The basalt surface of the war table rippled, and tiny lights appeared in the stands of the coliseum, seeds planted in a crowd.
"We enter as spectators, as merchants, as guild representatives. That way, we won't be seen. Humans are corrupt and inherently greedy, we can buy our way in with the right price".
"Once we're in, we wear faces taken from men who will not be missed. We let the entrance examination do the thinning; fatigue them, maim them, make them bleed in celebration of their future, and that is when we strike".
"What of their shields?" asked Zahrim Galeclaw, a winged killer whose talons clicked idly on stone. "They have shield inscriptions and wards layered by cautious cowards, we can't breach it immediately".
"Wards can be persuaded," Nyxara said.
Her fingers plucked the air and a rune on the table shivered and dimmed. "All we need is a hair cut from a sigilist, an oath inverted, and a keystone shifted a half degree at the right time".
"We do not need to break the barrier, we can simply unstitch it".
"And if their heroes respond swiftly?" Kravox asked.
Malgar's mouth twitched, almost amused. "Let them. We simply measure their reflex and kill counts. We learn the gait of Major Pain, their one-eyed instructor, and the tempo of their response".
"We test the heart before we carve it."
"Major Pain," mentioning his name once more, Malgar could not help his rising bloodlust as he licked his lips in anticipation. "I've heard so much about his fame, I hope he lives up to the hype".
Serika drifted a nail across the Elves' relief on the table, then to the Dwarven Mountains. "After the message, we simply let rumor do our work".
"Humans will begin to whisper that they are not safe. Maybe Elves willbar their woods, maybe they won't, doesn't matter. Dwarves may seal their gates, or they may not, doesn't matter. It'll till be the first step of the coming storm".
"As for the Orcs?" She smiled calculatedly. "We pressure them at the borders, assassinate warchiefs, poison mounts, burn their grain, and invite feuds. They will turn on themselves if pushed right."
Ghor grunted, pleased despite himself. "I may not be the big-brain type, but I think I understand the plan now," he grinned. "Weaken the herd, cull at leisure".
"Now you get it," Serika flashed a smile in satisfaction.
Vaelith leaned in until the edge of her heat blackened the map. "And when Human eyes look inward and Orc eyes look sideways, we bring the sky down. Cities burn better when people are still counting lost sons."
Zahrim's wings flexed. "Targets after Nexus?"
"Supply arteries," Malgar said. "Relay points, forges, Hero Union outposts, we'll target them all. We'll cut the limbs before going for the neck".
Ishkar, the Seer of Black Glass, silent until now, finally shifted, drawing attention. His eyes were a sheet of obsidian.
He set a crystal shard upon the map, and a spiral of hairline fractures spread through the basalt, threading their way toward Arcanum Nexus.
His voice was a whisper that felt like falling. "The weave favors swiftness. Strike when they expect ceremony, when victory chants drown instinct, when chosen children lift hands and promise futures".
"The tournament's end," Serika said, delighted. "When the crowd is fat with pride, that's when the iron is hottest, and that's when we strike".
"Yes," Ishkar breathed. "There, the human world's fabric is thinnest. There, fear multiplies if we strike successfully".
Malgar looked around the circle. "Any objections?"
None came, only the hungry quiet of predators who have scented blood.
"Then the plan stands," he said. "In three months, the heart of the human domain learns it can be pierced. We will teach them a lesson in fear".
"We do not crush it yet, rather we bruise it deep. We smother them like a cat does to a snake. We suffocate them, and the bruise will rot, then we take the limb. Then the torso, and then the head".
Kravox's grin showed all his teeth. "And the bones will sing for us".
Ghor rolled his shoulders, eager. "And the Orcs?"
"Bleed them," Malgar said. "Push them into small wars they cannot ignore. Offer bargains to lesser chiefs. Break unity first, and bodies second".
His gaze slid to the eastern miniature. "The Elves will posture and wait, thinking this skirmish is beneath them". His eyes turned cruel. "Let them".
"The Dwarves will retreat, feeling too smart to participate or pay attention to the struggles of the weak, but the smoke will choke their forges slowly".
He looked back to the Southern relief, the human cities like pinpricks of light. "The world will be ours city by city, oath by oath, skull by skull".
"Nothing will be spared".
Serika's second face, one of the two floating above her winked and vanished. "I have faces ready. Papers, too. Some human guilds squint at coin more than creeds. Doors open when the right purse knocks."
Malgar did not smile. "Use them, then burn them when done."
Vaelith's flames flared, eager. "We will burn much."
"Save your fire for the day," Nyxara said mildly, twisting the invisible thread again. One of the barrier runes on the table cracked delicately, like ice in spring. "Preparation is a kind of mercy, it lets the slaughter look like fate."
Malgar extended his hand, palm up. One by one, the Demon Lords cut their own, letting black-red blood patter onto the basalt table depicting the map of Planet Scrontum.
The map drank greedily. Runes woke, thread by thread, until the whole world on the table glowed like a coal.
"Speak," Malgar ordered.
They did, soft at first, then rising, the chamber answering with a hundred ghosts of echo.
"One world, one throne, one race".
The flames leapt.
Far above, beyond the vaulted stone, something older than malice stirred, watching, approving, but saying nothing.
Malgar turned, cloak whispering behind him like a drawn blade. "We move," he said. "Begin the unthreading. When the bell tolls in Arcanum Nexus and the children raise their hands… we take them".
The lights guttered. The war-table dimmed to a steady heartbeat.
Outside, the sea chewed at the cliff as if it could eat the fortress. Inside, the Demons dispersed like knives into sheaths, carrying war in their pockets and certainty on their tongues.
Three months later, in a coliseum that called itself invulnerable, masks would fall. And the world would remember what it meant to be prey.