Within the area covered by the magic array, scenes of human tragedy unfolded one after another.
Meanwhile, far away — in the twelve main cities surrounding the Knight Empire's capital, Niter City — plumes of wolf smoke rose simultaneously, spreading outward in a perfect pattern.
Every city was soon cloaked in smoke, and the energy within the land's ley lines began to flow at a strange, resonating frequency.
As the smoke continued to surge skyward, countless plumes gathered and condensed, eventually forming an enormous wolf made entirely of smoke that loomed over Niter City.
Across the Knight Empire, armored knights gazed solemnly upon that vast, spectral wolf.
They each dropped to one knee, drew the daggers at their waists, removed their gauntlets, and slit their wrists.
As blood dripped from their wounds, every crimson drop transformed midair into a mist of blood that streamed upward — converging with the colossal wolf's image.
Very soon, the once-white smoke turned blood-red, dyeing the spectral wolf until it became a massive crimson beast.
It lifted its head and howled toward the heavens before bounding into the sky, stepping across the air itself.
The higher it flew, the faster it moved — until, before long, people could no longer distinguish its form.
What remained was a blazing streak of red light, like a blood-colored comet racing southeast.
Meanwhile, the Circle of Corruption array continued its dreadful operation.
The endless desires and malice within its bounds ceaselessly converged toward the formation, making it ever more sinister and unholy.
Above it, a massive gate was gradually taking shape — its form growing clearer with every passing moment.
The gate's surface was covered in lifelike carvings.
At the very bottom were countless wailing souls and tormented creatures — some torn limb from limb, some scorched by fire, others reduced to skin and bones.
Above them were tiny devils wielding pitchforks, inflicting endless tortures upon the damned below.
Higher still were greater demons — horned fiends, insect-like frost demons, and voluptuous succubi.
The lesser devils who had just moments ago lorded over the suffering were now trampled underfoot by these higher demons, reduced to mere stepping stones.
And yet, even these mighty beings were shown kneeling before a single figure at the gate's very summit.
There sat a graceful woman atop the back of a fallen angel.
One hand gripped the angel's hair, while the other lashed a whip across the bodies of the demons kneeling before her.
Despite her cruel and savage demeanor, the demons worshipped her with reverent submission.
"What… what is that?"
Paracel stared at the forming gate in the sky, his face grave.
A moment later, his expression changed drastically — he clapped his hands together and exclaimed anxiously:
"No! Stop them at once! That thing is the Gate of Hell! Those damned beastmen are trying to open the Gate of Hell here!"
"The Gate of Hell!?"
The others — man and dragon alike — gasped in horror.
Hell… that was a name as ancient and dreaded as Heaven itself.
It was the lair of infinite demons, a realm where only angels could rival their power.
If the Gate of Hell were to open on this continent, it would mean total annihilation.
"No — we can't let them open it!"
Roland's voice was grim as he drew his knight's lance from his back and gripped it tightly.
He was about to charge into the array, ready to destroy the forming gate even at the cost of his life — but Augustus extended his massive claw, blocking his path.
"Hell isn't as weak as you think," the dragon said darkly.
"Even a seventh-tier warrior would be considered a high-ranking being there. Charging in alone is suicide. Besides…"
He turned his great head and pointed a claw toward the distant horizon.
"Your empire's Guardian Formation has already been activated."
Roland followed his gaze — and saw a streak of crimson light hurtling toward the heavens.
It was the blood-red wolf — now diving straight toward the forming Gate of Hell.
Sensing the threat, the Circle of Corruption erupted.
From within it surged countless black tendrils, writhing upward to seize the blood-red wolf.
But the spectral beast was too fast — faster than thought, faster than shadow — darting and twisting through the air with astonishing agility.
In the blink of an eye, it had already reached the gate.
Then, with a thunderous roar, it slammed headlong into the Gate of Hell.
In that instant, its boundless blood-red battle aura ignited violently, swelling outward like an inferno.
The explosion blossomed into a miniature sun — burning so fiercely that it illuminated the darkened heavens tainted by the Circle of Corruption.
For a brief moment, the entire sky shone with holy brilliance.
Those who had survived within the array suddenly regained their senses.
They stared blankly at their own bloodstained hands — and as they remembered the atrocities they had committed under the array's influence, most fell to their knees, weeping in despair.
A few, however, seemed to embrace the darkness within themselves completely, casting off the last chains of morality.
"Did… did it work?"
Paracel's eyes gleamed as he gazed upon the burning sun above.
"As expected of the angels' handiwork — a fusion of magic and battle aura, igniting divine flame upon impact!
The more corrupted the target, the greater the damage.
This spell… it must be at least of forbidden-tier!"
Roland nodded grimly in agreement.
Only nations under direct angelic blessing — the Knight Empire and the Federation Empire — had the right to use such divine formations.
Even the Magus Empire, secure in its rear territories, lacked such privilege.
"No," Augustus rumbled, his expression darkening.
"It's not over yet."
As his words fell, the burning sun in the sky was suddenly ensnared by a swarm of black tendrils.
They coiled around it madly, tearing and shredding until, moments later, the light was snuffed out — the miniature sun ripped apart.
The tendrils were themselves scorched and withered, barely any surviving.
But when the flames finally died out… the truth was revealed.
There it was — behind the charred, tangled remains of the tendrils —
the Gate of Hell, untouched and unbroken, standing proudly amid the sky.