A different world game? A different world game!

Overlooking this scorched land shrouded in the filth of the abyss, the core camp of the demons is less a military camp and more a living, twisted urban ruin that has grown amidst chaos and tyranny.

The camp stretched out endlessly, like a boiling festering sore made of sulfur, blood, and bones, branded onto the scorched earth.

The outermost layer was an ocean of low-level demons—little demons, horned demons, and imps swarmed, pushed, and tore at each other like maggots.

They have no tents, only makeshift nests made of broken bones, scorched earth, and rotting flesh, which reek of a nauseating stench.

The ground here is always covered with a layer of sticky, purplish-black blood mud, making it almost impossible to see the original scorched earth color.

The closer they got to the heart of the camp, the more ferocious the demons became, and the larger they grew.

Mid-tier demons such as Berserkers, Succubi, Quassamons, and Fromons filled the field of vision.

They possessed a somewhat "orderly" dwelling—grotesque structures built from massive skeletons, obsidian formed from cooled lava, and metal twisted by blasphemous divine power.

These buildings are crooked and bizarre in structure, with windows resembling bleeding wounds and doorways like the throats of giant beasts, radiating chaotic energy fluctuations.

While they could be loosely called "buildings," compared to the grandeur, sturdiness, and precision of the Order's fortresses, they were more like the lair of a giant monster or a deformed pile of excrement.

In this chaotic camp, the "vibrant" scene is the ubiquitous "arenas" and "blood pits" of varying sizes.

These places have no rules, no referees, only endless battles.

Demons kill each other constantly to vent their excessive destructive desires, fight for territory and food, or simply seek twisted "pleasure".

Roars, howls, the sounds of bones cracking, flesh tearing, and dying screams rose and fell, forming the never-ending background music of the camp.

When powerful demons pass by, they often grab a few weaker members of their kind and tear them apart, crush them, or throw them into the boiling pool of blood, just to make a sound or to clear away the unsightly "trash".

This pointless internal strife is a cruel manifestation of the chaotic nature of the Abyss, and it severely weakens their overall combat power—but this is the price of chaos, and also their "daily routine."

After all, gathering so many demons, so many demons with chaotic natures, here is a price that must be paid.

Faced with the overwhelming force of the established order and their actions on the battlefield, even demons must unite.

Otherwise, a single layer of demons would be no match for the warriors from all corners of the astral plane who used order to deal with chaos.

At the very center of the camp, a massive, twisted, dark fortress stands like a heart.

It is constructed from countless enormous creatures, including the skeletons of demons themselves, black boulders flowing with lava, and solidified resentful energy.

The sharp towers resembled fangs piercing the murky sky, and the fortress's surface was covered with writhing shadowy tendrils and holes oozing pus.

This is the hub of all demonic power on the 1121st floor, and also the residence of powerful demon lords.

At this moment, in the very heart of this dark fortress, in a vast hall filled with sulfurous smoke and the stench of blood, five figures of different shapes, each radiating terrifying pressure, are gathered around a pool of boiling sulfurous lava, churning with tormented souls.

Their conversation was like a low growl from within their souls, filled with impatience, ambition, and a destructive desire.

High Berserker Lord - Grol.

This enormous demon, as large as a small mountain, was covered in thick, obsidian-like armor, covered with deep, bone-revealing scars, each one a badge of honor.

The rough, giant hand gripped a massive double-edged axe that burned with inextinguishable hellfire.

He excitedly slammed the axe handle into the ground, producing a dull, loud thud that shook the earth.

"Hahaha! Finally! We've finally waited for this!"

Grol's voice was like rolling thunder, and his molten saliva dripped down with his maniacal laughter, burning into blue smoke on the stone slab.

"I've been transferred from the 'furnace' to this damned 'stagnant pool' for less than half a year, and my bones are already rusting! Watching these little brats fight in their own den every day is more disgusting than eating rotten mud."

"I've wanted to launch a large-scale attack for a long time to smash those lawless bastards' fortress to smithereens!"

"I didn't expect them to make the first move! Good! Very good! Let them come! I'll take their bones off one by one and stick them on my axe as decorations!"

His muscles bulged, his fighting spirit was boiling, and he couldn't wait to rush out and start a massacre.

In stark contrast to Grol's fanaticism, Necrom, the lich lord of the abyss, was wrapped in a tattered robe that exuded a decaying chill. On his withered, skeletal face, two eerie green soulfires flickered indifferently in the sockets of his skull.

His bony fingers caressed a staff made from some kind of massive spine, the purple-black soul gem inlaid at the top of the staff gleaming with an ominous light.

His voice was hoarse and cold, as if scraping against bones.

"Hmph, Grol, what else is in your head besides killing? I chose to come to the 1121st floor because the intelligence said it was a rare 'peaceful' place."

"It was one of the few 'safe havens' in the abyss where I could peacefully study the mysteries of death and soul transformation, free from endless, foolish battles. And what was the result?"

His empty eye sockets swept over the other lords, his soul fire carrying obvious resentment.

"After arriving, I discovered that the 'stagnant waters' had already been stirred up! First, that damned 'blood pit fortress,' reeking of an eerie order, was erected, and now what kind of great war is going to be fought? It's absurd! What a waste of my time!"

He was clearly uninterested in the upcoming battle and only wanted to return to his undead laboratory.

The liches in the abyss are all corrupted beings.

Although they are also corrupted by chaos, they are fundamentally different from the chaos of demons.

The succubus lord, Sheila, leans against a smooth obsidian, displaying a seductive posture capable of driving mortals mad.

She had a perfect, breathtakingly curvaceous body covered in smooth, dark red skin, with huge bat wings lazily folded at the back, their tips tipped with sharp bone spikes.

A long, slender tail with barbs swayed gracefully.

However, to the other demons present, her beauty was nothing more than another form of symbol of power.

Because this is a beauty that can transcend racial aesthetics.

Each race can see attractive qualities in the other.

Her scarlet tongue licked her sharp canines, emitting a soft laugh with a captivating magic.

"Hehehe, Necrom, don't be such a spoilsport. Floor 1121 used to be like a stagnant, stinking pool. Those so-called 'lords' were either just loafing around or making excuses to go off and have fun elsewhere."

"Those who stayed behind? Hmph, they were either silently eliminated by the Order, or they were utterly useless."

She looked with amusement toward the area beyond the core of the fortress, as if she could see through the walls toward the Blood Pit Fortress.

They are naturally different from the previous batch of demons.

They were specially transferred here, after all, the arrival of Cana, this savior, had muddied the waters.

The previous batch of demon lords came here to take advantage of the chaos, so naturally some slipped away, some ran away, and some died.

This group consisted of well-known demon lords who had previously been active on various intense battlefields.

Clearly, the Abyss is already preparing for the existence of the Blood Pit Fortress.

"But everything changed after that 'savior' Cana arrived."

"The fortress he built, tsk tsk, is like a light-forged dagger stuck in this rotten swamp. Although it's an eyesore, it does make this 'dead water' 'interesting'."

"The Night Watch? A group of elites of order with strange digitized powers, their souls... must be very special." Sheila's eyes gleamed with a hunter's light. She was not particularly interested in the battle itself, but she was more interested in gathering intelligence, manipulating souls, and the opportunities that might arise in the chaos.

As for the power of data, it's no secret in the abyss, after all, they've already carved out a piece of flesh from it.

They came specifically to deal with the Night's Watch's Blood Pit Fortress, so naturally they would have a comprehensive understanding of the Night's Watch and even the world they once knew.

Lord of the Abyss - Gradden is a silent behemoth, its appearance somewhere between a giant armored insect and a bloated abomination.

The thick chitinous carapace is a dark red color, like lava cooled from the heat, and is covered with spikes and glands that flow with corrosive mucus.

Several thick limbs with sharp bone blades at the ends supported its mountain-like body.

It has no obvious head, only a huge mouth covered with layers of sharp teeth split open in the center of its body.

When other lords conversed, it merely uttered low, muffled grumbles, occasionally twitching its bone-bladed limbs to express its impatience and primal desire for battle.

It was once the overlord of a small abyss level, forcibly conscripted, with no interest in so-called command authority, only eager to tear apart powerful enemies on the battlefield.

So he didn't even bother to speak; none of that mattered. He would attack wherever the Abyss pointed.

Balzac, the Demon Lord of Slaughter, is the strongest of the demon lords currently in power. According to the Night's Watch's ranking system, he is a demon who can reach the peak of level 15 and stand before the Gate of Gods.
Standing closest to the lava pool, Balzac's figure exuded the most concentrated and terrifying aura.

He was over five meters tall, with a more muscular build than the berserker Grol, covered in dark, steel-like scales, each with a sharp, knife-like edge.

His face was twisted and ferocious, and his four vertical pupils, burning with lava fire, coldly stared at the boiling magma.

A pair of enormous, scythe-like demon horns pierced from his forehead.

Its four arms were muscular, two of which gripped a jagged greatsword burning with abyssal demonic flames, while the other two were empty, but their claws, covered in thick scales, were more threatening than any weapon.

He was the only one among the five who possessed a calm demeanor and a ruthless, strategic mindset.

He listened to the other lords' speeches, especially Grol's roar and Sheila's narration. His four lava eyes flickered slightly, and finally he spoke, his voice deep and penetrating, instantly drowning out all the noise in the hall:

“That’s Kana.”

Balzac's voice carried a weighty weight, as if stating a fact.

"Wherever he appears, the peace is broken. It would be truly perplexing and alarming if he did nothing."

This statement immediately attracted the attention of all the demon lords, and their eyes all focused on him.

As the strongest and most powerful figure present, and a great demon under the Blood God, his words carried immense weight.

He paused, his four eyes scanning the crowd, and slowly added.

"The Blood God has been watching him all along."

The chaotic atmosphere in the hall paused when the name "Blood God" was mentioned.

Balzac continued:

"In the world of Kana, the will of the Blood God was severely thwarted. If the Blood God had not been entangled with his nemesis on other battlefields of blood battle and unable to spare any attention, He would have already descended here in person and crushed that arrogant 'savior' and his fortress into dust."

He raised a giant hand covered in scales and pointed it out of the fortress, towards the Blood Pit Fortress.

"That's why there are always Blood God's chosen ones on duty on the 1121st floor. They monitor Cana's every move, gather intelligence on the Night Watch, and wait for the right opportunity... or, create the right opportunity."

Balzac's tone revealed a sense of mission, as well as a hint of absolute obedience to the will of those in power.

"That's what I'm here for."

A brief silence fell over the hall.

The Blood God's reputation and Balzac's background temporarily restrained Grol's madness. Necrom's soulfire flickered, Sheila's smile deepened and became more dangerous, and Gratton let out a heavy growl of agreement.

Balzac stepped forward, his four arms crossed in front of him, and a powerful pressure spread out as if it were a tangible force, proclaiming:
"I've taken command of this battle. Do you have any objections?"

As a demon under the Blood God, he had been invading other worlds, so he himself had been affected by the invisible corruption of the order.

For the sake of war, for the victory of the Blood God, and for the will of the Abyss, his actions became increasingly orderly and efficient.

His gaze, sharp as a blade, swept over the other four lords.

Groll was the first to respond, slamming his giant axe into the ground: "No! Lord Balzac! As long as I can be at the forefront and cut off the heads of the Night's Watch, command is yours!"

He had long heard of the formidable reputation of the great demons under the Blood God's command, and to fight alongside such a being meant that a bloody massacre was inevitable.

Sheila languidly straightened up and performed a twisted yet elegant bow:
“It is my honor to serve you, Lord Balzac. I will send my children deep into the battlefield to bring you the latest intelligence and… some little ‘surprises’.”

Her expertise lies in operating in the shadows and infiltrating the mind.

Necrom let out a disgruntled snort, but ultimately lowered his skull:
"...Hmph. Command? It's up to you. I'll provide magical support and a legion of skeletons. But don't expect me to be away from my lab for too long."

He chose the easiest way to compromise.

Moreover, he didn't really pay attention to the other party.

Unless the Blood God himself arrives, this powerful demon cannot do anything to him.

Gratton surrendered and agreed with an even louder, more warlike roar.

"very good."

Balzac nodded in satisfaction, a fierce fighting spirit igniting in his four lava eyes.

"Grol, your Berserker Legion will be the spearhead to tear apart the defenses of order, and I grant you permission to lead the vanguard!"

“Sheila, your intelligence and harassment are crucial, especially regarding the strange abilities of that ‘Blood Pit Fortress.’ Find its weaknesses!”

"Necrom, your necromancy and cannon fodder units are meant to create chaos and attrition at crucial moments."

"Graditon, your power will serve as a decisive siege hammer, striking when it is necessary to crush the enemy!"

He quickly assigned tasks, demonstrating a military skill that belied his reputation as a "slaughterer".

Clearly, the Blood God sent him not only because of his power.

"As for me……"

Balzac's four eyes seemed to pierce through the walls of the fortress, locking onto the distant figure that both he and the Blood God were "paying close attention to".

“I’m looking forward to it. I’m looking forward to seeing how long those blades of order known as the ‘Night Watch’ can withstand my sword. I’m looking forward to seeing what expression their ‘savior’ will have when he sees his fortress teetering on the brink of collapse amidst blood and fire.”

He craved not only victory, but also a thoroughly enjoyable clash with the man who had crippled the Blood God Project and the power he was so proud of.

He came to this battlefield, once known as "Dead Water," for this very moment.

The chaotic abyss pulsed even more violently with the impending storm. (End of Chapter)