The sky above Seoul no longer looked like a sky.
It looked like a wound.
The Great Gate loomed over the city like a vertical horizon torn open by something that did not belong to this world—an endless oval of crimson and violet suspended in the heavens. Its edges writhed constantly, twisting and convulsing as though reality itself was desperately trying to stitch the tear closed and failing every time.
Demonic clouds spilled from the opening in slow, lazy coils.
They rolled across the ruined districts beneath like poison smoke, casting warped shadows over shattered buildings and abandoned streets.
The city had already been evacuated.
Yet Seoul still felt haunted.
Waiting.
Five thousand people stood before the Gate.
Five thousand superhumans.
Steel clinked softly.
Armor shifted.
Auras flared and settled.
Prayers were whispered beneath trembling breaths.
Knuckles cracked.
Old rivalries were forgotten.
Old grudges were buried.
Every man and woman standing there understood a single truth.
This was a one-way march.
At the forefront stood two forces that had never once fought side by side.
On the left stood Union of Power.
The embodiment of brute dominance.
Their formation was loose, aggressive, and confident. Heavy hitters occupied the front ranks while elite combatants lingered behind them like predators waiting to be unleashed. Their presence radiated pressure, confidence, and overwhelming force.
Above them fluttered their banner.
A diamond fist clenched against a black field.
A symbol recognized throughout the world.
On the right stood Sanctify.
Orderly.
Disciplined.
Immaculate.
White-and-gold armor gleamed beneath floating constructs of holy light. Priests moved calmly between ranks, murmuring blessings and prayers. Sacred glyphs briefly appeared across armor, shields, and weapons before fading into streams of golden particles.
Where Union of Power looked like a hammer—
Sanctify looked like a blade.
And between them remained a narrow corridor of empty ground.
Untouched.
Unclaimed.
As though even these titans preferred not to stand too close to one another.
The corrupted wind howled.
The Great Gate pulsed.
Then a figure stepped forward.
Gerald the Diamond Fist.
SS-ranked.
The leader of Union of Power.
The ground cracked beneath his boots.
Not because of weight.
Because of presence.
Thin fractures spread across the stone as his skin gradually hardened, crystal veins shimmering faintly beneath the surface.
He turned toward the thousands gathered behind him.
When he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly across the battlefield.
"Today," Gerald said calmly, "we remind the world why humanity still stands."
No dramatic gestures.
No roaring declaration.
No theatrics.
Just certainty.
"They think humanity is weak."
His gaze swept over the Gate.
"They think distance makes them safe."
His fist slowly clenched.
"They think demons own this Gate."
The crystal around his hand gleamed.
"We will prove them wrong."
A wave of pressure rolled across the gathered army.
Not power.
Conviction.
On the opposite side, golden light rippled through Sanctify's ranks.
Another figure stepped forward.
Salvatore.
The Sun God.
SS-ranked.
Light bent naturally around him.
Not because he commanded it.
Because it seemed to want to follow him.
A halo of radiance surrounded his form.
His voice was softer than Gerald's.
Yet somehow it traveled just as far.
"This is not a conquest."
The battlefield grew still.
"This is a cleansing."
He raised one hand.
Palm open.
"Demons feed on fear."
Golden particles drifted from his fingertips.
"On chaos."
His gaze swept over the army.
"On division."
The sunlight surrounding him brightened.
"Then today..."
The radiance intensified.
"We give them none."
No cheers followed.
No battle cries.
No declarations of glory.
Only the sound of five thousand warriors drawing weapons.
Steel sang.
Magic gathered.
The Great Gate pulsed once more.
And then—
Humanity advanced.
Crossing the threshold felt like being submerged in boiling water and ice at the same time.
Reality twisted.
Space folded.
Gravity stuttered.
Some screamed.
Most simply gritted their teeth and forced themselves forward.
The transition lasted only seconds.
It felt like eternity.
Then the world reformed.
The landscape beyond the Gate stretched endlessly beneath a blood-red sky.
Jagged black spires rose from the earth like broken teeth.
Mountains of obsidian pierced the horizon.
Rivers of viscous shadow wound between them, steaming faintly as they flowed through the corrupted wasteland.
Nothing looked natural.
Nothing felt alive.
And waiting for them—
Were demons.
The first wave struck almost immediately.
Imps burst from cracks in the ground by the thousands.
Shrieking.
Laughing.
Scrambling forward in swarms.
Their claws scraped against shields.
Their teeth snapped hungrily.
Above them hovered succubi.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Their wings beat lazily as they descended.
Their laughter echoed across the battlefield.
Whispers accompanied every word.
Enchantment hidden within every syllable.
Temptation wrapped inside every smile.
"Hold formation!"
Sanctify commanders shouted.
Their disciplined ranks tightened immediately.
Union of Power answered differently.
With violence.
Alan the Strong Arm surged forward like a missile.
His fist struck the earth.
The impact detonated.
The ground erupted.
Hundreds of imps vanished instantly as stone, dirt, and flesh exploded skyward.
Nearby, Tigre the Beast King roared.
His body shifted mid-charge.
Muscles expanded.
Claws emerged.
Fangs lengthened.
He crashed into demonic ranks like a living avalanche, tearing through enemies with savage efficiency.
Sanctify responded in equal measure.
Leonardo the Spike Paladin planted his shield.
Holy energy erupted outward.
Thousands of luminous spikes burst from the ground, skewering charging demons before they could reach the frontline.
To his left, Hugh the Meteor Shield slammed his massive tower shield into the earth.
Light exploded outward.
A colossal dome formed instantly.
Moments later, a rain of corrupted fire descended from the sky.
The barrier absorbed everything.
The battlefield erupted.
Magic screamed.
Steel rang.
Explosions shook the corrupted plains.
Blood splattered across black stone.
Red.
Black.
And colors that should not have existed.
Succubi descended from above.
Claws extended.
Smiles widening.
Only to freeze solid in midair.
John the Freezing Knight exhaled.
Frost exploded outward.
The temperature plummeted.
Ice spears formed from crystallized air itself.
The frozen succubi shattered like glass.
Fragments scattered across the battlefield.
From the rear lines, Sanctify artillery units unleashed coordinated barrages.
Columns of holy light tore through demonic formations.
Entire trenches were carved into the corrupted landscape.
Union of Power shock troops charged through every opening.
Merciless.
Relentless.
Unstoppable.
The advance never slowed.
Every fallen demon was stepped over.
Every scream ignored.
Mile after mile, humanity pushed deeper into the Demon King's domain.
Leaving only silence behind.
High above the battlefield—
Luxuria watched.
Her castle floated upon a plateau suspended in the crimson heavens.
A structure carved from obsidian, silk, and living desire.
Its towers twisted toward the sky like reaching fingers.
Its walls pulsed faintly, breathing as though alive.
Within its highest chamber sat the Demon Queen herself.
Luxuria reclined upon a throne that appeared grown rather than built.
The surface shifted beneath her like living flesh.
A crystal goblet rested in her hand.
Its contents shimmered between blood and starlight.
She took a slow sip.
And smiled.
"Five thousand."
Her voice drifted through the chamber.
Amused.
Lazy.
A collection of warped mirrors floated before her.
Each displayed a different section of the battlefield.
Thousands of demons dying.
Thousands more charging forward.
Humanity advancing.
"Such confidence."
Beside her knelt a succubus.
Wings folded respectfully.
"Shall we deploy the Demon Lords, Your Majesty?"
Luxuria traced a finger around the rim of her goblet.
"No."
The answer came instantly.
She leaned forward slightly.
Crimson eyes gleaming.
"Let them exhaust themselves."
Below, demons died by the thousands.
Hellhounds charged.
Only to be cut apart by overlapping kill zones.
Incubi attempted flanking maneuvers.
Anton the Magneto answered by ripping entire sections of corrupted metal from the battlefield and crushing them beneath a storm of electromagnetic force.
Even high demons fell.
Towering monstrosities of horn and muscle.
Creatures capable of crushing tanks.
One after another, they died beneath coordinated assaults.
The earth shook beneath humanity's advance.
And still—
Luxuria remained seated.
"Strength."
Her eyes followed Gerald as he shattered a demonic colossus with a single punch.
"Faith."
Salvatore launched a spear of condensed sunlight that erased an entire battalion from existence.
Luxuria's smile widened.
"How predictable."
By the third hour, the battlefield had changed.
The demons adapted.
Succubi stopped charging.
Instead, they infiltrated.
Whispers spread through the ranks.
Subtle.
Persistent.
Dangerous.
Illusions appeared.
A trusted ally became a demon.
A commander became a monster.
A shadow became an attacker.
Some soldiers turned against enemies that did not exist.
Others screamed and clawed at their own armor as enchantments wormed their way into their minds.
Sanctify answered with purification chants.
Thousands of voices joined together.
Golden waves of cleansing energy rolled across the battlefield.
Union of Power answered differently.
Brutally.
Anything behaving strangely was subdued immediately.
Sometimes lethally.
There was no time for hesitation.
Casualties mounted.
Not catastrophic.
But real.
Painfully real.
Five thousand became four thousand nine hundred.
Then four thousand eight hundred.
The advance continued.
The cost increased.
And still Luxuria watched.
Her chin rested against one hand.
Amusement danced in her eyes.
"They think this is war."
One mirror shifted.
Showing regions far deeper within her territory.
Dark forests.
Buried traps.
Dormant rituals.
Demon Lords waiting patiently.
Corruption so dense that reality itself seemed diseased.
A smile touched her lips.
"This is only foreplay."
She leaned back against her throne.
The living structure responded instantly.
Almost affectionately.
"Let them come."
Many underestimated Luxuria.
They called her one of the weaker Demon Kings.
And individually, they were not entirely wrong.
She was not Acedia.
She was not Wrath.
She was not a monster built solely for destruction.
But Demon Kings were more than personal strength.
And Luxuria commanded something terrifying.
Numbers.
Influence.
Patience.
Her army rivaled those of the First and Second-ranked Demon Kings.
A direct assault against her domain with only five thousand soldiers had been a questionable decision from the very beginning.
Humanity saw a battlefield.
Luxuria saw a meat grinder.
And she had no intention of rushing the process.
Far below, the armies of mankind continued their march.
Victorious.
Confident.
Unaware.
Because the true battle had not yet begun.
And seated within the heart of her castle, the Demon Queen of Lust smiled.
Patient.
Amused.
And utterly unafraid.