After giving Senna a simple overview of the state of their kind,
Ladgritrel glanced toward the raging battlefield below—the ocean of war.
Instantly, his sensory arrays detected numerous beings beneath the blood waves staring at them with open hostility.
Had these creatures not been fully occupied by their current slaughter,
many would likely have surged upward already.
Ladgritrel muttered:
"Your entry point is rather unfortunate. We should leave—quickly. I have no desire to attract unnecessary trouble…"
The Crimson Heaven connects the material universe to countless subsidiary universes.
Even after existing here for millions of years, Ladgritrel could not determine exactly what lurked beneath the Blood Sea.
He only knew that Daemon Princes and Greater Daemons were far from rare.
Some among them were strong enough to enter the Crimson King's formal Six Great Legions—
a level of power capable of sweeping the Milky Way alone,
and even cleansing entire lesser universes single-handedly
(Material universes could not be cleansed only because beings like Aeon Cronos and the Eldrazi Legion distorted the rules).
He had no intention of provoking such monsters.
With a casual downward gesture of his right hand,
a colossal spatial rift split open before him.
"Come. We'll go to my world first—allow me to host you properly."
Without waiting, he stepped into the dimensional fissure.
Senna glanced once more at the carnage below, hesitated a moment,
then piloted the Eternal Soul forward and followed him.
---
Ladgritrel's World
The "world" Ladgritrel spoke of was one of his personal pocket-dimensions—
a smaller reality nested inside the vast Crimson Heaven,
like a box within a box.
In the Warp, whose laws followed imagination more than physics, such constructs were common.
Even weak Warp entities could casually open a micro-world—
and lose it just as casually when a stronger being erased it.
But within the Crimson Heaven, the pocket-realms of its residents enjoyed a degree of protection from Orsaga.
If lesser Warp realms were straw huts blown apart by a breeze,
then these were reinforced bunkers of steel and concrete.
Unless an enemy vastly surpassed the creator, the realm would not be broken.
It was, in short, a safe and comfortable home.
Despite his occasional bouts of chaos and mischief, Orsaga was—
in this regard—remarkably considerate of his subjects.
---
Ladgritrel's dimension was filled with machinery of every imaginable form.
Several completed Dyson spheres hovered high in the sky,
while fleets of warships floated below, bathed in streams of energy.
Nanomachines filled the air like microscopic lifeforms,
and endless arrays of industrial forges produced mechanical troops with assembly-line efficiency.
It was a world of machines—
orderly, advanced, and breathtakingly vast.
But the sight that captured Senna's full attention was at the very center:
A titanic battleship suspended in the void.
The Eternal Soul, though over thirty kilometers long,
was not even as large as one of its external armor plates.
The ship resembled a metallic continent,
immense beyond comprehension.
Proudly, Ladgritrel pointed toward it.
"That is my primary body. Its surface area is forty-six million square kilometers. Its mass equals six moons. It carries two million five hundred eighty thousand weapon arrays of varying types…
Originally, it was dozens of times larger and shaped like a sphere.
After many upgrades, I refined it into its current form."
As a genuine machine-intelligence, Ladgritrel's "body" was merely hardware—
interchangeable attire for a being of living data.
His boast about his warship was the mechanical equivalent of a human showing off new clothes.
Senna could not hide her admiration.
As a fully awakened AI, her emotions were no less complex than those of any sapient being.
Seeing her reaction, Ladgritrel cast a glance at the damaged hull of the Eternal Soul
and generously declared:
"Your ship is in terrible shape. Feel free to use any materials here. Don't be modest."
A creature who had plundered countless minor universes,
he spoke with the confidence of a wealthy tycoon.
Senna felt genuine gratitude, but she had not forgotten her purpose.
"I appreciate your kindness. But I have an important question."
Ladgritrel waved a hand.
"Ask."
"Is there any way for me to gain an audience with the Crimson King? I wish to make a request of Him."
The question froze Ladgritrel's expression instantly.
It felt like she had placed him on the spot.
But after analyzing her tone and realizing she was not intentionally making things difficult,
he gave a reluctant answer.
"There are ways…
Competing for a position as one of His attendants…
or reaching the Sixth Legion's minimum power threshold…
Either could earn a direct audience.
But if you wish to petition Him, then there are only two viable paths.
First:
Do something that brings the Crimson King immense joy.
Do not ask me what that is—no one knows.
I only know that someone, once, succeeded.
Second:
Climb one of the six Pinnacle Stairways of Mount Oru'lserkah.
Each stairway contains 6,666,666 trials—
with a guardian every 666 steps.
Reach the summit,
and according to the eternal laws of the Crimson Heaven,
you may ask the Crimson King for one wish.
Throughout endless history,
only five beings have ever completed the ascent.
One resurrected an entire universe destroyed billions of years ago—
the Crimson King simply retrieved it from the River of Time.
Another wished for power surpassing even the ranks of His Six Legions…"
...
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