“Ready yet? Big sis is taking you out to run wild.” Her smile warmed like the first sun of spring as Edlyn ruffled Angela’s small head.

“Ah... of course. Seriously, I’m always ready.” She kneaded her tiny fists like dough before a bake.

Edlyn laughed and laced her fingers with Angela’s, heading for the gate to Janus’s mindscape, a pale arch like a moon door.

Energy ripples fanned out where they stepped, rings on a lake spreading in slow breaths.

Passing through them felt like a feather scratching your cheek, light enough to coax a grin.

Edlyn’s brows tipped up; unease pricked like a hidden thorn.

Angela fought a giggle, cheeks twitching, fingers darting across her face like dragonflies.

The tunnel looked long as a river. In truth, it was only a short bridge.

Once past the spot that used to block them, Edlyn let out a breath like winter steam.

Looks like they’d met the mark; the path lay clear like a trimmed trail through brush.

If Janus didn’t spring another pitfall, it meant he was truly too occupied to toy with her, hourglass sand choking at the throat.

“Mmm… looks like we’ve hit a critical point.” She stroked her chin and shrugged, a leaf riding the breeze.

The scene began to shift; a low, somber breath rolled from ahead like fog sliding over stone.

Instinct tugged; Edlyn wrapped Angela in a veil of energy and drew her back, eyes sharp as blades.

The tunnel guided them to a place that eased her tight chest, shade after noon sun.

Angela shrank behind Edlyn, fear fluttering like a moth in lantern‑light.

“Sis... this place... it’s scary,” she whispered, like dusk settling over a graveyard.

Edlyn blinked. Aside from the sky glowing ocher like a dried leaf, nothing looked that frightening.

This was where she’d been before—the so‑called Inferno— just dim, like twilight after rain.

So why was Angela trembling like a rabbit caught in thorns?

Her brow knotted; her gaze fell inward, thoughts circling like carp beneath ice.

She caught a thread; she sketched a square sigil in the air with demonic qi, and it ripened into a mirror, frost silvering glass.

She peered at her reflection; a faint triangle sat on her brow, pale light trickling from it toward her eyes and nose like dew lines.

Edlyn grimaced, sheathing her hands in qi. She pinched the triangle free, and the energy unraveled like smoke, bleeding into the air.

She shut her eyes; her chin lifted slowly, a sapling bracing for wind. She drew a steady breath.

The triangle’s ward fell away like a shed skin.

An indescribable stench surged into her nose, the reek of corpses piled like a mountain, unburied and raw.

Edlyn clapped a hand over her mouth; bile surged like a wave breaking.

Relief flickered—thank the stars she’d sealed Angela in a safe bubble, a pearl in a shell.

She opened her eyes. The view was a world apart, day to night, mask to face.

No wonder Janus had worn that odd smile when she summoned his phantasm. So this was the trick beneath the veil.

She and Angela stood on a towering cliff, a knife edge over emptiness.

Endless blood‑red mist curled around the peaks, around the world. A coppery wind came from nowhere, and her brows bunched like storm clouds.

The vomit‑stirring smell carpeted the air, a rotten blanket dragging over the sky.

Below the cliffs, scarlet blood pooled into rivers. The land glowed red like iron fresh from the forge. Pillars and walls winked with a gruesome sanguine sheen.

The place breathed cold terror, saturated with an endless grave‑yard chill.

The crimson earth quivered under searing heat; muffled demonic wails seeped from deep underground, drums beating inside fog.

Malice flooded heaven and earth; the sky, unlike that ocher gloom, had turned into a butcher’s canopy.

Pure terror reigned; every shape wore a thin wash of blood, like a painter’s cruel glaze.

Sudden, world‑shaking booms cracked like sky thunder. Blood‑light speared upward, stench punched the nose, rivers of gore heaved, and the ground bucked as if trying to roll over.

Edlyn ground her teeth; what in the Inferno was this?

“Awooo!” The beast‑call from no known throat made Edlyn fluff like a startled cat and jolt.

“Damn it—what is this!” Her words snapped like ice.

She seized Angela’s small hand and sprinted for the far distance, feet skimming like swallows over a river.

They couldn’t stay— that thought hammered like a drum. Another minute and trouble would chew up both sisters.

She steered by memory, a lantern in fog. The landscape had shifted so hard she could barely see a trail, so she pulled Angela and trusted old footprints.

Who knew how long they ran; when she finally looked ahead, a slow sigh slipped out like smoke from an ember.

Blood‑light veiled the sun; it was a bleak, blood‑stained asura realm, sky drowning in crimson.

Edlyn took in the scene. Towering demonic statues stood with vacant gazes, bodies filmed in crimson wetness.

They loomed over the Inferno, and before them ran a long river of blood, a scar cutting the land.

Endlessly, bones drifted; seven or eight colossal skeletons rose opposite the statues, jutting from the blood‑river like white cliffs.

She tilted her head and drew a slow breath; a hawk’s hunch settled in—this felt like her final trial.

“Roar!” The unknown beast‑cry sounded again, close enough that hot breath fogged her ears.

Angela gaped as four more Edlyns walked in from the other directions, each a mirror sliding into place.

Then, one by one, they faded, leaving only the real sister’s hand warm in hers, a tether in a storm.

Angela froze, her mind a blank slate dusted with confusion.

“If I’m not wrong, Father still has something to say.” Edlyn squeezed Angela’s hand, standing on the ridge like a lone pine.

She watched the boundless blood‑river below and let the fishy wind slap her face like cold water.

“Otherwise… I tried so many routes, searched every direction for an exit, yet I always came back to these statues.” Edlyn lifted her gaze, eyes narrowing.

Six statues formed a ring, as if guarding—or sealing—something, a heart buried under stone.

Edlyn narrowed her eyes. “No matter what, I’m going to take a look.” She bent and patted Angela’s small head, touch light as a falling leaf.

Blankness swirled first; Angela stared at her sister like a deer in lantern‑light, heart thudding.

Only a sharp discomfort churned, yet after such mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, it dulled to a pebble in her shoe.

No other reaction came; no gag, no retch—just a tight throat like a knotted ribbon.

She frowned, shadows folding on her brow like creased paper.

Do I really have guts this big? The thought fluttered like a sparrow.

“So, Era, our final decision is to develop on our own. No more obeying the Demon Race like before.” Nofel looked down at Era, a head shorter, hawk to sparrow.

Era sighed, breath thin as thread. “That’s your decision?”

“Correct.” Nofel’s voice stayed flat, a lake without ripples.

The boy called Bort seemed breezy and calm, yet his right hand clenched the mug handle, knuckles white as bone.

Era lifted her head, memories fluttering like torn flags over ruins.

She opened her mouth, faltered, unsure how to sway her people, tongue heavy as stone.

In the end she said, “Folks, the Demon Race hates betrayal most.” Her warning glowed like a brand.

Elisa shot Era a sideways glare. “Losers, that’s all—what’s there to fear?” Her words fell like cold ash.

Era sighed again. “Fine, fine. If that’s your path.” Her tone faded like mist.

Nofel patted her shoulder, touch light as dust. “Don’t be so down. Up on the surface, orcs and elves are at war; their spilled blood will feed us, make up for the power the Fallen Angels lost.”

“…Let’s hope.” Era’s voice drifted, a cloud thinning.

Nofel smiled, curve thin as a blade. “Don’t worry. Your seal might break with this tide. When it does, you can lead those willing to leave to the Demon Race. Even if the Demon Race rises one day, you’ll still have your share.”

Era glanced at him sidelong. “Yes.” What a neat way to soothe a clan schism; the thought tasted like bitter tea.

She exhaled, unsure how to face Reni waiting outside for news, heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

“All right, that’s all. You can go.” Nofel’s tone remained cool, snow under moonlight.

Era nodded in silence, a reed bowing to current.

Ah… failure, then. How many could she even take? The picture frayed like old cloth in her mind.

She knew it—if any followed her out, he could find a pretext and cut her down mid‑road, a blade in night grass.

The Fallen Angels were not short on ambition, and Nofel had once harbored rebel thoughts against the Demon Race, a spark lurking in straw.

Only, back then Pandora was near invincible, so he swallowed his rage like a stone sinking.

Maybe even if she gathered a handful and went to the Demon Race, he’d twist it into a chance to have them swallow that still‑weak force, wolves on a lamb.

Goosebumps crawled over Era’s skin like ants, a cold march.

She had no other plan. If Nofel truly nursed that intent, the thought hung like a storm cloud.

The clan’s two Demonic Lords had brought in two supernal beings from who‑knows‑where; they were volcanoes asleep, not to be provoked.

Right now those two masked beings were deep in meditation, still as mountains.

If the people she brought back caused trouble, would those masked ones lash out at the Fallen Angel race, thunder splitting trees?

No—she had to make sure that never happened, a gate bolted before the storm.

Era bit her lip, thoughts circling like ravens over a field.