The frustration in his heart quickly dissipated amidst the relentless slaughter.
Bathed in his victims' blood, Orsaga felt a surge of pleasure—his demonic nature reveling in the carnage.
Even though he was also taking damage, it did nothing to sour his mood; in fact, it was improving by the second.
As a demon, he possessed formidable vitality. So long as the wounds weren't fatal, vast amounts of flesh and blood could heal just about anything.
And in this place?
There was a shortage of everything—except corpses.
Combined with his innate ability to absorb flesh and blood, an endless stream of life energy flooded into him.
Many wounds that seemed severe on the surface healed in an instant, making him seem almost like he had a budget version of immortality.
He wasn't alone in this; most of the other demons were the same, though their recovery rate was far inferior to Orsaga's. They mostly relied on eating to steal life force.
In essence, it was no different from raising gu—only the strongest survived, while the weak were devoured and reduced to dust.
The victor took all.
The loser lost everything.
Only the strong deserved to live. The only value of the weak was to become stepping stones for the strong.
Slaughter. Plunder. Grow stronger.
These three principles were the eternal, unchanging truth of the Abyss—a never-ending cycle.
Ceaseless killing, endless looting, and an insatiable hunger for power—these were etched deep into the soul of every abyssal creature. To them, this was the supreme truth, the only true measure of success. Everything else was secondary.
Compared to the skirmishes in the Demonbone Forest, the never-ending Blood Wars that had raged since Order and Chaos split into factions were the true embodiment of that principle.
In the inherited memories of Orsaga, every being had the right to join the Blood War. There, it didn't matter how you killed—so long as you slew others, you gained a portion of their power. No prerequisites. No ceiling. Just kill, and you'd grow stronger. Endlessly.
Opportunistic kills, punching above your level, instant ascension—entirely normal!
Humans, demons, angels, gods, astral beings, even machines—no matter your origin, all were treated the same.
It didn't matter whether you showed up swinging swords or piloting a cosmic warship—everything was fair game.
Cause and method didn't matter. Once you entered the battlefield, killing everything around you was the only objective.
Trillions upon trillions of lives perished there, only to be replaced by trillions more. An endless, eternal cycle of death and replenishment.
That was the largest meat grinder in the entire multiverse!
Compared to that place, the Demonbone Forest was nothing more than an amusement park. This level of carnage wasn't even a warm-up.
Though he had no intention of seeking death in the Blood War just yet...
As a demon, Orsaga still couldn't help but long for it.
To a demon, the Blood War was paradise—the grandest battlefield in the multiverse. Just thinking about it made his heart race.
As he continued his killing spree, lost in thought, a subtle disturbance rippled through the clouds above. Orsaga immediately recognized it.
It was the precursor to the descent of a Soul crystal—a sign that the battle was about to hit its climax.
Countless flying demons ascended rapidly, desperate to seize the Soul crystal as fast as possible.
Meanwhile, the grounded demons, incapable of flight, launched indiscriminate attacks toward the sky—just like last time.
The airborne demons and those on the ground abandoned their previous targets, launching wild, indiscriminate attacks either skyward or downward. It was practically a replay of the previous chaos, down to the smallest detail.
The only difference was that last time, Orsaga had been on the ground—barely part of the ground faction. This time, he had taken to the skies, joining the air faction.
Not that it mattered. In his view, this factional division was meaningless. Everyone was still fighting everyone else—no allies, only enemies.
Dodging an incoming blast by a few meters, Orsaga rubbed his chin as he surveyed the increasingly chaotic battlefield.
"Mood's cleared up. Time to get down to business…"
Crimson bloodflames erupted from his body and gathered above his head, forming a massive fireball hundreds of meters wide.
As the flames churned within it, Orsaga raised both hands and clenched them tightly.
BOOM!
The fireball exploded.
A tide of blood-colored flames surged outward, descending from the sky like a flowing cloud of fire.
Watching the demons below scramble for the Soul crystal, a sinister grin spread across Orsaga's face.
To him, that so-called Soul crystal meant nothing. Those clustered demons below were his real targets.
His time in the Demonbone Forest was nearing its limit. Before long, he would be forcefully expelled to a deeper layer of the Abyss. Finding this many demons of similar strength again would be far harder.
So now was the time to harvest—plundering as many evolution points as possible.
The ground-bound demons didn't sit idly by. Countless spells were unleashed toward both Orsaga and the falling firestorm.
But even as tens of thousands of magical attacks streaked toward him, Orsaga remained calm. His mind automatically mapped the most efficient evasion routes, and he easily weaved through the barrage.
Then, using the energy intensity of the attacks, he began to identify which zones had the weakest counteroffensives.
A weaker defense likely meant weaker enemies—his ideal targets.
It didn't take him long to pinpoint the perfect spot.
With a mighty flap of his wings, he dove.
A fiery spear from the sky—unstoppable, deadly.
His target: a Lesser Demon, the strongest in that area. Priority kill!
The demon, who had been locked in battle with another, immediately noticed Orsaga's open hostility and rapid descent. His expression shifted dramatically.
An icy crystal burst from his head and formed a thick ice shield above him.
Bang!
The devastating impact shattered the shield's suspension magic, turning the block of ice into a falling tombstone that crashed down toward him.
He tried to hold it up, but the moment his arms touched the shield, he felt an overwhelming force crash through him.
Before he could even muster resistance, his arms snapped.
Despair surged through his heart.
BOOM!
A crater over ten meters deep formed where he had stood, with him at its center. Dozens of nearby demons were blown away by the shockwave.
Standing atop the shattered shield, Orsaga gazed at the blood leaking beneath it. His tail ignited in flame and stabbed down, extracting every drop of essence from the demon's ruined corpse.
Within the pit, he could sense the surrounding energy fluctuations—others approaching to scavenge.
A sneer curled on his lips: "Those flying guys are too slippery. Ground demons, though? Packed in tight and easy to harvest…"
In the next moment, a blazing spear several meters long formed in his hand.
With a twist of his waist and a thrust from his shoulder, he hurled it.
Unhindered, it sank into the ground some distance away.
BOOM!
Dirt and body parts flew as several burrowing demons were annihilated on the spot.
He leapt lightly out of the pit.
A nearby minor demon caught his eye—Orsaga casually flung a fireball that killed it instantly.
Then, fire radiated from him in all directions, expanding into a flaming domain spanning dozens of meters.
Within this space, demons, plants, even the soil—anything that touched the bloodflame—burst into intense, inextinguishable fire.
No matter how the demons channeled their magic, they couldn't put it out.
The flames had now become Orsaga's tendrils, allowing him to project power at will and crush resistance.
Unlike in other worlds where normal creatures would turn to ash at a mere touch of bloodflame, the monsters of the Abyss possessed high energy resistance and freakish vitality. Weak attacks couldn't kill them.
So Orsaga chose to compress the power within a limited area, steadily increasing its intensity.
It might not be enough to instantly kill a Lesser Demon, but for minor demons and weaker beings, a few seconds of contact would reduce them to ash—and grant Orsaga their evolution points.
Massacring the weak.
That was basically what Orsaga was doing now.
Picking the softest targets to crush!
Assuming each minor demon was worth at least a few hundred evolution points, the sight of these hills crawling with them made Orsaga's eyes light up.
Compared to the clever Lesser Demons who knew how to weigh gains and losses, these beastlike minor demons were far easier to deal with.
As for whether bullying low-IQ children was shameful?
That never crossed his mind.
After all, demons didn't feel shame.
Slaughtering the weak and backstabbing the strong—those were fine, time-honored traditions!
Once his domain was set up, Orsaga wasted no time, diving into the nearest cluster of demons.
Against his mobile crematorium-style assault, the demons either tried to fight back or flee in terror.
Though they couldn't cause him much trouble, they did slow him down considerably—something that irked him, but couldn't be helped.
Thus began a deadly game of cat and mouse.
_____
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