[Location: Abyss Layer 6 – The Slag Heap Chasm]
The defense line of Layer 6 was drowning.
The concept of a "frontline" had dissolved entirely.
There were no longer tactical formations or coordinated artillery strikes.
There was only a chaotic, suffocating ocean of teeth, claws, and toxic blood.
To the right, a squad of Drifter mercenaries hardened fighters who had survived decades in the Abyss were cornered by a surging tide of Abyssal Centipedes.
The mercenaries didn't scream or beg.
Seeing the sheer futility of their situation, the squad leader locked eyes with his men, nodded once, and detonated his own mana core.
The resulting explosion vaporized the centipedes, but it was a pyrrhic victory; seconds later, a dozen more mutated horrors crawled over the smoldering crater where the mercenaries had just stood.
Sacrifice had lost its meaning. It was no longer a heroic choice; it was simply the currency required to buy five more seconds of oxygen.
