{Chapter: 138: Descent of the Abyss}
After crossing through the vast and glowing golden barrier, Dex felt the sensation of flesh returning to his bones. His form, once dissolved into an incorporeal stream of life and information, now reassembled with sinew, scale, and muscle. The sensation was jarring—like waking from a dream into a nightmare—but it also brought with it an undeniable rush of vitality. The air here was different, heavier, tainted with ancient forces that pulsed with both promise and peril.
Dex flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and casually glanced around.
Demons of all shapes and sizes sprawled across the land beside him, many groaning, panting, or otherwise regaining control of their freshly reformed bodies. And yet, compared to the horde that had initially entered the spatial channel, their numbers had been drastically reduced.
"Only a third of us made it through," Dex muttered to himself, his forked tongue tasting the air. "Tch. Waste disposal by evolution."
He knew exactly what had happened. The transmission they'd undergone was not simply a mode of transportation. It was a test. A purge. The weak were not merely discarded—they were repurposed. Their minds obliterated, their bodies transformed into mindless abominations—grotesque amalgamations of flesh and bone stitched together by demonic will. These warped beings were now tools of war, cannon fodder for the coming bloodshed.
Dex stared at one such creature nearby, crawling on too many limbs with soulless, glossy eyes. It let out a low, gurgling moan before skittering away like a broken puppet.
He turned his attention skyward. The teleportation that had carried them across dimensions still lingered above, shimmering like a tether of arcane light. They were gliding through the air, moving swiftly but smoothly. Dex could now see what lay beyond.
Above them stretched a great net-like formation, vast and radiant. It blanketed the sky, separating the heavens from the earth. He narrowed his eyes and studied it.
This isn't just weather. This is structure. Deliberate. Constructed.
There was a tangible boundary between realms here.
"Something divides the sky and the land—two worlds in one," Dex whispered, awed. The scale was immense, far beyond anything mortals could create. It was an act of divine or near-divine magic.
Beneath them, the land was surprisingly whole. The terrain showed no signs of recent warfare—no mountains razed, no cities in ruins, no vast fire-scarred valleys.
Dex exhaled slowly. This isn't the front line. Not yet.
He pieced the situation together: The native forces—guardians of this world—had used the net-like structure to isolate the battlefield. The skies above were the true battleground, where titans clashed and energies beyond comprehension were hurled back and forth like children's stones.
Demon Lord Carto's elite legion had yet to fully descend. They were still locked in a celestial struggle with the mightiest defenders of this realm. The land remained untouched only because the true monsters hadn't arrived.
"They're fighting at the door," Dex murmured, "and we're the ones trying to pick the lock."
His role in this incursion was now clear. While the great powers dueled in the heavens, he and others were tasked with causing disruption—sabotage, murder, chaos. They were termites gnawing at the hinges of a barricaded door, hoping to crack it open wide enough for the Demon Lord to push through.
It was a game of positioning. A war of attrition and distraction.
But there was danger here, even for him. The defenders of this world were no fools. Should one of their top champions descend—should even a glimpse of their wrath touch him—Dex would be obliterated before he could blink.
Just as that golden giant hand had nearly done earlier.
He shuddered, then grinned.
"I hope I don't run into some wandering gods and get vaporized," he chuckled to himself, whistling a strange abyssal tune that sounded like birdsong over a grave.
Time passed—minutes or perhaps hours. In this new space, time flowed strangely. The group of demons continued gliding along their arcane path, carried by residual energy from the teleportation spell.
Eventually, the sky began to shift.
The pristine blue was now veined with crimson. White clouds slowly deepened in color until they blazed blood red, as if stained by an endless sunset.
The change wasn't natural. Dex could feel it in his bones.
They had arrived at an Abyssal-claimed zone.
A great region of the sky and land had already been corrupted by the touch of his kind. The oppressive presence of this world was fading, replaced by the familiar pulse of abyssal magic. It was like being submerged in warm, poisonous waters that nourished as they dissolved.
Dex inhaled deeply. Freedom.
He could feel his strength returning. The suppressive pressure of this realm—which had weighed on him like invisible chains—was easing. He estimated about sixty percent of his power had returned.
"Give it a few more hours," he murmured, clenching his clawed fists, "and I'll be myself again."
As the power of the teleportation spell weakened, their descent began.
The sky grew closer, the ground looming beneath like a waiting mouth.
Then—
BANG!
Dex plummeted like a meteor, smashing into the earth at a terrifying speed. The impact cracked stone and sent up a massive plume of dust and debris more than ten meters high. The ground trembled beneath him.
He staggered upright, shaking the dust from his scales, his breath sharp but steady.
And then came the sounds of others.
Whistling. Roaring. Screaming.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of demons were falling like dead weight from the sky. The teleportation no longer cushioned their landing. They were being hurled out like garbage from a colossal drainpipe.
"Damn it," Dex hissed.
He turned just in time to see a massive, three-eyed ogre barreling down toward him, arms flailing mid-descent.
Without hesitating, Dex twisted and snapped his tail forward like a whip. It slammed into the ogre with a sickening crunch, cracking armor and shattering bones. The hulking brute was sent flying hundreds of meters away, crashing into a jagged rock spire with a thunderous boom and a spray of blood.
"Troublemaker," Dex muttered, cracking his neck.
He dusted off the rest of the debris clinging to him, then looked at the chaos around him. All around, demons staggered to their feet, some injured, others disoriented. The weaker ones fought each other already, biting and snarling like animals desperate for dominance.
He knew it wouldn't be long before they began to organize—packs would form, leaders would rise, and targets would be chosen.
And somewhere, perhaps already watching from the sky or hidden within the earth, the natives of this world were preparing their response.
Dex smirked, baring sharp teeth.
"Let's see how loud we can knock on this world's door."
*****
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