Location: Shadowkron City, the Imperial Capital of the Dark Empire.
The air of triumph had vanished, replaced by a cold, trembling dread. Reports from the front were catastrophic: 200,000 True Gods, the very foundation of the Empire's power, had been locked into a pocket dimension.
"Four Supreme Gods." A high-ranking minister whispered, his voice shaking, "Lysandra, Eveline, Yvonne, and… Amelie. The Aurora Goddess from the Ancient Era has returned. They have joined forces to seal the battlefield. Our Gods have no retreat."
"Damn! That's exactly what happened to the Evil Pantheon, except our forces don't have the support of half a dozen Supreme Gods…"
Webster sat upon his throne, his face a mask of frozen shadow. The loss of these Gods was not merely a military defeat; it was an existential crisis. To these high-level beings, territory was far more than just soil and stone, it was a divine engine of growth.
In the suffocating silence of the throne room, the officials understood the gravity of their situation. A 'Wild God', wandering the Endless Continent without the backing of an empire, might spend a millennium crawling toward a single breakthrough.
In contrast, a God anchored by a powerful Empire benefited from a concentrated stream of 'National Fate' and resources that accelerated their cultivation several times over. To be part of the Dark Empire was to have the wind of a hundred thousand years at one's back.
Furthermore, this 'National Fate' acted as a tangible reserve on the battlefield. When two Gods of equal rank clashed, victory usually went to the one who could outlast the other. An Imperial God could partially tap into the Empire's collective energy to sustain their Divine Laws long after a lone opponent had run dry. It was the ultimate safety net, a reservoir of endurance that turned narrow defeats into grueling victories.
Now, that reservoir was leaking. The loss of 200,000 True Gods and the vast, fertile core territories was a death spiral. If the territory was surrendered, the National Fate would starve; if the army was slaughtered, there would be no one left to defend what remained. This vicious cycle threatened to shatter the Empire's momentum entirely, potentially dragging their divine progress back ten thousand years into the dark.
…
The executives quickly moved past the "why" and into the "how." The speed of the Great Aetherium's counterattack was unnatural. It was too fast, too coordinated.
"They were waiting for us." One minister growled, the realization stinging like salt in a wound, "They didn't just want the territory back, they wanted our lives. To the Castle Lords and the Great Aetherium, we aren't neighbors or rivals. We are the key to their strength."
The truth was bitter. Because the Light Empire had retreated to its final fortified capital, the Great Aetherium had run out of "targets" to harvest for power. By declaring war, the Dark Empire had essentially served themselves up as a fresh buffet of exp.
"We gave them the excuse they needed." Webster said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, "And because we struck first, we have no grounds to appeal for peace. We are the ones who broke the pact."
…
"Your Majesty." The ministers pleaded, "You must intervene. If those Gods fall, we will be defenseless when the battle of planets begins."
Webster had already acted, "I have sent a divine incarnation to the Angels City to seek an audience with the young emperor."
He did not mention the quiet truth: he was too terrified to go in person. Haru was a Peak Supreme God of Space-Time, flanked by Celestia, the Eighteen-Winged Angel who had famously severed the arm of the Titan Lord.
To enter Haru's domain in his true body was to hand the Great Aetherium a hostage. An incarnation was a calculated risk; if Haru killed it, the loss was manageable. If Haru listened, the Dark Empire might survive.
…
While the Dark Empire scrambled for survival, the Light Empire was celebrating. Inside the final bastions of the Light Empire's capital, Asher watched the magical displays of the distant chaos with a rare, cold smile.
"The plan was perfect." Asher remarked to his court, "The Dark Empire's greed was their undoing. They thought they could feast on our lands while we bled. Now they are the ones in the meat grinder."
The Light Empire officials laughed, finally venting the frustration of their earlier defeats. They knew the Great Aetherium's response was suspiciously fast, but they didn't care. Every Dark God killed was one less enemy for them, and every hour the two forces fought bought the Light Empire's capital more time to prepare for the end.
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