult’s war, even though he’d hit Damien for joking about that.

“Same,” answered Votary who volunteered an arm for Damien’s one. She was unsettled. She wasn’t as powerful as the other high-rankers here, nor the most experienced or intelligent. No insult to her.

So what did that mean for the Hellfire Scion? Why was he so afraid? He hadn’t been this bewildered since, well, ever. Not during the first hours of the outbreak nor the Incogs’ attack on Black Paladin, or the cosmic attack from the two Sungrazers.

This was different, because it was like the Void Demon was speaking to him directly.

He opened his mouth to squeak but nothing tripped off his tongue, instead hanging at his front tooth, dangling there uselessly.

One High Dominion member, Divineer, opened a screen. Said it had only been thirty minutes since their descent into the Abyss. Couldn’t be that short, or long, however you put it, however you looked at it. It felt like hours. Was this really sensory deprivation? What an awful experience. He couldn’t feel his breaths or the sweat soaking his robes.

Someone called him but he didn’t know who. Problem answered in his place, something about sensing the demon. Yeah, Damien had no sense.

Some time after—seconds? minutes—?they stumbled upon a cracked stone wall partly-embedded into the “floor” like a rendered 3D object clipping.

A buon fresco, chipped and flaking. Detailing a halcyon land that definitely didn’t belong to this world. This paradise had great architectural spires that arose to the clouds and pretty roving vales.

“How did this get here?” asked a shirtless High Dominion member, Temple. Intricate tattoos of magical design adorned him.

“Do you know where it came from?” inquired Monarch.

Temple hummed in the negative. “It doesn't look homeworld. That’s all I know.”

The depiction of paradise wasn’t the only artifact they encountered during their timeless walk. It was like stumbling into the ruins of a destroyed nation.

A dilapidated home constructed from wooden planks and bricks. Half the roof had collapsed and a hole was blown into the front wall, revealing the kitchen scattered pots and plates and bowls among the floor. No one was inside. Save for the dirty, used clothes behind the open doorway. If that was evidence for life.

Trees were present beyond the house, somehow. But they were subjected to bizarre physics that’d defy most worlds. Levitating motionlessly in the air, rotated and twisted, clipped into the “walls” and “floors”. It was a bad video game brought to life.

Broken paved sidewalks led them to a half-deleted fountain. Water continued to flow in the existing half without spilling off the sides. Streetlamps leaned towards them like unsubtle spies.

The further they went, more of these sights appeared. Testing their mental resilience. Frozen corpses of wild animals foreign to this world. A flock of exotic birds stuck forever in time and space. Shops and stores that contained smaller structures within, like sheds or little huts. Floating books of unknown languages, erratic notes of mad ramblings.

The Abyss had become a city without time and movement, a lifeless husk resting in darkspace. This wasn’t the paradise that its people wanted.

“In front of us,” called Problem as everyone saw the newest peculiarity.

Actual people.

Damien blinked. Almost people.

Twenty meters ahead, suddenly popping into existence, was a group of thirteen gray husks that actually moved, swaying like dumb grass. Like ghouls, the same ones that Althea had fought during the beginning of the outbreak.

Gray-things, but not all were lanky and slender. Some were small, the size of Problem, while others were taller than the average adult man. But they all were gray and genderless, no flesh but skin.

Pilgrim, a High Dominion member who dressed from the American colonial era, raised her long rifle resembling a musket. She downed one husk.

Surprisingly they reacted. They began to slowly shamble their way to the group, which was still protected behind the barrier.

It didn’t take more than fifteen seconds for them to dispatch the ghouls.

Damien pressed a hand against his head, suffering still but grateful for Votary's support. “What… What is going on here?”

“Think happy thoughts, demon. Okay? We need you sane,” she advised him as they pressed forward again, her [Daemon Ward] shining in response to the demonic energy,

“That’s easy for you to say,” he stammered out, wishing to return. “I’ve never felt more empty in my life.”

As he said those words, his mind resonated profoundly. Spontaneously, he understood. Right when more husks appeared around them. Quadruple the quantity from before. Monarch called out names to take additional battle positions.

Damien continued to speak knowing he was not one of the fighters: “Nothing matters anymore. They’ve created civilization like ours. They advanced it. But something happened to them. Something devastating, like us and the World Wars. The trenches, the boxcars, the warheads. They lost their homes, their families, everything.”

Votary hoisted him up as White Herald alerted everyone of more husks. “What’re you saying?”

“The future was eradicated. I think… I think they tried, Votary,” Damien said, breathing in as the husks fell. “They tried to restore their world but—“ he laughed, it felt good,“—they pushed the knife deeper. So at that point, why bother buying into the idea of a so-called paradise? All they feel is numbness. A void.”

“The Void Demon?”

“No.” Damien looked around at the fallen husks. “The ones who created the demon out of their own apathy.”

Once he finished, the atmosphere changed. The demonic pressure increased. Everyone’s [Daemon Ward] brightened like overcharged light bulbs and they hunched over to resist the weight. All except for Damien, who was no longer subjected to the energy.

Before anyone could speak, Damien stared ahead and said, “It’s too late. He’s here. He’s been here the entire time.”

Damien’s heart was heard.

The buon fresco from earlier, the mural that depicted paradise, appeared into view. Recreated. Except across this bastardized expanse, there was no beautiful elements of nature or wondrous creations of man. Only gray heads, becoming the grass and the bricks and mortar. Their expressions were dull and absent, each part pulled in different ways to mimic—or mock—the idea of emotion.

And standing upon the highest point…

Monarch snapped to the others, “Everyone————!"