Corvin set out from the Obsidian Gate at dawn, crossing the Stormreach Ocean by Synod‑blessed lugger. Beyond the roiling grey waves, the shores of Nefrath rose like a black crown: jagged obsidian peaks scarred by rivers of molten brimstone, while sulfurous fog clung low in the valleys. This was the domain of Archdemon Korvath the Proud. His stronghold, Proudspire Keep was visible as a towering spire of red‑black stone nestled in the highest pass.
The air tasted of ash and iron; wind born embers stirred the coarse grasses that clung to volcanic scree. Scattered nests of leathery eggs lay in shallow craters, each clutch hatching dozens of writhing hatchlings. Impling demons, before they skittered off into the wasteland. Here, demons were born in swarms and tempered by harsh survival. Soldiers bred in lava fields and trained by fire.
Demon Hierarchy was simple:
Impling: Newly hatched demons, mischievous and fragile, learning survival.
Duskling: Hardened hatchlings shaped by brimstone winds, with burgeoning instincts and fledgling elemental magic.
Fiend: Standard infantry of demon hosts, proficient in archery or blade with minor elemental magic.
Emberborne: Seasoned warriors leading squads into battle, their bodies etched with fiery runes and battle scars, mostly adept at magic.
Hellborn: Battle scarred demons with heightened resilience and tactical acumen.
Infernal Warrior: Elite fighters, clad in brimstone armor and versed in AoE elemental attacks and squad leadership.
Abyssal Champion: Commanders of warbands, masters of advanced war magic and siege tactics.
Dreadlord: High ranking generals, Magus level at elemental control and unit commanding.
Dark Sovereign: Peak fighting force of Demon hordes, Archmagus level with magical control wielding profound elemental magic and commanding legions.
Demon Lord: Supreme contenders capable of challenging an Archdemon's seat when might and influence converge.
Demons ascend each rank through combat prowess, demonic rites, and accumulation of power which they gain by devouring each other. Only at the tenth tier may one vie for an Archdemon's throne. Sufficient might may rise through each stage, potentially challenging one of the seven Archdemons, each embodying a cardinal sin for their throne.
No sooner had Corvin's lugger grounded on ash black sand than he encountered the first sentinel: an Emberborne, squat and malformed, its acidic claws dripping molten ichor. With a simple though, he unleashed his telekinesism ending the life of the miserable sod. Corvin drank deep of its memories. The demon's brutal instincts and acidic mastery coalesced within him, and Corvin's silhouette shimmered. Not as himself, but as this demon. Hunched, sinewy, and armed with all his masteries additionally his new corrosive touch and Acid affinity.
In his new guise, he melted into the jagged shadows of Proudspire's foothills, senses keyed to every echo of infernal life. Thus began his hunt through the abyssal highlands: siphon, kill, absorb, grow! Each step carried him closer to the heart of Korvath's domain and the next trial.
--
Pride's Vanguard. The name echoed in Corvin's mind as he harnessed the molten strength of Magma and the scalding force of Steam coursing through his veins, Acid's hidden venom lacing every pulse. It has been a week since his arrival here. Earth and Fire affinities surged to S- mastery, while Magma, Steam, and Acid settled at B+ intensity. Over two hundred demons, Emberbornes to Abyssal Champions had fallen to him, mostly absorbed after a direct kill, rarely siphoned if the target was not alone. Each death gifting him guttural language of demons, war maps, information on hordes, platoons and whispered commands.
He recalled Archmagus Vaelorin's fierce admonition: "Psychic magic is the Mother's sacred gift to our kin. Demon scum dare to wield it? They shall learn our fury." Vaelorin's words ignited Corvin's resolve. This squad, handpicked by Korvath himself, will be the stepping stone for his Telepathy and Telekinesis.
Drawing on a mosaic of demon memories, Corvin pieced together the Vanguard's composition: fifty warriors led by Dreadlord Xarthul the Mind Flayer, bristling with Psychic affinity, flanked by twelve Abyssal Champions armed with telekinetic pacts. Their strong point was mental overwhelm chains of thought slipped into the minds of foes.
Following an obsidian trail of corrupted shale, he arrived at a fractured amphitheater carved into Nefrath's spine. A hollow where the Vanguard assembled beneath bannered spires. From the Emberborne recollections, he heard the crackle of brimstone armor, the steady march of armored feet.
Corvin shifted into Dreadguard form: molten metal plates fused to his flesh, Psychic echoes rippling like sunlit waves across black steel. He crouched at the rim of the ancient stage, whispering in the demon tongue:
"Mind Flayer Xarthul, tonight, your minds will fracture."
The assembly paused, a ripple of telepathic alarm. But by then Corvin had unleashed volley after volley of acid slicked shards charged with lightning. The first Dreadlord's psychic shield sputtered under the assault; memories of his life in Proudspire's forges flooded Corvin's mind. He sent his spores to Xarthul, siphoning half of his affinities, memories, skills and mental discipline.
As hallucinatory cries erupted, Corvin darted through the chaos. Each kill preceded by a spore latch, each death bolstering his psychic mastery. Lightning bolts chained between the demons paralyzing them past siphons. Telekinesis pushing, Telepathy confusing, Blood and Metal disabling the platoon destroying their well practiced rhythm. By dawn, the amphitheater lay silent, save for the final pulse of residual wards. Corvin stood amid shattered helms and spilled crimson, out of fifty only three were mutilated beyond absorption. The echoes of Pride's Vanguard now woven into his own indomitable will. His Psychic affinity already standing at S+, his Telekinesis reaching the absurd limit of one kilometer while Telepathy hit the effective range of one and half kilometer.
Smiling with satisfaction, he shifted to Xarthul, there should be more to hunt in this damned continent. Nafreth was not ready for the slaughter.
--
News of the Crimson Chalice massacre reached the Grand Citadel of the Holy Verranate. Purifier General Marius Velden's detailed report laid bare three hundred fifty slain: veteran wardens, acolytes, and raw recruits, all felled without warning. In the vaulted Hall of Crimson Echoes, Pontiff Malcheron convened his Council of Seven, each cardinal stewarding a pillar of faith.
Pontiff Malcheron spoke first, voice tempered by sorrow: "We gather in grief: our sacred tapestries burned to ash, relics shattered, and souls taken in a strike as swift as it was silent."
Cardinal of Rites, Ser Calistyn, his hand resting on the gilded Chalice crest, added quietly: "The church stands desolate. Priests lie unburied; the faithful weep in silence. Such sacrilege demands both justice and remembrance."
Cardinal of War, Tyranus Holric, his armor glinting like polished steel, clenched his fist. "We cannot tolerate this affront. Let our legions march to Savaryn's forests, let Feralis blood stain their fields!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber until Malcheron raised a pale hand. "No. The Circle of Arbiters meets next moon under the Great Convergence. We will present our grievances there. Our words will be our sword."
Cardinal of Mercy, Thalia Corren, eyes misted with tears, proposed: "Dispatch envoys to the Feralis arbiter. Let them bear witness to our sorrow and bind them to answer for this atrocity."
Cardinal of Wisdom, Elyndra Voss, voice thoughtful, cautioned: "Beyond these walls, planar gates stir and the Aetherborn watch. A war now would weaken us before darker tides."
Malcheron nodded solemnly. "Then let our petition carry our grief and our resolve. At the Arbiters' Conclave, we shall demand justice, and be prepared in faith and arms for whatever trials the Convergence brings."
--
Corvin felt the edge of stagnation press against him. He spent days hunting demons. After consuming hundreds of them from Emberbornes to Dreadlords his elemental prowess had peaked: Earth and Fire now blazed at S+, while Magma, Acid, and Poison held firm at S-. He needed a more potent wellspring, an Archmagus level host if he were to increase his affinities to the next stage.
The stolen memories of his targets converged on a single name: Ravathos the Gray, a Dark Sovereign and scholar whose obsidian tower crowned the Bleak Vale's highest ridge. Ravathos was a goldmine of war strategies, destructive spells and knowledge on the Archdemons.
Tracking the scholar's aura demanded subtlety. Corvin slipped into a deserted warcamp of fallen Dreadlords, layering on a memory cloak drawn from his victims. Each heartbeat pulsed with centuries of battle lore, drill formations, siegecraft, psychic null circles and guided him toward the Vale's shrouded passes.
Night draped the land in charcoal silence as Corvin approached Ravathos's spire. He paused at the obsidian threshold, recalling the weight of every mind he'd consumed: simple hammersmiths, zealous templars, infernal tacticians. Together, their experiences formed a chorus of thousands of years, yet none had unlocked new affinities. The coming confrontation would hopefully break this cycle.
Steeling himself, Corvin whispered in the demon tongue:
"Ravathos the Gray, I come armed with memories of your allies. Show me your depths."
He stepped into the spire's yawning maw, the sulfurous wind swallowing his silhouette as he embraced the hunt's final crucible.