The streets of Crimson Fang twisted like veins through a living beast, their slick stone paths glistening under the underworld's humid air. Ares followed his guide, Irina, through the labyrinthine city, his rune-trimmed coat catching the sickly green glow of the cavernous sky. The fortress loomed around them, its jagged spires piercing the heavens like the bones of some ancient leviathan. The air carried a heavy scent—sulfur, iron, and something older, more sinister, like the breath of the abyss itself. Every corner revealed a new layer of chaos: vendors hawking cursed relics, demons sparring with shadow-forged blades, and glowing runes pulsing along obsidian walls. The scale of Velvira's domain was staggering, a hidden empire that dwarfed anything Ares had seen in Ruveria.
Irina moved with quiet confidence, her obsidian skin shimmering faintly, her red eyes glowing like embers. Her armor—sleek and practical, with subtle curves—marked her as a warrior of purpose, not ostentation. She glanced at Ares, her expression unreadable. "You're staring, strategist," she said, her voice smooth and cool. "Impressed?"
Ares kept pace, his boots echoing on the stone. "If Velvira's one of the weaker Demon Lords, how does she hold all this?" He gestured to the towering structures, their carvings alive with infernal magic. "This city, this fortress—it's not just a base. It's a kingdom."
Irina's lips curled into a faint smile. "Size isn't power. Crimson Fang is a speck in the underworld's vastness, one of Velvira's many outposts. Her domain spans the abyss—fortresses, caverns, shadow-realms. But it's not brute strength that keeps it hers." She paused, her eyes flicking to him. "She's cunning. She wins loyalty, manipulates desires, exploits fears. Her power is control, not force."
Ares absorbed her words, his mind racing. Velvira's teasing, her provocative games—they were a mask for a strategist as ruthless as he was. "And with me?" he asked, his voice low. "What's her plan?"
Irina's smile sharpened. "You're her edge. Your mind—your ability to plan, predict, vanish—could tip the scales. She's played the political game for decades, but with you, she can dominate battlefields. Entire armies have vanished under her enemies' noses. I wouldn't be surprised if you could make that happen again."
Ares didn't respond, but her words struck deep. His skills—Perfect Calculation, Absolute Prediction, Veil of Shadows—were tools of precision, not destruction. He'd orchestrated the fall of armies for the Alliance, and now, in this underworld, he'd do the same for Velvira. The pact mark on his wrist pulsed faintly, a reminder of her claim, her trust, and the dangerous game he'd joined.
They approached a monolithic fortress on the city's edge, its black stone walls etched with serpentine runes. The gates parted silently, and Irina led him inside. The interior was a hive of organized chaos: demons in sleek armor sharpened blades, others practiced spells that crackled with dark energy. The air thrummed with readiness, a prelude to war.
"We're here," Irina said, her tone serious. "General Rithessa's preparing her troops inside."
They entered a vast war room, its ceiling soaring above black stone columns. At the far end, a group of soldiers—new recruits, by their nervous energy—stood in loose formation, their eyes snapping to Ares as he entered. They were a mix of lithe demonesses and broader, more muscular demons, their armor tailored to accentuate power and form. Some whispered, others sneered, their gazes heavy with skepticism. A human in their midst was an anomaly, and they weren't hiding their doubts.
Irina stopped short, her hand hovering near the dagger at her hip. "Stay close, strategist," she murmured, her eyes scanning the recruits.
Before Ares could respond, a burly demon with tusks jutting from her jaw stepped forward, her armor clanking. Her yellow eyes narrowed, and she loomed over him, her clawed hand twitching as if to grab him. "What's a human doing in the general's war room?" she growled, her voice dripping with disdain. "You lost, mortal?"
The other recruits closed in, their murmurs growing bolder. "Velvira's pet," one hissed. "Thinks he can waltz in here and give orders?" another muttered. The tusked demon took another step, her hand reaching for Ares' collar.
Irina moved like lightning, a curved blade materializing in her hand, its edge gleaming with a faint green glow. "Don't touch him," she snapped, her voice low but lethal, her red eyes blazing. "He's under the Demon Lord's protection. Lay a hand on him, and you'll answer to her."
The recruits froze, the air crackling with tension. The tusked demon hesitated, her hand hovering, but before she could act, the iron doors slammed open.
General Rithessa strode in, her presence a storm of authority. Her ashen purple skin gleamed under her ornate armor, its sleek plates molded to her powerful frame, accentuating both strength and curves. Her crimson cloak billowed, its high collar framing her sharp features, and her third eye glowed fiercely in her forehead, casting a piercing light across the room. Her long, silver-streaked hair swayed as she moved, her red-tinted eyes locking onto the scene.
"What's this?" Rithessa demanded, her voice deep and commanding, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. Her third eye flicked to the tusked demon, who shrank under its gaze.
The offender stammered, her hand dropping. "This human wandered in without permission, General. We were… removing him."
Rithessa's expression darkened, her third eye flaring. In a blur of motion, she seized the demon by the shoulder and slammed her to the floor, forcing her into a deep bow. The impact cracked the stone, echoing in the silent hall. "You dare disrespect the Demon Lord's chosen?" she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Ares Caelum is Velvira's strategist, and you will treat him as you would her."
The recruits stiffened, their bravado evaporating. Rithessa straightened, her gaze sweeping the room before settling on Ares. "My apologies, strategist," she said, her tone softer but firm, carrying the weight of their prior encounter in the war room. "I should've warned these fools to stand down. It won't happen again."
Ares met her gaze, his expression calm but unyielding. "It's fine, General. Let's focus on the mission."
Rithessa nodded, her third eye dimming slightly, a sign of her respect. "You heard him," she barked at the recruits. "Stand at attention."
The soldiers snapped into formation, their eyes now wary but obedient. Ares stepped forward, his voice carrying easily across the room. "We attack tonight, but not as demons. The Alliance knows your strength, your forms. We need to be invisible, blend into their world." He paused, his gaze locking onto Rithessa. "We shift into human-like forms. Inconspicuous, untraceable."
The recruits murmured, confused, but Rithessa's lips curled into a grudging smile. "Unorthodox," she said, her voice tinged with approval. "But you're the boss."
She raised a hand, and crimson magic swirled around her. Her towering form shimmered, her armor dissolving into a sleek, human-like guise. Her ashen purple skin softened to a sun-kissed bronze, her third eye fading into a smooth forehead. Her silver-streaked hair remained, cascading down her back, and her red eyes softened to a deep amber, striking against her now-human features. The transformation revealed a beauty that was almost disarming—sharp cheekbones, full lips, a figure that balanced power and grace. Her new attire, a tailored black coat with crimson accents, echoed Ares' own, marking her as both warrior and leader.
Ares blinked, caught off guard by her transformation. She was stunning, her presence no less commanding in this form, and the pact mark on his wrist pulsed faintly, as if acknowledging her power.
Rithessa caught his gaze, her amber eyes glinting with amusement. "Satisfied, strategist?"
He nodded, his voice steady. "It'll work. Now, the rest of you."
She turned to the recruits, her voice a whipcrack. "Follow suit. Now."
The soldiers hesitated, then obeyed, their forms shifting in a ripple of crimson magic. Tusks vanished, claws softened, and glowing eyes dimmed into human-like hues. They became a unit of tall, angular figures—dark-skinned, sharp-featured, but passably human, their strength hidden beneath subtle guises.
Ares underwent the transformation last, his body shrinking slightly, his features smoothing into a lean, unremarkable human form. His gray eyes remained, sharp and calculating, and his rune-trimmed coat adjusted to fit his new frame. The magic felt strange, like a second skin, but it was effective.
"Time to move," he said, his voice carrying authority as he gestured to the gates. "We hit the Alliance's supply line tonight. Small, precise, invisible."
Rithessa nodded, her human form moving with the same predatory grace. "Lead on, strategist."
Irina stepped beside him, her own transformation complete—a lithe, dark-haired woman with emerald eyes that still glowed faintly. "The surface gate's through the southern tunnels," she said, her voice low. "Rithessa's outpost is close. We'll make it by dusk."
The soldiers marched in formation, their steps resonating on the stone as the gates parted. Ares led them into the tunnels, the air growing cooler, the sulfur scent fading. The weight of Velvira's promise—We'll finish that tour—lingered in his mind, her teasing touch a ghost on his skin. But his focus was on the mission. The Alliance would never see him coming, and Crimson Fang would rise on the ashes of their mistakes.