Different from Warren's quiet relief and from Elara's subtle admiration.
Magnus, trapped on the battlefield, felt only fear and fury.
As a commander of the Legion of Faith, this was the first time he had ever seen the Abyss field a true army, and it was no rabble, this was an army born from killing.
Every creature here had clawed and fought to survive from the moment of birth.They were killers by instinct, warriors by necessity.
Compared to them, the orc hordes and dragon-blooded troops Magnus had faced before seemed pitiful.
"Hold the line!" Magnus roared as space gates split open around him.
He surged forward, flaming sword in hand, cleaving two abyssal fiends that had torn into one of his men. He burned their remains to ash, but his victory lasted only moments. To his left, a heavy knight of the Thirteenth Legion was suddenly ensnared by a mass of writhing tentacles.
Each tendril ended in a gaping, tooth-lined maw.
They devoured the knight and his armor in seconds.
"Captain…!" came the man's dying cry before silence swallowed him whole.
Magnus's eyes burned as shadowy wraiths slithered closer, fusing together, coiling around him. Whispers clawed at his mind, dragging him into despair.
"Is this," he muttered, "the true punishment the angels warned us of?"
Just as the darkness closed in, a ray of divine light split the battlefield. The shadows shrieked and burned away. From the heart of chaos, an angelic apparition rose, woven from pure faith and divine magic.
Magnus gasped, his will returning as the blessing of belief steadied his heart.
"This is only a trial. And we will endure it!"
Gripping his flaming sword, he stood once more, the fire of defiance in his eyes.
Looking into the black-red vortex above, into the eyes of the Abyss itself, he raised his voice.
"I will never yield!"
His defiance echoed into the void, colliding with the gaze of Cillian's Endless Abyss.
For a time, their shield wall did not break.
High above, a radiant [Angel Illusion] shone without pause, its light piercing the choking haze. Under its guidance, Magnus's soldiers forgot their pain, forgot the hell they stood in and Faith burned within them, holding their line steady against the endless tide.
the warriors of the Thirteenth legion still fought with stubborn defiance against the creatures of the Abyss.
Ordinary abyssal spawn and even primordial demons hurled themselves at the legion's defenses, only to be shattered again and again. Blessed by faith, bolstered by divine arts, the Thirteenth Legion endured.
"As expected of my warriors," Magnus murmured, pride flickering across his bloodstained face.
But then the battlefield trembled.
Dozens of monstrous tentacles burst from a nearby gate, thick enough to shatter stone. The soldiers froze, their courage faltering as a deafening roar tore the air apart.
From the rift squeezed forth towering horrors, giants with a hundred arms, their flesh crawling with tentacles, their many hands twitching with hunger as their eyes burned with cruelty as they looked upon the men of higher planes.
The Thirteenth Legion's defense shattered in a single instant.
At the same time, from another gate lanced beams of corrupted magic. Each ray carried the Abyss's warped power: petrification, curses, acid, disease. Every flash left Magnus's soldiers screaming, their bodies twisted or melting where they stood.
Floating above the battlefield came a new terror: the Mother of Eye Demons, her swollen form trailing countless spawn behind her. A storm of hateful eyes blinked open, and the very air shuddered beneath their gaze.
The field chaplains raised their prayers, but their sacred arts faltered. The Mother smothered their light with ease and their proud incantations crumbled before they could even leave their lips.
"The Chaplain Corps is breaking," Magnus hissed.
He spurred his mount forward, raising his flaming greatsword high, and with his heavy knights at his back, charged directly into the swarm of eye demons.
⸻x———-
Forty-eight hours passed.
Magnus no longer remembered how many times he had led his cavalry in a desperate countercharge. Again and again, the heavy knights of the Thirteenth Legion had driven their spears and blades into abyssal ranks, crushing fiends beneath iron hooves. Again and again, they had bought precious time for their priests to unleash divine fire.
Even the Hundred-Armed Giants and the Eye Demons had been scattered beneath their fury.
The heavy cavalry, his pride, his invincible core. With them, Magnus had preserved what little remained of his army.
"Hold on," he rasped, coughing blood into the swamp mist. "Hold on a little longer…"
No reply came.
He turned—and behind him stretched only silence. The earth was scarred with drag marks, the swamp gurgled bloody bubbles as stench of devoured flesh rose. The tentacles had taken them all.
Magnus spat blood and toppled from his mount, his body finally betraying him. For forty-eight hours, he had fought without pause, slaughtering countless horrors of the Abyss.
But now, at last, he felt powerless.
Through the mist, a voice called.
"Cap… Captain Magnus?"
His eyes widened. "Gene?"
A freckled face broke through the haze, red-haired, and wide-eyed. His squire, his loyal squire. The boy who had followed him since his earliest campaigns.
"You're still alive," Magnus whispered, relief flooding him. "Thank the angels…"
"Yes, Captain," Gene said with a trembling smile. "I'm alive, thanks to—"
The words twisted. The voice deepened.
And Magnus's heart sank.
The figure stepped closer, revealing the truth: six spider-like limbs bursting from his back, arms melted into tentacles, and a gaping mouth splitting his abdomen. Gene's smile twisted into something alien.
"Thanks to the mercy of the Abyss," the creature crooned. "The angels lied, Captain. The Abyss is the true Lord, and I serve Him now."
Magnus staggered, tears blurring his vision. "Gene…"
He stepped forward, embracing the creature despite its monstrous form. He held the boy who had once been a squire, who had risen to knighthood at his side. The boy who once laughed and asked why angels were so beautiful.
The soldier who had obeyed every order without doubt.
"Captain… why are you crying?" Gene's voice trembled. "If you join me, we can fight together again. For the true Lord…"
"I'm sorry, Gene." Magnus's voice broke. "Free yourself."
With one motion, he drove his flaming blade through the creature's three hearts. Gene gasped, then almost immediately fell silent, his twisted form collapsing into the swamp.
It was all a lie, Magnus knew it. There was no salvation here. The Abyss would never release the souls it devoured, they were chained forever.
And yet he stood there, holding the still body, weeping silently.
The fog lifted around him, revealing the truth he already feared.
The Thirteenth Legion was gone and all his men had fallen.
Only he remained.
From the mire rose countless Fallen Ones, once his comrades, now twisted mockeries smiling hungrily, waiting for him to lead them once more.
Magnus raised his head, and above him swirled a black-red vortex. In its depths, eyes stared down, cold and unblinking.
Shadows pressed in, whispers gnawed at his soul, his heart cracking further with each pull. The Abyss's will clawed at him, promising a false future, a glorious lie.
But then—
He remembered.
"Every night I looked to the stars," Magnus whispered, his voice trembling. "And I asked myself… will I be the only sane soul in this war?"
A spark lit within him.
"Now I know the answer."
The spark became fire. Divine light burst from his soul, burning through corruption, igniting everything he was.
"I never surrendered," he roared. "I swore before the angels, I swore my faith would live through me!"
His body burned. His soul burned. His faith became flame, consuming all that remained.
"Faith is precious only when it is lived!"
And then Magnus was gone.
Nothing remained but ash.
High above, the eyes of the Abyss blinked once, indifferent.
"…How boring," whispered the voice of Cillian's Endless Abyss.
The pious soul had vanished, and the Abyss was left with only emptiness.