The Nilfgaardian Army Group 'Center' did not march; they flowed like a river of black steel across the Velen marshes. Thousands of infantrymen, flanked by heavy cavalry and combat engineers, converged on the obsidian walls of Hellheim. To the Imperial commanders, this was a simple pacification of a rebel cult. They expected crude barricades and panicked peasants.
They found a graveyard of expectations.
As the legions moved into range, the order to "Loose!" never came from the walls. There were no archers. Instead, the battlements were lined with Leviathan sorcerers, their Occult Staves of Bisith glowing with a steady, predatory amethyst light.
The Nilfgaardians raised their shields, bracing for a volley. What followed was a massacre. The sorcerers didn't chant; they didn't draw complex runes in the air. They simply tapped the Hell Coins embedded in their staves. Pure Infernal Energy erupted in rapid-fire bursts, a relentless barrage of violet bolts that tore through plate armour and oak shields as if they were wet parchment. Entire front ranks were erased before they could even draw a breath, the "high definition" magic bypassing their mundane Dimeritium charms with contemptuous ease.
"Break the gate!" the Commander roared, desperate to escape the killing zone. "Force the breach!"
Imperial mages tried to counter with Chaos-fed fireballs, but their magic felt thin and erratic. Their spells were sucked into the Leviathan vortexes or simply flickered out against the superior pressure of the Source. Finally, a heavy battering ram, reinforced by alchemical explosives, slammed into the main obsidian gate. With a tectonic crack, the black stone shattered, and the Nilfgaardian infantry poured into the opening with a victory cry.
They didn't know they were walking into a meat grinder.
The moment the first legionaries crossed the threshold, the shimmering Lucifer barrier behind them snapped shut, sealing the breach like a trapdoor. The sunlight vanished, replaced by the suffocating red glow of the Beelzebub aura.
From the shadows of the inner courtyard, the Beelzebub warriors emerged. They didn't look like men anymore; they were hulking juggernauts of muscle and rage, their skin the colour of cooling lava.
The slaughter was silent and absolute. The warriors moved with infinite momentum, their Blades of Nivlatth cleaving through three men at a time. Shields were crushed, spears were snapped like twigs, and the "Black Ones" were reduced to a bloody mess in seconds. The Nilfgaardians realized too late that they weren't invading a city; they were being fed to it.
Outside, the Commander watched the gate in horrific silence. Thousands of his finest soldiers had entered. Not a single scream made it back out.
Thomas stood atop the central spire in his human form, his violet eyes watching the carnage with a detached, modern sorrow. He had warned them.
"They still think this is a war for land," he murmured, his voice carrying over the sound of snapping bone. "They haven't realized yet that in Hellheim, the land itself is hungry."
The massive obsidian gates of Hellheim groaned, the violet energy sealing the breach suddenly flickering out. A heavy, metallic silence fell over the Nilfgaardian lines. The Imperial Commander, perched atop his black charger, held his breath, expecting a parley or a final desperate charge.
Instead, he saw the truth.
As the gates swung wide, the "Iron Tide" of the Emperor was revealed as a literal carpet of broken steel and crimson meat. Thousands of the finest infantry lay in piles, their plate armor twisted like discarded tin. Standing amidst the carnage were the Beelzebub warriors, their red-tinted skin steaming in the cool Velen air, their Blades of Nivlatth dripping.
Thomas—Iblis—stepped onto the battlements in his human form. He didn't gloat. He simply looked down at the trembling Commander.
"I told your spies to warn you," Thomas's voice carried through the ozone-thick air. "You came to occupy a swamp. You found a god-machine. Take your remaining men and go."
The retreat was a rout. The "Black Ones" fled into the woods, leaving their dignity in the mud.
Thomas turned his back on the retreating army. He had a nation to arm and an economy to fuel. He returned to the Great Forge, where the air vibrated with the heat of the Source. On the massive anvil, he laid out the spoils: heavy axes, iron cleavers, and long-bladed slashers. Beside them sat raw Infernium and a collection of Demon Teeth.
With a pulse of his sovereign power, he fused the materials into the true "Exotic" weaponry of the higher realms:
The Bestial Axe: A jagged, heavy-headed weapon that hummed with the raw Physical Power of the Beast.
The Orc Lord Evisceration Cleaver: A massive, brutal blade designed to bypass armor and tear through flesh with terrifying efficiency.
The Ferocious Cleaver of the Ancient Demon: An artifact of pure malice, its edge shimmering with a violet heat that could cleave through even the strongest Dimeritium-reinforced steel.
To ensure his people could forge their own destiny, Iblis walked to the outskirts where the first Hellhound Kennels had been established. He had domesticated the beasts, turning the howling monsters into loyal livestock. The citizens of the Cult of Dusk gathered, watching as the Beelzebub warriors safely harvested glowing teeth and obsidian nails from the hounds. These materials were now available for purchase using Hell Coins, allowing any acolyte to upgrade their equipment.
But the masterstroke lay in the center of the square. Thomas raised his hand, tearing a jagged hole in reality and stabilizing it with pillars of black stone. A Red Portal flared into existence, roaring with the heat of another dimension.
"The ore of this world is brittle," Thomas announced. "Beyond this gate lies the Infernal World. There, the Infernium grows in the dark. Go. Mine the heart of the fire."
The Leviathan sorcerers and Beelzebub warriors stepped forward, fueled by their Hell Coins. They didn't fear the portal; they saw it as the path to the resources they needed to make Hellheim invincible. The meritocratic nation was no longer limited by the Continent; they were now harvesting the multiverse.