Fourth Layer of the Endless Abyss
Magnus stepped onto the ice and the commander of the Thirteenth Legion looked up at the sky and narrowed his eyes.
Hanging above the eternally gray horizon of the abyss, where no sun should ever rise lay a radiant, blue sphere.
"A blue sun…?" Magnus muttered.
But this was no sun of life, it radiated no sense of warmth, Instead, it bathed the world in a dazzling light of frost.
That false sun poured out pure ice-elemental energy, turning the entire fourth layer of the abyss into a continent of frozen blades. The sharp, cold atmosphere meant every step forward left an unease so deep it ran to the bone.
As unsettling as it was the army had been warned, they knew to tread carefully, to avoid exposing skin and to respect the ice.
And still, the soldiers slipped, they screamed as they fell face-first into the frozen blades of the ground, each misstep paid for fully in blood. The temperature so low that a touch too long on the blue ice meant torn flesh or a lost limb.
And worse yet, they weren't alone.
Subspecies of the original Devil, with translucent bodies that melded seamlessly into the environment, what Cillian came to call Ice Demons. They didn't attack on sight, instead they Camouflaged in the walls and buried themselves in the frost, waiting like snipers.
They were intelligent creatures, they didn't go for the strong or the armed, instead they waited for those who lingered too long on a step and lost functionality in their leg or those who managed to escape from a slip onto the bladed ground with gaping injuries.
In a moment one leapt from the frozen ridge without warning, its blue wings flashing, grabbed a soldier with a broken arm, and vanished into the sky before anyone could react.
A scream followed, then it rained blood.
"Ahhh! Kill me!" the soldier howled, hanging upside-down like a doll.
His abdomen split open, entrails uncoiling like ropes. The Ice Demon ate while staring straight at the men below, mocking them. Daring them to come.
"Bastards!"
"Wait…!"
One squad leaders couldn't bear it. With priest-blessed wings, he launched himself skyward. His comrade, knowing how dire his chances were in this environment, snatched at his feet as he tried to intercept him.
And the moment they took flight, a swarm of hidden ice demons burst from the cliffs and snow, stabbing them with their sharp-demonic talons before dragging them higher into the frostbitten air. In the end, three men hung in the sky, torn and twitching, not quite dead.
Scenes like this repeated across the entire fourth layer, and the morale began to crack. At first, it was just silence. Then mutterings, then finally… doubt started to creep in.
"Are we really the chosen of the angels?" someone finally shouted. "If we were—why would they send us here?"
Everyone turned their heads,, some narrowed their eyes. He'd said it out loud, what they were thinking, he'd said out loud.
The soldier looked broken. His eyes lacked revered the light and were now glazed, shadowed by frost and fear.
"If the angels are so mighty… why don't they come down and destroy this place themselves? Why must.."
"Shut up!" his commander snapped, and punched him hard enough to knock out a tooth.
This only made the soldier grow louder.
"No! I'll say it! Why must we suffer in this cursed world?! Why are we dying here—for what?! Where are the angels?!"
His voice echoed, then for a moment silence ensued.
A cold shimmer cut through the air. A golden blur flashed forward, and a head fell to the ice.
The killer stood still, cloaked in white-gold armor, runes carved into his pauldrons, a terrifying golden eye glowing inside his helmet.
An Angel's Enforcer.
He raised the decapitated head by the hair and turned to the others.
"This man has fallen," the Enforcer said coldly. "Under the grace of the heavens he has been purified."
No one spoke.
"Our faith must not be stained. Glory to the angels."
The soldiers bowed their heads, teeth clenched, boots crunching softly as they moved forward in silence—toward the fifth layer.
At the front of the army, Magnus slowed his pace. He'd heard the soldier's outburst, and he'd seen the cracks spreading.
"Even belief is starting to collapse," he muttered.
His grip tightened on the flaming greatsword in his hand.
"We'll need to move faster."
"How many more layers are there in this place…? Five? Ten? A hundred?"
He didn't know, but something about this floor disturbed him deeply.
Not because of the casualties. It was, strangely, the lowest so far. And still, it'd had a devastating effect on their fighting ability.
Here, their power had weakened, their discipline had frayed, and worst of all… their faith was eroding.
And that was all before the hallucinations.
Soldiers stared at their angelic armbands, and saw the kind, divine faces that'd gotten them through so much … slowly shifting. Twisting.
And the angels began to look like Devils.
"Guardian," one man whispered, trembling, "please… stay me steady through the storm"