Don woke to the smell of roasted meat and quiet conversation.
His body ached—a dull, persistent soreness that went deeper than muscle and bone. The kind of exhaustion that came from pushing past every limit, dying and regenerating, being tortured and rescued all within the span of hours that felt like years.
He opened his eyes.
Gray morning light filtered through the dead canopy above. The sky beyond was lighter now—not the oppressive crimson of the blood-soaked capital, but a pale, washed-out gray that suggested dawn had arrived while he slept.
Around the clearing, the survivors were awake. Most sat in small clusters, eating from rations Diana's team had distributed. Simple fare—dried meat, hard bread, water from enchanted canteens that purified anything poured into them.
Diana sat propped against a blackened tree trunk, her injured arm bound tight against her chest. Even exhausted and wounded, she carried herself with that same unbreakable presence. Thorne stood nearby, chewing methodically while his eyes scanned the forest's edge.
And in the center of the clearing—
Ashwood knelt before a device Don had never seen before.
It hovered at chest height, a sphere of interlocking metal rings that rotated slowly around a central crystal. The crystal pulsed with soft green light, and above it, projected into the air itself, was an image.
A planet.
Don sat up slowly, wincing as his body protested. His mana had recovered some during sleep—not much, but enough that his various cuts and bruises from yesterday's escape were mostly healed.
He stood, accepting a piece of dried meat from Martha as he moved closer to Ashwood's device.
The projected planet rotated slowly. Don recognized the shape—Sovret. Four continents visible from this angle. Magenda, the largest, where they currently were. And the three smaller landmasses to the west, south, and east.
The Hell continents.
Azkfos. Zakon. Zakosh.
But it wasn't the geography that held everyone's attention.
It was the lights.
Scattered across Magenda were dozens of points of light. White dots for common fighters and creatures, pulsing gently. And among them, brighter points—green for Stage One cultivators, blue for Stage Two.
And gold for Stage Three.
Don counted the golden lights.
Three.
Only three on the entire continent.
One in the far north. One in the west. And one—his stomach tightened—one in the south, right where the capital should be.
"Torkh," Diana said quietly, confirming what Don already knew.
"And the other two?" Rowan asked, his deep voice carrying clearly in the morning stillness.
Martha stepped forward, her scarred face grim as she studied the projection. "The continent is protected by four main fortresses—North, South, East, West. Each one guards a major approach into the heartland. The fortresses are our first and strongest line of defense against invasion."
She pointed at the golden light in the north.
"That's the Northern Fortress. Commanded by Theron Ashensteel—the greatest human swordsman alive. They say he can cut through Stage One demons like wheat before a scythe. His blade has never been broken, and neither has his will."
Her finger moved to the western light.
"And that's the Western Fortress. Held by Elara Flameheart—the strongest elemental mage in three generations. Fire, water, earth, air—she commands them all with equal mastery." Martha paused, something like awe crossing her features. "Some say she could stand against the Blood King himself."
"Could she win?" Ivy asked quietly.
Martha shook her head. "No one knows. They've never faced each other. But she's the only human who might survive the attempt."
Silence fell over the group.
Don stared at the projection. Three Stage Three entities. Two human. One demon.
"What about the South and East?" Aldric asked, his old voice hoarse.
Martha's expression darkened. "The Southern Fortress fell when the capital did—the commander was in the throne room when the demons struck. The Eastern Fortress..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "No Stage Three signature. Either the commander is dead, captured, or..."
"Or fled," Thorne finished flatly.
"Which means two of our four main defenses are compromised," Diana said. "The South is occupied by Torkh. The East is leaderless."
"And that's where they'll strike," Sylva added, her lean face hard. "Look at the demon continents."
Everyone's attention shifted to the three Hell continents.
They were covered in lights. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. White dots for normal demons and tainted creatures scattered like stars across the landmasses.
Green lights for Stage One clustered in massive groups. Blue lights for Stage Two positioned at what looked like command posts.
But no gold.
No Stage Three except Torkh.
"They're moving," Ashwood said quietly, his analytical voice cutting through the tension. "All of them. Toward the coasts. Toward Magenda."
Don watched the patterns. The demon forces weren't scattered randomly—they were organizing. Massing at shorelines. Forming into what looked like invasion fleets.
"Full continental invasion," Martha whispered. "They're going to hit us from three sides at once."
"The North and West can hold," Diana said, her emerald eyes calculating. "Theron and Elara are strong enough to defend their sectors, at least for a time. But the South and East..."
"Are going to be slaughtered," Karn said bluntly.
Diana nodded once. "Which is why we need to reach the nearest fortified city. Warn everyone we can. Prepare defenses. I've already sent word to Bardona—reinforcements will come, but it will take time. Days, maybe weeks."
"The nearest city is Millhaven," Martha said. "Two days' march through the Dead Forest if we push hard. Maybe three if we're cautious."
"Two days is too long," Rowan rumbled, his massive frame shifting. "Look at those formations. They could launch at any moment."
"Then we move fast," Diana started to say—
"I know a faster way."