Three months earlier, Southern Continent, Demon domain…
In a lonesome mountain, there was a jagged formation of obsidian cliffs. A fortress rose out of the obsidian cliffs like a broken fang.
Within, a chamber yawned.
It was perfectly circular, lit by gutters of crimson flame. The floor was a single slab of black glass carved with runes, and at its center, a war table of living basalt throbbed faintly, its surface molded into a relief of Planet Scrontum.
Every major landmass was indicated on the war table's surface; three continents, one ocean, and five races clinging to their borders.
Eight figures surrounded the table in a ring formation. Their shadows crawled the walls as though eager to flee.
Malgar Voidborne, Regent of the Black Court, right hand of the Demon King, an S Rank Demon lifted two clawed fingers. The flames bowed, and his voice rumbled like iron dragging over stone.
"Status".
Ghor Ulfar, the famous War Anvil of the Demon Race stepped forward first.
Even for Demons, he was a mountain of a Demon with horns that were etched with battle notches, and shoulders armored in plates hammered from the skulls of fallen champions.
His voice rumbled soon after Malgar spoke.
"The Orcs have fortified the ash steppes. Their Warchiefs bleed us at the passes, but they are not unbreakable," he snorted.
"They have the same weaknesses that have plagued them for centuries, their strength is loud and linear". His tusked grin showed too many teeth. "We will teach them what it means to be outflanked."
A silken laugh answered him. Lady Serika Thornveil, the Mistress of Masks, lounged against a pillar, her beauty cut from razors.
Two faces shimmered over her own, both smiling. "Brute force has its hour, Ghor. But hearts win wars before armies do. Humans hide their heart in a city with a pretty name and prettier myths, Arcanum Nexus, Nexus Academy."
Her eyes flicked to the human-shaped relief on the table and she tapped the miniature Santiago Bernabeu with a lacquered nail. "They believe it untouchable".
"They are not wrong," rumbled Kravox Bone-Tyrant, a willowy and tall Demon, ribs like a cage of knives around a furnace.
His voice carried the soft patience of grave soil. "Their barrier inscriptions are layered, and their instructors competent. Their heroes… are irritatingly resilient".
"Resilient," Vaelith Ember breathed, haloed by heat.
Flames wrapped her wrists like bracelets, leaving the air tasting of copper. "Let them be resilient, fire has time."
Nyxara Soulweaver, cloaked in veils of black silk, toyed with a thread that wasn't there. Spirits hissed faintly around her ankles. "Time is a luxury," she said. "Our king is not patient forever, nor is destiny".
"We rot beneath parity, a word the lesser races invented to appease their fear. Parity is poison". She spat
Malgar watched them argue and did not blink.
The eight of them were some of the strongest Lords of the Demon domain, all S Ranked Demons. Some of them like Malgar were just a step away from the exalted SS Rank.
Behind Malgar's flat gaze, the world on the table pulsed: the Southern Continent where Demons, Orcs, and Humans gnawed at the same landmass; the Eastern home of the Elves; and the Northern bastions of the Dwarves.
He raised his hand again and silence fell, the flames crouching lower.
"State the creed," he said.
The eight spoke as one, old words rolling like thunder. "Coexistence is concession. Dominion is destiny".
Malgar's finger traced the Southern coastline on the basalt map. "We do not yet wear the world like a crown. We are feared, yes, but we are also contained".
"The Orcs blunt our charge. They are brutes, yes, but resilient brutes. The Humans weave alliances and inventions to keep the pressure on us. The Elves… those arrogant fools play for time behind their trees".
"The Dwarves see themselves above every other whereas they're just like the others, lesser races. They may be intelligent, but that does not give them dominion. Dominion is fated, and we, the Demon Race are fated".
"The Dwarves call themselves Kings while they hide in their stone enclaves and count their years, heresy," His voice rumbled, but then his lips curled. "We were not born to share".
He looked around at all the other Demon Lords that were present. "We were born to take, we were born to rule, we were born to dominate!"
Ghor thumped a fist to his chest. "Then call the legions and we shall…"
"No," Serika's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Not yet," she said with a voice that pulsed with power but was also unmistakably seductive and enchanting.
Ghor stared at her and frowned, waiting for her to explain. She did.
She smiled, flashing a smile that could topple nations. "You march the legions and the world aligns. They'll be forced to ally against us, Orc with Human, and Dwarf with Elf".
"They'll sing the old and cowardly songs of survival, and we'll have a long war that we do not need. We bleed them first. Quietly, surgically".
"And loudly," Vaelith purred. "At the right place where it hurts the most".
"Nexus Academy…" it came as a whisper.
Kravox gestured. In response to his gesture, bone slivers grew from the table and rearranged themselves into a miniature depiction of Nexus Academy and the city that wrapped it like ivy.
"We strike the hub and the spokes tremble," he said. "We kill their faith. We strike at their foundation, their talents, and their whole structure will crumble".
Nyxara's veil stirred. "We send a message of intent," she murmured. "Before the storm settles into a proper disaster".
Malgar inclined his head. "Outline it."
Serika flicked her wrist and the war table answered.