"Proceed exactly as we trained and practiced, this in nothing new—no deviations in formation will be tolerated!" roared Fyron, the Demon King, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade of authority.

"Understood!" came the united response.

Behind him, thirty demons broke through the atmosphere in perfect, disciplined ranks, moving as if bound by invisible threads. Not a single one advanced too far or lagged behind. In the blink of an eye, they crossed the region Amon and his savage squad had ravaged earlier, then split toward another quadrant of the planet.

That sector was quieter, with far fewer starships overhead—most of the fleet was concentrated above the zone dominated by the Shattering Meteors Empire. Yet something else awaited there: a horde of stone beasts, their bodies like jagged monuments, surrounded by several World Cataclysms and Nexus States. These entities relentlessly pushed the beasts away from the ships, ensuring none could get close enough to threaten them. The scene, though distant from Amon's battlefield, was no less perilous or critical.

When Fyron reached what he deemed a suitable distance, he raised one clawed hand high. The thirty demons behind him halted instantly, motionless in the skies.

"I want three volleys per second," he commanded coldly. "Each shot must carry twenty liters of compressed blood. Infuse every projectile with the Frozen Inferno Effect."

Znnnnn—

At once, his followers lifted their hands. Thin streams of blood began seeping from the metallic veins that wove across their bodies, twisting and spiraling outward. The liquid gathered before them, compressing tighter and tighter until each droplet became a perfect sphere, swirling with intertwined hues of crimson and icy blue—a mesmerizing dance of fire and frost.

This was one of the most recent upgrades to the Crimson Armors. Originally, those synthetic veins had a simpler purpose: to circulate stored blood within the armor, dispersing demonic auras and confusing enemy sensors trying to identify them. But when Sakaar proposed a new enhancement, Zara executed it flawlessly.

Now, intricate space engravings ran along the inside of every artificial vein, turning them into something akin to spatial rings. Within those veins, demons could store the blood, flesh, and corpses of their fallen enemies, preserving the essence of battle itself. And when their storage capacity reached its limit, they would discharge a portion of it into the underground city, delivering resources for the females and younglings before returning to the warfront.

As for the capacity of those veins... well, let's just say the Demon Kings themselves no longer needed to master the ancient technique of storing and compressing blood within their own bodies as Sakaar still did.

Fayron didn't bother to glance back or sense their readiness with his soul perception. He knew their discipline—he had forged it himself through months of brutal training and countless live drills. When he judged they were fully charged, his deep, commanding voice thundered once more:

"The strike will be aimed at bearings ninety and eighty! Do not cease fire until I give the signal… Fire!"

SWOOSH SWOOSH

Was it the Falling Star Cannon? The support fleet artillery? Or perhaps the main gun of the flagship itself?

No. This was something far greater—the true artillery. The Artillery of Fyron!

WOOSH WOOSH WOOSH WOOSH

BAAAAAAM!

"Arghh! What's happening behind us?!" A massive wolf-type beast roared in agony as the blasts struck its shattered armor. The force sent shockwaves through its body, forcing it to abandon its position in the siege and leap backward in desperation.

"There's an enemy behind us!"

"Stay alert and spread out!"

The World Cataclysms of the allied army instantly abandoned the siege formation, scattering across the void in erratic arcs of motion. Each blood projectile that hit them erupted into a frozen inferno, coating flesh and armor alike in a layer of biting frost that burrowed deep, gnawing toward their very bones. These shots weren't meant to kill outright, nor were they devastating enough to cripple—but the agony they caused was pure torment, burning and freezing at once, a pain designed to break focus and will.

"Hm?"

Yet not everyone fell back.

SWOOSH SWOOSH SWOOSH

A new volley of hyper-compressed projectiles streaked through the darkness, slamming into a towering beast—more than eighty meters tall—its shape that of a colossal metallic lion, polished to mirror brightness, like a sacred statue forged by ancient gods.

The massive lion barely flinched. Its mane shimmered with glints of molten gold as the projectiles shattered upon impact, scattering in harmless sparks. For a moment, a low metallic groan echoed through the vacuum—then silence. The lion's expression twisted in annoyance, but that was all. Its iron body remained immaculate, untarnished by the assault.

Then, slowly, it turned its head toward Fyron and his thirty crimson warriors.

"What are you creatures…?" its voice rumbled like thunder, resonating through the empty void. "No matter. Die!"

Abandoning the stone beast it had been pinning down, the metallic lion propelled itself forward, its claws igniting with bursts of plasma as it charged straight at Fyron's line. The shockwave of its movement alone displaced nearby debris and fractured several spatial folds.

But in the face of this oncoming storm, Fyron, the Demon King, didn't flinch. His voice was sharp, measured—like a commander who had lived and died a thousand wars.

"One shot per second. One hundred liters of compressed blood. Apply the Deep Dissolution Effect... Fire!"

HOOOOOOOOOM—!

A hum unlike anything mortal resonated through the field. The air trembled as their internal veins—those metallic conduits running through their demonic armor—lit up with intertwining streams of blue and red. The blood projectiles transformed, darkening until they became obsidian spheres of condensed malice and life-force. Then—

BAAAAAAAAAAM!

"AAARGHH!!"

The lion's roar cracked through the void. Even he, a Nexus State in full transformation, couldn't endure that barrage. Its body shuddered violently, molten cracks running across its armor as it reeled backward from the pain.

Each of those shots carried power sufficient to annihilate a World Cataclysm, and yet they were more than just bursts of blood energy. Each orb was laced with a corrosive venom that bypassed armor entirely, seeping through layers of enchanted steel to rot the softer flesh beneath. The agony was unbearable—a poison made to dissolve both body and soul.

The metallic lion swung its claws wildly, rending space itself. The vacuum screamed as ripples of gravitational distortion spread outward.

"RAAAAAAAAR!! You think— you think cooperation makes you equals to me?! You're nothing but ants digging your own graves!"

Before it could finish its bellow, a new sound cut through the battlefield—a chilling voice dripping with death itself.

"Crumbling Civilization!"

The space behind the lion warped violently. A Nexus State from the Crumbled Dreams Empire had abandoned its defensive posture, releasing a devastating, all-consuming strike directly at the lion's unguarded back!

As with all destructive techniques from the Path of Ruin, the world around them fractured in response. The void shattered like brittle glass, and the attack surged forward as a glowing scar of annihilation tearing toward the lion's heart.

"RAAAAAR—!!" The lion's furious bellow shook the entire region. The incoming attack had shattered a seventh-stage spatial layer—a clear sign that this was no mere battle technique. It was a killing blow, one that would drain nearly a quarter of its wielder's life force just to execute.

The lion twisted its body midair, opening its maw wide. From deep within its throat, molten liquid metal began to churn and rise, a white-hot radiance burning through the seams of its armor. The temperature spiked so high that even nearby fragments of metal began to vaporize instantly. That molten surge, if unleashed, could have erased a continent, or perhaps—barely—blocked the destructive strike coming for it.

But then—

"Fire!" Fayron's roar tore through the comms like a blade.

At that exact moment, the lion's pupils shrank to pinpoints. A dreadful realization hit—it was too late to counter. Its body tensed involuntarily, and for the first time in centuries, fear coursed through its metallic veins.

"Oh… no—"

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The world exploded. Frostfire and bloodlight collided with molten destruction, sending shockwaves across kilometers of empty space. The metallic lion's massive frame was swallowed whole, its roars drowned in the deafening eruption.

The brilliance of the Demon King's artillery eclipsed even the dying light of the battlefield. In that instant, the heavens themselves seemed to kneel before Fyron's regiment of crimson destruction.

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