To be honest, ever since the Curse Avatar had arrived in the Abyss with his true body, Orion had a working theory.

That virtue knight and the calamity lord—they had to be locked in a stalemate. As for why neither was willing to back down, Orion had a pretty good idea about that, too.

The Abyssal Springhead.

Only a world-tier artifact of that magnitude would make two demigods abandon their territories and their armies to fight to the death over it. And that, Orion realized, spelled opportunity.

It was the perfect window to establish the Foundry Citadel in the Sixth Layer. It was also his chance to drive a wedge between the two demigods and snatch the Abyssal Springhead for himself. If they were still fighting over it, it meant neither of them had claimed it yet.

"Get to work, all of you," Orion said, his voice ringing with conviction. "This is a golden opportunity. The power we build in this grace period is entirely in your hands. This isn’t just my fortress. It’s the foundation of everything you’re fighting for."

***

Far to the north of the Sixth Layer, at the very edge of the world, space itself had been torn asunder. It was a region of collapsed dimensions and chaotic, churning energy—the kind of collateral damage you’d expect when two demigods went all out.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. Each layer of the Abyss had its own Abyssal Ruler, a being who could repair such damage with a mere flick of their wrist.

But this time, no one came to clean up the mess. And in the highest echelons of the Abyss, that silence meant everything.

A rumor began to circulate among the handful of beings who stood at the pinnacle of power. The Abyssal Ruler of the Sixth Layer was dead, killed by some unknown and unnatural means.

The news threw the Sixth Layer into chaos. Not that it mattered much—the Abyss was chaos incarnate. When an Abyssal Ruler falls, there are always others eager to take their place. The throne is never vacant for long.

But something was different this time. With the Unhallowed event looming on the horizon and the throne still empty, a current of genuine fear ran through even the most ancient demigods hiding in the shadows.

Orion, new to this layer, knew none of this. But the two beings at the center of the storm knew it all too well.

"Heh... a virtue knight who ’defends the light’?" a voice snarled, dripping with contempt. "Alveron, you and your sacred oath are a fucking joke!"

"I see no virtue in you. Only selfishness. Destruction. Greed. Hypocrisy. Betrayal. You are not a knight. You are a monster wearing virtue as a mask!"

The irony was staggering. A calamity lord, born and bred in the Abyss, lecturing a virtue knight on the nature of morality.

"Virtue is the discipline that tempers the soul! It is the vessel that holds the light of the mind!" the calamity lord, Zareth, roared, his eyes burning with pure hatred. "Where is your heart of virtue, Alveron? Where is your knightly code?"

He glared at the man who, for his own selfish ambition, had betrayed his friends and consumed his own soldiers.

The grand cavalry, the holy war, the purging of evil... it was all a lie. The only thing that mattered was the swirling vortex of power beneath their feet: the Abyssal Springhead.

Right now, the two demigods were like marbles trapped on a roulette wheel, held in orbit by the Springhead’s immense gravitational pull.

This wasn’t just any Abyssal Springhead. It was the one formed from the divine power and very essence of the Sixth Layer’s dead Abyssal Ruler. According to the cosmic contract between the Ruler and the world itself, that power was supposed to reintegrate, strengthening the layer’s foundation.

But somehow, Alveron had intercepted it. And in doing so, he had blocked the path for any other demigod to ascend and claim the empty throne.

"Zareth, my old friend, you don’t understand," Alveron said, his voice unnervingly calm in the face of Zareth’s rage. "This is my chance for a rebirth. A chance to ascend."

He spoke as if abandoning his faith and devouring his loyal followers were trivial matters. In fact, his face held the holy expression of one sacrificing everything for a greater cause.

"Zareth, I guided you into the Abyss for this very moment," Alveron continued, his tone steady, as if everything was proceeding exactly as planned. "To intercept the Springhead, I needed something of equivalent power to take its place in the cosmic balance. You, my friend, were a necessary sacrifice."

"Damn you, Alveron, do you hear yourself?" Zareth’s voice cracked. "My entire life... was it all your design?"

As a calamity lord of immense power, Zareth had survived in the Abyss for millennia. His will was forged of iron and stone. But now, that foundation was beginning to crumble.

Few knew that he and Alveron had known each other since they were children. They were friends. Brothers.

"You guessed it, Zareth. Everything you are, I made you," Alveron said, his tone light, as if explaining a complex story to a simple child.

"Your parents? I was the one who corrupted them. And I was the one who tipped off the inquisitors to have them executed." A small smile touched Alveron’s lips as he remembered their helpless, terrified eyes—and the unbreakable resolve with which they went to their deaths, never once speaking his name, or Zareth’s.

"And the seed of Calamity inside you? I planted that as well. How else do you think a lowborn human could rise to become a demigod, a being who stands above all others?"

"You’re not stupid, Zareth. I suspect you’ve known, on some level, for a long time. That’s why you’re fighting me now."

Zareth was silent. Utterly silent. The murder of his own parents—it was a betrayal so profound that even his demigod status couldn’t contain the rage and grief screaming from his very soul.

"So," Zareth finally said, his voice flat and dead. "Your true identity... you’re the Abyssal Ruler of the Sixth Layer?"