The Guardian gods-Chapter 558

Further still, her senses brushed against three distinct, immensely powerful existences high above the fray – beings no less formidable than she was in her prime. They, too, noticed her probing presence. There was no direct confrontation, no clash of wills, only a cautious mutual withdrawal. Vorenxa pulled back, knowing her current fractured state made any engagement suicidal, and sensing that her adversaries were equally wary of facing a Sixth-Tier Archdemon, even a wounded one.

With her weakened state a critical vulnerability, Vorenxa redirected her full attention to her demons. Aprofound shift was needed. Their long-standing modus operandi of vast, dispersed forces, each pursuing its own chaotic machinations, was no longer viable. They needed to work together, a concept almost alien to their inherently individualistic nature, especially when facing an elite army of such coordinated precision.

With this urgent realization, Vorenxa immediately began to gather the fifth-tier powerhouses under her command. These were the demons whose inherited knowledge and sheer destructive might should, in theory, allow them to grasp the complexities of the enemy’s tactics. They were the ones who could, and now must, learn to fight as a cohesive unit.

Normally, if she weren’t so gravely injured, Vorenxa might have been filled with a perverse sense of excitement, even happiness. The Abyss rarely encountered an opponent that necessitated genuine cooperation among its forces, rather than simply overwhelming the enemy with brute, mindless numbers. This was a challenge of intellect as much as might, a rare and intriguing puzzle. But the cold dread of her own vulnerability overshadowed any such morbid pleasure. The stakes were too high, her own existence too precarious.

As dusk settled over the newly fortified sector of corrupted land, Kaelen’s forces, having secured their brutal first victory, took a moment’s respite. The air, though still heavy with the lingering scent of ozone and demonic ichor, now held a different rhythm. Guards, their rune-etched armor gleaming faintly in the dim light, took up their positions on the makeshift fortress walls, their eyes scanning the desolate, maze-carved landscape.

Fires flickered to life in controlled areas, and the aroma of prepared rations, hearty and sustaining, began to waft through the camps. Groups of ogres, their massive forms relaxed but vigilant, devoured their meals with efficient gusto. Among the ratfolk, a rare sense of satisfaction permeated the air as they tended to their weapons and shared hushed conversations. Medics, both mundane and arcane, moved among the wounded, the soft glow of healing spells mixing with the grim efficiency of battlefield triage. It was a fragile peace, a stolen breath before the next inevitable storm.

Meanwhile, deep within the Abyss, far from the newly erected human strongholds, a tense gathering of fifth-tier demons had convened in Vorenxa’s audience chamber. The air crackled not with the usual chaotic energy of the lower ranks, but with a palpable, frustrated tension. These were beings of immense power, each accustomed to commanding legions, to breaking enemy lines with overwhelming force or singular, devastating spells. Strategy, in their minds, often amounted to "more, faster, harder."

"This group are bolder than we anticipated," growled a hulking Pit Fiend, its multiple eyes narrowed to slits, addressing a council that included a cunning Succubus Lord, a stoic Balorg, and a grotesque Nalfeshnee, among others were those like Vorenza. "To reshape the very ground... it’s a nuisance. An annoyance."

"A costly nuisance, Z’tarr," retorted the Succubus Lord, her voice a silken hiss that nonetheless carried an edge of cold fury. "Hundreds of lesser kin lost in moments. And the rat-scourge, they were... precise. Like maddened wasps in a jar."

The Nalfeshnee, its porcine face usually placid, snorted, a plume of acrid smoke rising from its nostrils. "Vorenxa’s directive is clear. This ’maze’ tactic, this ’elite army’... it means we cannot simply send forth more waves. Our inherent knowledge, as she put it, must be brought to bear."

A low rumble emanated from the Balorg, its flame-wreathed whip coiling idly. "And how do we counter a battlefield that shifts? They manipulate the earth itself. Our brute force is blunted by their trickery."

The discussion grew more heated, verging on the usual squabbling that characterized demonic councils. They were powerful, yes, but their individual pride and inherent disdain for cooperation were deep-seated.

Suddenly, Vorenza’s voice, though faint, resonated in their minds, carried by a powerful telepathic link she’d established. "Enough. You squabble while they consolidate. Listen closely. Their strength is in their cohesion, their weakness is their numbers. They cannot sustain this magical exertion indefinitely. Your task is to dissect their formation. The mages... they are their lynchpin. They will be spent. Exploit that. Your objective is not just to kill, but to disrupt. Break their lines. Separate the ogres from the ratfolk. Force their mages to overextend. For every wall they raise, you must find a way to make it a cage for them, not us. Think. Adapt. Or this sector will be lost."

The weight of Vorenxa’s words, amplified by her Archdemon authority, momentarily silenced the bickering. "Disrupt... dissect..." muttered the Pit Fiend, a flicker of something akin to strategic thought entering its multi-faceted gaze. The concept was alien, yet undeniably intriguing.

The demonic council fell silent, the weight of Vorenxa’s command pressing down on them. "Disrupt... dissect..." The words echoed in their chaotic minds, slowly beginning to take root. They were creatures of destruction, of overwhelming force, but the concept of targeted, strategic disruption was... novel. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

The Pit Fiend, Z’tarr, was the first to speak, its usual bellow reduced to a thoughtful growl. "If their strength is in their mages’ earth-shaping... then we must ensure those mages cannot shape. If they are spent, they are vulnerable. We lure them to overextend."

"Indeed," the Succubus Lord purred, her eyes gleaming with a malicious intelligence. "Those rat-things, swift as they are, are small. The ogres, powerful, but ponderous. They rely on the maze to separate us, to channel us. What if we use their own channels against them?"

The Nalfeshnee, surprisingly, offered the first concrete, if still crude, idea. "We send in the lower tier demons," it grunted, its heavy brow furrowing. "Not to engage directly as it clear the current situation is something they can’t handle, we can have them serve a different purpose. They will burrow beneath the walls, beyond the maze. They emerge behind the rat-scourge, directly in the path of the following ogres. A simultaneous ambush. It would sow chaos."

A low, collective murmur spread through the council. Low tier demons were usually expendable used to corrupt lands, due to their overwhelming number, Usage of low tier demons was also for some lucky ones to grow in strength, not for complex battlefield maneuvers. But the idea had merit. It bypassed the maze entirely.

"And when they emerge," the Balor added, a flicker of wicked insight in its fiery eyes, "they are not to engage fully. Their purpose is disruption. To create panic. To force the mages to react defensively, to spend what little power they have left protecting their rear, rather than shaping our front."

"So, the proposal stands," Z’tarr announced, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "We send our low tier demons capable of breaking ground quickly and without immediate detection due to their lower strength level. Their objective: breach the enemy’s formation from the rear. Create a secondary chaos. Force them to split their forces, to react on multiple fronts. And if we are truly fortunate, the mages will bleed themselves dry trying to contain it."

A new kind of hunger sparked in the demons’ eyes, a hunger not just for souls, but for the intellectual challenge. It was a novel sensation, and they were eager to test this grim, new stratagem.

"Vorenza," Z’tarr broadcast, directing his thought towards his injured Archdemon leader. "We have a proposal. A new approach to their ’maze.’ We propose to send the low tier demons to flank their formation from beneath the earth, emerging behind their vanguard, to force disruption and expend their mages’ remaining energy."

A moment of silence. Then, Vorenxa’s faint, weary mental voice resonated: "Proceed. Report results. Do not fail."

The war council, still buzzing with the tactical shift, was interrupted by a new, insidious voice. From the shadowy corners of the chamber, a fifth-tier Spider Demon emerged, its eight gleaming eyes fixed on the others. Its chitinous carapace shimmered, and a faint, sickly-sweet aroma, like corrupted honeysuckle, emanated from its form. This was Arachnae, a master of psychological warfare and insidious poisons.

"The low tier demons offer a fine distraction," Arachnae rasped, its voice like dry leaves skittering across stone. "But what if we strike at their minds, even as we strike at their rear?"

The other demons, accustomed to brute force or overt sorcery, looked intrigued, if a little confused.

"The corrupted lands," Arachnae continued, gesturing with one of its many spindly legs. "They are not merely dead soil and vile energy. They are saturated with our essence, a psychic residue that gnaws at the uninitiated. For us, it is as natural as breathing. For them... for those fragile mortals and their kin... it is a slow poison to the mind."

A low murmur rippled through the council as understanding dawned.

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