Chapter 270 The Lord of Ruin Ingranad’s Entrance

The echoes of Bartolmew’s… purification… still seemed to linger in the crisp air of the Steele manor gardens. Maelis wiped tears from her eyes, a profound sense of closure settling over her. Meng Yao stood silently, her respect for Alaric deepening with every impossible feat he performed. Ceanna offered a quiet prayer, not to the Radiant God, but to the source of true power and decisive action she now served – Lord Alaric.

Alaric, however, allowed no time for sentiment. The battle raged on.

“Three Archdemons neutralized,” Alaric stated, his voice cutting through the momentary stillness, his ruby eyes already scanning the holographic display of the Labyrinth projected from his Phone Artifact. “Five remain. And they are, predictably, growing agitated.”

Indeed, the remaining Archdemons, sensing the fall of their comrades and the continued decimation of their lesser legions within the shifting illusions, were beginning to focus their efforts.

Martial King Patrick, the demonic brute, had finally smashed his way out of the illusionary swamp, his obsidian plate armor dented, his eyes burning with mindless fury. He was now rampaging through a section of the Labyrinth that resembled a crystal forest, shattering the illusory trees with every swing of his massive, clawed fists, roaring for vengeance.

Archmage Gideon, the magma-lightning horror, had pinpointed a major energy conduit feeding a large section of the Labyrinth. He was relentlessly blasting it with torrents of shadowflame, trying to overload and collapse that sector of the illusion.

The Frost Archdemon was attempting to freeze a vast area, creating a solid ice bridge over an illusionary chasm, trying to forge a direct path towards the manor. The Rage Archdemon was simply… raging, its sheer destructive power tearing through illusions and reality alike, carving a swathe of chaos. And the demonic Archmage Rahel, mistress of dark wards, was meticulously, patiently, deconstructing the complex illusionary weave in her immediate vicinity, her progress slow but steady.

“They are still separated,” Alaric noted. “But they are adapting. Trying to break free individually. We cannot allow them to regroup.”

He issued new commands, his voice calm, precise, relayed through his Phone Artifact to his strike teams and the Labyrinth’s control matrix.

“Lyra, Cassandra, Fiora,” Alaric’s voice resonated in their minds. “Patrick is your target. He is isolated in the Crystal Forest sector. He is powerful physically, but slow-witted. Use your speed, your terrain advantage. Weaken him. Do not engage him head-on if he enters a berserker rage. Bleed him.”

“Understood, Alaric/Nephew/Son!” their replies came, filled with fierce determination.

“Rosalind, Brita, Kara, Ulriya,” Alaric continued, his focus shifting. “Gideon is attempting to overload the Epsilon Conduit. Intercept him. Your combined magical firepower, focused, should be enough to disrupt his spellcasting and force him to defend. Brita, your Python Essence grants you resilience against fire; use it to shield the others. Kara, your earth magic can counter his magma. Ulriya, ice against fire. Rosalind, coordinate, find his weaknesses.”

“Yes, Master/Young Master!” the mages acknowledged, already moving towards their new objective.

Alaric then looked at the three Arch-level women beside him – Meng Yao, Maelis, Ceanna. “The Frost Archdemon is attempting to bridge the Chasm of Lost Echoes. Maelis, your elemental control is needed there. Disrupt its ice formation, counter its blizzards. Meng Yao, support Maelis. Your Martial King ice techniques can shatter its constructs, your speed can harass its flanks. Ceanna, provide ranged holy fire support and maintain protective wards. Do not let it create a stable path.”

“As you command, Lord Alaric/Alaric,” they replied, their auras flaring as they moved towards their designated target.

The battles erupted anew across the Labyrinth.

Lyra, Cassandra, and Fiora engaged Patrick in the shimmering, treacherous Crystal Forest. His roars of rage echoed as Lyra’s sunfire seared his demonic flesh, Cassandra’s azure wind blades left deep gashes in his obsidian armor, and Fiora’s Dragon Heart imbued strikes staggered him with their raw power. They fought like a pack of wolves, darting in, striking, then retreating before he could land a devastating blow.

Rosalind’s mage team confronted Gideon amidst a storm of shadowflame and molten rock. Brita, wreathed in a shimmering aura of silvery serpentine scales, absorbed Gideon’s fiery blasts, her Python Essence granting her an unnatural resistance. Kara erected walls of obsidian to deflect magma flows, while Ulriya unleashed torrents of freezing water and ice shards, creating clouds of superheated steam that obscured Gideon’s vision. Rosalind, from a distance, launched precise bolts of lightning, targeting Gideon’s spellcasting focus.

Meng Yao and Maelis descended upon the Frost Archdemon like an arctic whirlwind. Maelis, her Archmage power blazing, shattered the demon’s ice bridge with a concussive arcane blast. Meng Yao, a blur of azure and silver, her Frostfang sword leaving trails of absolute cold, engaged the Archdemon directly, her Martial King ice techniques clashing against its own frost magic in a dazzling display of frozen fury. Ceanna, from a safe distance, sent lances of golden holy fire arcing through the air, searing the Archdemon’s icy hide.

The Labyrinth, Alaric’s grand illusion, had become a series of isolated, deadly dueling grounds. He watched it all from his watchtower, his mind a nexus of information, his commands precise, his control absolute. He was a conductor orchestrating a symphony of destruction, each note, each movement, perfectly timed, perfectly executed.

The Archdemons, despite their immense power, were being systematically outmaneuvered, outfought. Patrick, blinded by rage and constantly harassed, was taking heavy damage. Gideon, his spells disrupted, his vision obscured, was forced onto the defensive. The Frost Archdemon, facing two Arch-level opponents specializing in ice and elemental disruption, was being slowly, inexorably, dismantled.

Even the Rage Archdemon, its path of destruction leading it deeper into a particularly confusing section of the Labyrinth filled with shifting mirrors and disorienting sound traps, was beginning to falter, its roars tinged with frustration and confusion rather than pure fury.

Only Rahel, the corrupted mistress of dark wards, seemed to be making any progress, her meticulous deconstruction of the illusions around her slow but steady. But she was alone, isolated, her power not suited for a direct offensive against the manor itself.

‘It’s working,’ Alaric thought, a cold satisfaction settling over him. ‘They are being bled. Their power, their will, their very essence… drained away. Soon, they will be weak enough for the final… harvest.’

But just as victory seemed within his grasp, just as the demonic tide within his Labyrinth began to ebb, a new, terrifying presence made itself known.

The sky above the Steele territory, already unnaturally dark due to the demonic siege, seemed to blacken further. A pressure, immense and ancient, descended upon the land, far exceeding anything the eight Archdemons had projected. The very air grew heavy, thick with a primal malice that made even Alaric’s Azure Spirit Lion essence stir uneasily.

Alaric’s head snapped up, his ruby eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He felt it. A power signature that dwarfed even the combined might of the eight Archdemons. A presence that radiated an aura of absolute, chilling authority.

‘No…’ Alaric thought, his blood running cold for the first time since the battle began. ‘He wouldn’t… He couldn’t be here himself…’

But the evidence was undeniable.

From the swirling black clouds above, a figure began to descend. Slowly. Majestically. Radiating an aura of such overwhelming power that the very fabric of Alaric’s Labyrinth began to shimmer and distort, not from direct attack, but from the sheer, oppressive weight of its presence.

It was Ingranad. Lord of the Nightmare Legion. Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenant. Archdemon of Ruin and Corruption.

He was even more terrifying in person than the fragmented reports and scrying images had suggested. Taller than any of his Archdemon lieutenants, his obsidian armor seemed to drink the light, pulsating with trapped infernal fire. His multiple eyes, burning like malevolent coals, swept across the Steele territory, taking in the Labyrinth, the manor, the distant figures of his struggling commanders. A low rumble, like the grinding of worlds, vibrated in his chest.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His arrival was a declaration in itself.

‘He’s here,’ Alaric thought, his mind racing. ‘He sensed his Archdemons were failing. He came personally to oversee their… correction. Or perhaps… to deliver the final blow himself.’

Ingranad surveyed the scene of his faltering siege, his expression unreadable, yet radiating an icy displeasure. He saw his Archdemons scattered, weakened, outmaneuvered. He saw the smoking corpses of thousands of his lesser legions littering the Labyrinth’s illusory pathways. He saw the Steele manor, still standing, protected by its intricate, surprisingly resilient barrier.

A flicker of… annoyance? Or perhaps… grudging respect?… crossed his monstrous features. This Steele. This insignificant human gnat. He was proving to be far more troublesome than anticipated.

Then, Ingranad acted.

He raised a single, clawed hand. He didn’t unleash a devastating spell. He didn’t roar a demonic command. He simply… focused his will.

A wave of pure, unadulterated dark energy, drawn from the very essence of the abyss, pulsed outwards from him. It wasn’t an attack. It was a… summons. A command.

Across the Labyrinth, the lesser demons, those still alive, those still fighting, those cowering in illusionary shadows, suddenly froze. Their eyes, usually burning with bloodlust or fear, glazed over, becoming dull, empty. Then, one by one, they began to… dissolve. Their physical forms melted away, not into ash, but into streams of pure, black energy, which then flowed, like rivers of darkness, towards Ingranad.

Simultaneously, the five Archdemons still battling within the Labyrinth – Patrick, Gideon, the Frost Archdemon, the Rage Archdemon, and Rahel – felt a sudden, irresistible pull. Their own demonic energies resonated with Ingranad’s summons. They ceased their struggles, their attacks, their attempts to break free. Their forms became wreathed in the same black energy that was consuming the lesser legions.

“What is he doing?!” Lyra exclaimed, her strike team having just cornered the heavily wounded Patrick in a crystal cavern. The demonic Martial King, moments before roaring in defiance, suddenly went still, then began to glow with an eerie black light.

Alaric watched, his eyes narrowed, a cold dread gripping his heart. He recognized the pattern. He had heard whispers of it in ancient demonic lore, texts he had acquired from the Royal Archives, detailing the most forbidden, most terrifying powers of the Demon Lords.

‘Sacrificial Revival,’ Alaric breathed, his voice barely audible. ‘He’s consuming his own legions… to bring back the fallen Archdemons.’

Indeed, as the black energy from thousands of lesser demons flowed into Ingranad, he redirected it. Not towards himself, but towards the locations where the three Archdemons Alaric’s forces had defeated – Sunder, Pestilus, and the corrupted Bartolmew – had fallen.

The ground where Pestilus had been vaporized by the barrier’s azure beam began to smoke, to churn. The black ice prison holding Sunder shattered, its shadowy essence, infused with the sacrificial energy, beginning to reform. And in the garden where Bartolmew had found his requiem, motes of dark light began to coalesce, taking on a familiar, horrifying shape.

Within moments, Sunder, Pestilus, and Bartolmew stood once more, their forms flickering with freshly infused demonic power, their eyes burning with renewed malevolence. They were not at full strength, perhaps, the revival process crude and rushed, but they were Archdemons nonetheless, their power still formidable.

They turned, along with Patrick, Gideon, the Frost Archdemon, the Rage Archdemon, and Rahel, and in perfect, terrifying unison, teleported through the Labyrinth, reappearing instantly beside Ingranad, forming a terrifying phalanx of Arch-level demonic might.

Eight Archdemons, now fully restored, albeit some slightly weaker, stood arrayed behind their Lord.

Ingranad surveyed Alaric, his multiple eyes burning with cold, intelligent fury. He had sacrificed nearly ten thousand of his lesser demons, a significant portion of his legion, to achieve this. But it was worth it. The element of surprise was lost, but now, he had his full complement of Archdemon commanders, united, focused, and ready to unleash their combined wrath.

“Alaric Steele,” Ingranad’s voice finally boomed, not just physically, but psychically, directly into Alaric’s mind, a chilling, intimate invasion. “You have proven to be… remarkably… resilient. And surprisingly… entertaining. Your little maze… your courageous women… they have provided a most… spirited… defense.”

A cruel, predatory smile stretched Ingranad’s monstrous lips. “But the game ends now, little mortal. You face not just my lieutenants. You face me. Ingranad. And I assure you,” his voice dropped to a terrifying whisper that seemed to echo from the depths of the abyss itself, “your fortress will fall. Your women will scream. And your world… will burn.”

Alaric met Ingranad’s gaze, his own ruby eyes blazing with an equal, if different, intensity. He could feel the power radiating from the Demon Lord, an oppressive weight that far surpassed any Archdemon he had encountered. Ingranad’s aura wasn’t just Archdemon-level; it resonated with something older, deeper, more terrifying. It felt… primordial.

‘He’s not just an Archdemon,’ Alaric realized with a chilling certainty, his mind instantly comparing Ingranad’s power signature to Kyss’andra’s, to Volnaxx’s, to the other Arch-level beings he had faced or studied. ‘His individual strength, his control over demonic energy, his very essence… it’s on a completely different scale. He’s… an Elder Demon in all but name. Perhaps even on the cusp of true Elder Demonhood.’

The gap between Archdemon and Elder Demon was akin to the chasm between Grandmaster and Archmage. It wasn’t just a matter of more power; it was a qualitative difference, a leap in understanding, in control, in the very nature of their being. Ingranad, despite technically being an Archdemon, possessed abilities, bloodline traits, and a physical and magical resilience that placed him far beyond any of his lieutenants. He was, Alaric knew with absolute certainty, the single most powerful entity he had ever faced.

Fighting him directly, even with his Azure Spirit Lion essence, even with Maelis, Meng Yao, and Ceanna at his side, would be suicide. They might be able to handle the eight Archdemons, perhaps, in a desperate, drawn-out battle, but Ingranad himself… he could likely dismantle them all.

‘Retreat,’ the decision was instantaneous, cold, and pragmatic. ‘Consolidate. Re-evaluate. This changes everything.’

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t posture. He didn’t offer a defiant retort to Ingranad’s taunts. Survival, and the safety of his women, was paramount.

“All units!” Alaric’s voice, amplified by his Phone Artifact, cut through the stunned silence of his forces, who were still reeling from the sudden, terrifying reappearance of the full Archdemon contingent and the arrival of their overwhelming Lord. “Contingency Omega! Recall Anchors, activate! Now! Retreat to the inner sanctum! All forces, fall back behind the final barrier layer!”

Lyra, Cassandra, Fiora, Meng Yao, Maelis, Ceanna, Rosalind, Brita, Kara, Ulriya – each of them, scattered across the Labyrinth or in the manor gardens, instantly reacted. They clutched the obsidian discs Alaric had provided. A flash of azure light, a brief sensation of spatial distortion, and they vanished from their positions, reappearing moments later within the heavily warded confines of the Steele Manor’s central war room, the same room where Alaric had outlined his initial defense plan.

Archmage Priscilla, who had remained in the war room overseeing the barrier controls, watched as they materialized, her expression grim. “Lord Alaric? What happened? The energy surge… Ingranad?”

“He’s here,” Alaric stated flatly, already moving towards the main control console for the Steele defensive array. “And he just revived all eight of his Archdemon lapdogs. We are facing their full, concentrated might. The Labyrinth will not hold them for long now they are regrouped and under his direct command.”

He looked at Priscilla. “The outer layers have served their purpose. It is time to activate the final sanction. The ‘Aegis of the Azure King’. Divert all power from the Seventh Order core, and all six of the primary Sixth Order reserve cores, directly into the Aegis matrix. Full power. No holding back.”

Priscilla’s eyes widened. The Aegis of the Azure King was Alaric’s ultimate defensive creation, the innermost layer of his fortress, a barrier of such immense power and complexity that even she, an Archmage, had only a theoretical understanding of its full capabilities. To power it with seven Arch-level equivalent cores simultaneously… the energy output would be catastrophic for anything trying to breach it.

“Understood, Lord Alaric,” Priscilla replied, her fingers already flying across the control panel, re-routing unimaginable amounts of energy.

Outside, Ingranad watched with cold amusement as the human forces vanished from the Labyrinth. “Running and hiding, little Steele? Predictable.” He turned to his assembled Archdemons. “The illusions fade. Their true fortress lies before us. Bartolmew, Gideon, Rahel, begin dismantling this… ‘Aegis’. Patrick, Madleen, prepare the legions for the final assault. Sunder, Pestilus, Frost Lord, Rage Lord… you will support them. No mercy. No survivors. Leave nothing but ashes.”

As the eight Archdemons began their coordinated assault on the now-visible inner barrier of Steele Manor – a shimmering dome of pure, incandescent azure light, crackling with raw spiritual energy and arcane power – Ingranad himself descended slowly, landing before it. He reached out a single, clawed finger, touching the surface of the Aegis.

A shockwave of unimaginable force erupted, throwing him back several paces, his obsidian armor smoking slightly.

Ingranad stared at the Aegis, his multiple eyes narrowing, a flicker of genuine surprise, then cold, calculating fury, within them. “So,” he rumbled, the sound like distant thunder. “This is your true masterpiece, little artificer. Impressive. Very impressive indeed.”

He raised his hand, and his own demonic power began to gather, dark and terrible. “But no fortress, no matter how ingeniously crafted, can withstand the focused wrath of a true Lord of Ruin. Let us see how long your ‘Aegis’ endures against the might of Ingranad.”

The siege of Steele Manor had truly begun. And this time, there would be no tricks, no illusions. Only raw, overwhelming power against absolute, desperate defense.