Chapter 577
His standing as a general, built on strategic acumen and disciplined command, no longer held the same value for minds tainted by the Abyss. They needed to see him as something else entirely: a supreme demon, an apex predator who would tolerate no dissent, no ’nonsense’ from lesser beings.
There were undeniable downsides to this strategy, his tech core meticulously cataloged them. This approach would forever erode any trust they might have had in him, replacing it with a primal fear and a grudging, resentful obedience. They might harbor thoughts of rebellion, like how most demons, given the chance, would turn on a weakening leader. However, the probability of such an open revolt was low, Kaelen’s analysis assured him, as long as he himself stood strong, an unyielding pillar of power that outmatched their own raw, chaotic strength. He had to embody the very dominance they now instinctively understood.
A smile came upon Kaelen cold face which hasn’t shown much emotion in weeks, it was weird and maybe wrong but he was liking the current state of the army and it’s new rule. He turned toward the abyss portal which was now close "That was his goal"
The weeks that followed blurred into a continuous, brutal symphony of steel and monstrous flesh. Kaelen’s reassertion of absolute, unforgiving command, enforced by swift, chilling displays of power, slowly forged the transformed army into a more disciplined, albeit still terrifying, weapon. They no longer fought with aimless rage; their newfound ferocity was now channeled, directed with lethal precision.
One of the most startling, and initially horrifying, developments emerged during the relentless combat: the armor itself began to exhibit sentient, predatory behaviors. It wasn’t just drawing on the wearer’s life force; when a demon fell within reach, the Abyssal armor would visibly shift, dark tendrils extending or sharpened edges seeming to unfold, and chomp onto the fallen flesh, tearing and consuming it with a sickening, wet sound. This grotesque act wasn’t merely symbolic; the armor was actively feeding on the demons to sustain itself and, consequently, its host. The process visibly invigorated the soldier, healing minor wounds and dulling the insidious mental strain, effectively extending the "grace period" of controlled integration beyond Kaelen’s initial projections.
This unexpected evolution took both Kaelen and Rattan by profound surprise. Rattan, watching a ratfolk warrior’s armor consume a demon’s arm, nearly retched. Kaelen’s tech-core, however, immediately began crunching the new data. The moral implications were monstrous, a deepening descent into depravity.
Yet, after swift calculations, the cold, hard logic asserted itself: while ethically repugnant, this development was a monumental boon for their immediate goal. It meant less reliance on the finite life-force of the soldiers and an unprecedented, self-sustaining combat capability.
By the fourth week, the grind had taken its toll. Their numbers were drastically thinned, the faces of the remaining soldiers etched with a grim, exhausted madness, their eyes burning with a hunger that was now part their own, part the armor’s. But they had achieved the impossible. Through a combination of their newfound savagery, Kaelen’s ruthless command, and the grotesque, self-sustaining nature of their Abyssal armor, they had pushed the demons back. Step by bloody step, inch by agonizing inch, the Abyss forces were driven to retreat.
Finally, after a relentless, final push that cost them dearly, the Imperial army—a mere fraction of its former self, but now infused with a terrifying, unholy power—managed to force the remaining Abyss demons back through their swirling portal. The cacophony of battle died down, replaced by the ragged breathing of survivors and the constant, hungry hum of their living armor. They quickly established a makeshift fortress before the churning maw, a temporary bastion of exhausted vigilance. The final stretch had come, but for now, they needed to take a moment to rest and recover.