Marina's voice was cold, laced with a weary resignation. When they first landed, she had chosen to kill the naga Eshyra for two reasons: to make an example of her, and because the naga race and the mermaid race were ancient rivals. She felt no guilt for the kill.

Marina had assumed her show of force would be enough to make the Reverse Whale, Dadur, and the Dreadfin, Cyclon, back down for good. She never thought they would decide to make trouble after all. The tsunami that was now bearing down on them was their revenge—a clear message of their displeasure with the Stoneheart Horde.

"Arch Elder, take this," Marina said, pulling a large seashell from a pouch. It was an item Orion had given her.

"I don't know how powerful this tsunami will be. If it becomes unavoidable, you must lead the people into the Sea-Devouring Warship for shelter." She pressed the shell into Rendall's hand. "This is a Deepsea Razorgill Nest. If the worst happens and I can't get back to you in time, release them. They should be able to protect you."

"My lady… as you command!" Rendall started to ask something, but the icy look in Marina's eyes made him swallow his words.

"All personnel, by my command, move to higher ground! Now!"

***

Silverwood Realm—The Cult of Four's Black Tower.

"Pontiff Yriel. Pontiff Jack. Is there anything you'd like to say to me?"

Considering they were all fellow Pontiffs, Konak's tone was remarkably restrained.

"I imagine, Pontiff Konak, that you won't be mocking me any longer," Yriel said from the guest's seat, a smug, self-satisfied look on his face. "Abandoning my Black Tower seems rather excusable now, doesn't it?"

"The death of Yilaya the Witch and my own will projection was proof enough that the enemy was formidable," he continued. "You made the same mistake I did. We both underestimated them."

In truth, both Yriel and the clown had tacitly agreed not to warn Konak. They both wanted him to suffer a defeat. Yriel's motive was simple: he wanted Konak to understand that his own earlier loss was not without reason.

The clown's intentions were more complex. Beyond making Konak recognize the enemy's strength, he wanted to forge a deep-seated hatred between Konak and the Champions Alliance. That way, Konak would be bound more tightly to their own inner circle.

The truth was, the twelve Pontiffs of the Cult of Four were nearly all demigods with their own factions and interests. They were far from a united front. In many ways, they were rivals, because above them were only four positions: the Archbishops. Any vacancy in that upper echelon would turn them against one another in an instant.

"Pontiff Konak," the clown interjected, his voice slightly mechanical, "we have all climbed to our positions because we understand one simple truth: failure is not to be feared. What is to be feared is failing to stand united against our enemies." His words were a bridge, closing the growing distance between Konak and Yriel. He was an excellent mediator. "The enemy is strong. We need to be united, do we not?"

"Praise the Four Gods!" the clown continued, asserting his own authority. "My fellow Pontiffs, this is a world rich in resources. My arrival here is for one purpose: to help you conquer it." He was reminding Konak that he still had two other demigod allies who had yet to be deployed.

This war had only just begun.

"Bickering amongst ourselves will only diminish our own strength and fracture our unity," the clown said, his words striking a chord with both Konak and Yriel. "The Four Gods surely would not wish to see us retreat from such a fertile ground for boundless faith."

As the demigods responsible for this continental invasion, neither of them could bear to let such a prize slip through their fingers.

"Tell me," Konak said, his anger finally giving way to pragmatism. "What is your plan?" After the destruction of his fire dragon avatar, he knew Yriel and the clown must have already formulated a strategy. They wouldn't be sitting so calmly on the sidelines otherwise.

"It's simple," Yriel said. "We start taking this enemy seriously. We will deploy the Cult of Four's professional legions and commit more forces to the front. And, of course, we will need to increase the number of top-tier combatants as well."

The Front Lines—Hydraea Plains.

While the clown and the other two Pontiffs were scheming, a portion of the Champions Alliance's reinforcements had already reached the battlefield.

Demonic monsters, undead, cave spiders, and Plague-thralls armies poured onto the front lines, a tide of cannon fodder that swarmed and consumed the Cult of Four's own demonic forces. The battle line, spearheaded by the Deathly Soul-Reaper, Sever, and the Bone brothers, began a relentless push southward.

"The Cult of Four is a secretive organization. This is hardly the extent of their capabilities."

As if sensing a shift in the conflict, both the Deputy Commander and Alexander teleported to the front lines. With the arrival of the two veteran comrades, the Deathly Soul-Reaper had no choice but to cede supreme command.

"The Cult of Four is getting serious," Alexander stated, his gaze fixed on the southern horizon. "My spies in the north and south report that their standing army is on the move. The clown has also deployed his puppet legions. It seems he wants to go head-to-head with us."

"He wants to test our strength, certainly," the Deputy Commander mused, "but he also undoubtedly intends to bog us down here, to bleed us dry." A wicked smile played on his lips. "The pond is getting nicely stocked. I'm quite curious to see what other big fish we can catch."

He began to wave his staff. With each gesture, countless undead and skeletons clawed their way out of the corpse-littered ground. The Deputy Commander wasn't summoning mere fodder; he was raising legions of high-tier units.

Through the Deathly Soul-Reaper's eyes, Orion saw them: Dark Knights, Necromancers, Elite Archers, Mourning Banshees, Soul Reapers, Death Knights… there were even horrifying, bone-wrought meat wagons that churned across the battlefield.

This was a true Undead Scourge.

Orion watched the Deputy Commander, gaining a new and profound respect for the humble, scholarly 'old man'.

"The Cult of Four lost so many arch lords," Orion commented through the Reaper, voicing his question. "Can they still field more high-level combatants?" He had killed so many of them himself; he was certain he had dealt them a crippling blow.

"The Cult of Four's strength is beyond your imagination," Alexander replied, though he offered no further explanation. "You'll see soon enough."

"Have you found the clown's true form?" the Deputy Commander asked Alexander casually, his mass summoning complete.

Alexander shook his head, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before it vanished. "Our old lead went cold. I didn't make a move, to avoid tipping our hand."

The Deputy Commander said nothing, but his silence was a grim affirmation. The traitor within the Champions Alliance had to be hunted down, no matter the cost.

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