The advance came to a halt at the edge of a vast demonic crossroads.
The battlefield stretched endlessly behind them, littered with the corpses of demons and the fallen remnants of humanity's march. Ahead, however, the landscape changed completely.
The corrupted plain split cleanly into four colossal roads.
Each path stretched toward the horizon in a perfectly straight line, as though some ancient god had carved them into existence with a single stroke of a blade.
Nothing about them felt natural.
Nothing about them felt safe.
Each road glowed faintly with a different hue.
One crimson.
One violet.
One sickly gold.
One abyssal black.
And at the far end of every path stood a castle.
Close enough to see.
Far enough to feel impossible.
The fortresses rose from the hellish landscape like malignant crowns.
Each was distinct.
Each radiated a different kind of terror.
One was a spiraling palace crafted from silk-like structures and flesh-colored stone that seemed to pulse faintly.
Another resembled a cathedral forged entirely from bone and black iron, its towering spires clawing toward the crimson heavens.
The third was a jagged citadel half-sunken into the earth itself, as though the world had tried and failed to swallow it whole.
The last floated above the ground, suspended by chains of crackling red lightning that stretched into the clouds.
The moment the castles came into view, every experienced superhuman felt it.
A pressure.
Ancient.
Malicious.
Patient.
Demon Lords.
Four of them.
Waiting.
Watching.
And in one of those castles—
Luxuria herself.
The air grew noticeably heavier.
Even Gerald the Diamond Fist stopped walking.
His crystal-coated fists slowly unclenched.
Nearby, Salvatore lowered his radiant spear.
The golden aura surrounding him dimmed slightly as his expression hardened.
This was no longer a battlefield.
It was a choice.
And choices carried consequences.
A war council formed immediately.
There was no shouting.
No arguments.
No political maneuvering.
Everyone present understood the situation.
Every second wasted gave the Demon Lords more time to prepare.
More time to reinforce.
More time to turn the battlefield against them.
The decision came swiftly.
The army would split.
Four roads.
Four strike forces.
Four castles.
Every path would be taken.
Every fortress assaulted.
And whatever waited within would be faced head-on.
There was no other option.
The First Road – The Crimson March
Gerald led the first division personally.
The moment they stepped onto the crimson road, the environment changed.
The ground beneath their feet pulsed faintly.
Like a heartbeat.
Warm.
Wet.
Alive.
The terrain felt disturbingly similar to walking upon a massive artery.
The air smelled of iron and decay.
Every breath tasted of blood.
The attack came almost immediately.
Unlike the disorganized waves they had encountered earlier, these demons fought with discipline.
Armored demon infantry advanced in shield formations.
Ranks upon ranks of black steel and horn.
Behind them stood towering brutes hurling jagged weapons forged from bone, hatred, and corrupted flesh.
The projectiles screamed through the air.
Union of Power answered with overwhelming force.
Gerald became a living siege engine.
Every punch detonated like artillery.
Entire formations exploded apart under the force of his blows.
White Panther Jacob vanished into motion.
One moment visible.
The next, reappearing behind enemy lines.
Demonic heads rolled before their bodies realized they had died.
Magneto Anton transformed the battlefield itself into a weapon.
Swords, shields, and armor tore free from demonic hands.
Metal twisted through the air before impaling their former owners.
The advance continued.
Yet the road fought back.
The terrain itself seemed alive.
Traps emerged without warning.
The earth split apart beneath marching soldiers.
Dozens disappeared into bottomless chasms before screams faded into silence.
Corrupted crystal spires erupted from the ground.
Entire squads were impaled instantly.
Worse still were the illusions.
For brief moments, allies became enemies.
Enemies became allies.
Split-second mistakes claimed lives.
One hesitation.
One wrong strike.
One moment of confusion.
That was all it took.
The road demanded payment.
And it collected relentlessly.
By the time the crimson castle loomed overhead, large enough to blot out entire sections of the sky—
Only two-thirds of the original force remained.
The survivors stood bloodied.
Exhausted.
Breathing heavily.
Then the castle gates began to open.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As if something inside had been waiting for their arrival.
The Second Road – The Path of False Light
Sanctify claimed the second road.
At first glance, it seemed almost welcoming.
Smooth white stone stretched endlessly ahead.
Glowing scripture covered the surface.
Soft hymns drifted through the air.
Warm.
Comforting.
Familiar.
Many felt their fears ease.
Others felt something far worse.
Dread.
The attack came from above.
Angels descended from the heavens.
Or rather—
Things pretending to be angels.
Their wings shimmered with holy light.
Their faces were familiar.
Beloved.
Trusted.
Lost.
They called names.
Whispered apologies.
Promised forgiveness.
Promised reunion.
Promised peace.
Many hesitated.
That hesitation proved fatal.
The illusion shattered.
Holy faces twisted into monstrous grins.
Radiant wings became demonic flesh.
Blades appeared.
And blood followed.
Sanctify's formations tightened immediately.
Priests began chanting louder.
Golden waves of purification spread outward.
False angels burned.
Illusions collapsed.
Yet the demons adapted quickly.
Holy symbols turned hostile.
Sacred light became blinding.
Visions of salvation appeared along the roadside.
Entire squads followed them.
Smiling.
Hopeful.
Certain.
None returned.
The road consumed them.
Spike Paladin Leonardo suffered his first serious wound while shielding his men from a collapsing cathedral construct.
His armor cracked.
Blood stained holy steel.
Still he fought.
Further ahead, Freezing Knight John froze an entire ravine to stop a catastrophic collapse.
The act saved hundreds.
But dozens remained trapped beneath falling debris.
Their screams echoed long after the ice settled.
The march continued.
At a cost.
When the ivory castle finally rose before them, its countless spires piercing the crimson sky—
They realized how many had fallen.
Too many.
Salvatore closed his eyes briefly.
A silent prayer.
A moment of mourning.
Then he raised his spear once more.
And Sanctify marched forward.
The Third Road – The Sunken Way
The third force consisted of veterans from both guilds.
Elite units.
Experienced leaders.
S-ranked commanders.
The best humanity could spare.
The road descended immediately.
Downward.
Deeper.
And deeper still.
The sky disappeared.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Only sickly bioluminescent growths illuminated the path ahead.
The cavern walls seemed alive.
Breathing.
Watching.
Waiting.
The ground became treacherous.
Pits.
Chasms.
Bottomless voids filled with whispering shadows.
This road did not attack openly.
It hunted.
Patiently.
Methodically.
Demons emerged from impossible angles.
Walls.
Ceilings.
Beneath the earth.
Packs of shadow-beasts dragged screaming soldiers into darkness before anyone could react.
Traps reset themselves repeatedly.
Claiming lives again and again.
The road seemed designed to exhaust hope itself.
Beast King Tigre answered with fury.
His roars echoed through the abyss.
His claws tore apart anything that approached.
He fought less like a man and more like a monster determined to outmatch every demon present.
Nearby, Fallen Angel Lucy transformed the darkness into an inferno.
Her wings blazed with celestial fire.
Entire swarms vanished beneath burning light.
Yet even she could not stop the attrition.
The darkness wore them down.
Fatigue accumulated.
Fear spread.
Morale cracked.
One death became ten.
Ten became fifty.
The abyss consumed them piece by piece.
When the sunken citadel finally emerged from the darkness—
Half buried beneath the earth.
Surrounded by an ocean of crawling shadows—
Only half the strike force remained.
No one spoke.
No speeches remained.
No rallying cries.
The survivors simply advanced.
Because there was nothing else left to do.
The Fourth Road – The Road of Desire
The final path was the quietest.
And the most dangerous.
Its surface resembled polished obsidian.
Perfectly smooth.
Perfectly reflective.
Except the reflections were wrong.
Those who looked down did not see themselves.
They saw what they wanted to be.
A stronger version.
A happier version.
A beloved version.
The person they wished existed.
The air was warm.
Pleasant.
Perfumed.
Soft laughter echoed through the road.
Gentle.
Intimate.
Inviting.
No demons attacked.
At first.
They simply walked alongside the army.
Disguised.
Perfectly.
As friends.
Lovers.
Parents.
Children.
Lost family members.
Arguments began quietly.
A misunderstanding here.
A jealousy there.
Old wounds reopened.
Resentments surfaced.
Desire clouded judgment.
Some soldiers willingly turned around.
Following familiar faces into side paths.
Others disappeared after answering whispers no one else could hear.
Entire squads gradually vanished.
One person at a time.
By the time commanders realized what was happening, the damage was already done.
Then the succubi revealed themselves.
The battlefield descended into chaos.
Allies fought allies.
Friends attacked friends.
Some warriors killed while sobbing apologies.
Others died convinced they were embracing loved ones.
Enchantments layered over reality.
Truth became impossible to identify.
Every decision felt wrong.
Every strike felt uncertain.
The road itself became a weapon.
And humanity paid dearly.
When the palace finally appeared—
A sprawling fortress of silk, shadow, and living architecture—
Only one-third of the original force remained.
The castle breathed.
Its walls expanded and contracted.
Its towers twisted gently.
Like a living creature waiting to feed.
And upon its highest balcony sat a single figure.
Luxuria.
The Demon Queen of Lust.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin upon one hand.
Her crimson eyes sparkled with amusement.
Then she laughed.
The sound drifted across the battlefield.
Soft.
Warm.
Dangerously inviting.
Like a lover's sigh.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Four roads.
Four castles.
Four Demon Lords waiting.
The surviving forces arrived before their respective fortresses.
Battered.
Bloodied.
Exhausted.
Yet unbroken.
They had paid dearly to reach this point.
Too dearly to retreat.
Too dearly to doubt.
Far above them all, Luxuria watched through her floating mirrors.
Every battlefield.
Every casualty.
Every struggle.
Every sacrifice.
Her smile widened slowly.
Knowing.
Patient.
Amused.
"Come."
The whisper echoed through her throne room.
Outside, thunder rolled across crimson skies.
Castle gates opened.
Ancient powers stirred.
And at last—
The real war was about to begin.