The Abyss, Sixth Layer: Foundry Citadel.

Whoosh!

A solitary tongue of flame burst into existence amidst the drifting gray snow(spores), like a match struck in a dark room, desperate to illuminate the void.

For a heartbeat, the endless cascade of ash seemed to smother it.

But that was merely the spark.

High above, rippling across the surface of the defensive barrier, countless similar flames ignited in unison. This was the Doomsday Fire.

ROAR!

The reaction was instantaneous and violent, like tossing a lit flare into a pool of gasoline. The Doomsday Fire didn't just burn; it feasted. The fuel was the very atmosphere itself—the oppressive, suffocating layer of gray spores that had laid siege to the barrier.

The sky, previously a monochromatic canvas of despair, was violently repainted in crimson.

The gray haze choking the Foundry Citadel began to recede, incinerated by the apocalyptic heat.

Inside the citadel, a heavy silence reigned. But Orion didn't need ears to hear the truth. He could feel it.

A roar of triumph washed over him, a collective scream of vindication from every abyssal creature sheltering within the walls. In the silent, scorching light, their eyes were locked on the sky, united by hope.

"My Lord, it's working! It's actually working!"

Eparus was vibrating with excitement. This was a gambit the Scourge Wardens had proposed, their contribution to the survival of the Foundry Citadel.

The only bitter pill to swallow was the source. The flames belonged to the Doomguard—their sworn, ancestral enemies.

Still, this success solidified Eparus's resolve. If he could just ascend to the rank of Arch Lord, he was certain he could access the deep archives of the Scourge Wardens' genetic memory and find a native solution to the Graying. If the Doomguard had a counter, surely the Scourge Wardens did too.

"Don't pop the champagne yet," Orion said, his voice cutting through the celebratory mood. "The Doomsday Fire is only burning the spores."

He gestured to the sky. "The spores are infinite. How long can we keep the furnace running? Until we find the Unhallowed's main body—until we have a target to strike—the threat to the Foundry Citadel remains absolute."

Orion wasn't letting a tactical win blind him to the strategic reality. The fire on the barrier was just a reprieve. It relieved the pressure, but it wasn't a cure.

"Forgive us, My Lord. We were short-sighted."

Eparus and the other Scourge Wardens bowed their heads, shame replacing their earlier elation.

"You've done well," Orion said, softening his tone. "The Conquest Legion is still young. Our foundations are thin. We all need time."

Time. That was the only currency that mattered. Orion needed it, the Legion needed it, and even the defensive barrier needed it.

"The Doomsday Fire on Doomscourge won't burn this hot forever. Before the flames die down, make sure we are ready for whatever comes next."

After dismissing them, Orion turned his gaze back to the burning dome of the sky.

This Unhallowed entity was the most frustrating adversary he had ever faced. It was elusive, intangible, and unfair. He hadn't even thrown a punch yet because there was nothing to hit.

But the tide was turning. The Doomsday Fire was acting like a tracer. By burning away the camouflage, Orion hoped to spot a discrepancy, a flow of energy that would lead him to the puppet master.

It was a race now. Just the Foundry Citadel versus the Unhallowed.

***

The Silverwood Realm. The Fury Plains.

This land once belonged to the Fury Tribe, a civilization of gnolls that had carved out a brutal existence on the steppes. But when the Cult of Four descended, bringing the magical catastrophe with them, the Fury Tribe was broken.

Those who didn't die fled east toward the coast, seeking refuge with the Nightwing race.

Now, their abandoned homeland served as the forward operating base for the Champions Alliance. The coalition army was massive, comprised primarily of the Stoneheart Horde and Arthas's undead legions.

"Heh. The Boss made it clear," a gravelly voice growled. "This territory belongs to the Stoneheart Horde. Any Warden who puts in the work gets a slice of the pie. A nice, fertile fiefdom."

Dirtclaw grinned, his hellhound features twisting in anticipation. For a creature of his ambition, land wasn't just dirt; it was power. The more territory he controlled, the deeper his resource pool. It was the XP and loot he needed to grind his way up to Arch Lord.

"I actually like the vibe here," a breezy voice countered. "The elemental density is thick, and the variety is... soothing."

Gustalon materialized in the air next to Dirtclaw. "I want my fiefdom to be poetic. Swirling winds, dancing flower petals, sprites singing in the twilight... that sort of thing."

On Dirtclaw's other side, Clymene and Lorelia were lounging, completing the circle of Legendary-level Wardens.

"Ugh... the sun is obnoxious here. I hate worlds like this," Lorelia complained, stretching her limbs like a lazy cat. Or rather, a lazy spider queen. "Give me underground caves or the Abyss any day. That is where a cave spider belongs."

She only dared to leave the Spider Nest and sunbathe on the watchtower because Orion's Curse Avatar was leading the army personally. Without him, Lorelia wouldn't have stepped one foot outside her lair.

"Master already promised me," Lorelia continued, a smug look on her face. "He's going to find me a private 'Godforsaken Land,' or carve out a slice of his territory in the Abyss just for me. You guys realize the Master has already expanded into the Abyss, right?"

She looked around, enjoying the fact that she had insider intel.

"The Stoneheart Horde now holds territory on the Second and Sixth Layers. And from what Master says... it's huge. Massive real estate."

Lorelia's delicate face beamed with pride. To her, Orion's success was her success.

"We need to wrap this up. Fast," Clymene said abruptly.

Orion's sister stared out at the horizon, her expression serious. "If I count the people in the Stoneheart Horde capable of actually helping Orion right now, I wouldn't even need one hand."

She turned to look at the others. "Our Lord is definitely heading into the Abyss alone. He's pioneering that territory solo."

Clymene knew Orion better than anyone. She knew his secrets, and she knew his habits. He was a protector. Unless he was 100% sure of their safety, he would tank the risks himself rather than let his people walk into a meat grinder.

It was who he was. It was who he had always been.

"You're right, Lady Clymene," Lorelia said, dropping the lazy act. "We need to clear this map so we can go power-level the Master's expansion."

Lorelia and Clymene went way back. Her relationship with Clymene was far more intimate and relaxed than the cautious professional distance she kept with Dirtclaw or Gustalon.

"Except for Gustalon and his flower petals," Clymene noted, glancing at the wind spirit before sweeping her gaze over the hellhound and the spider, "the Abyss is a better fit for the rest of us anyway."

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