In the Barren Wastes, under a perpetual, sickly green twilight, the Crimson warrior known only as FLUID (Rakul Zep) moved with silent, desperate grace. The metallic tang of CDE pollution hung heavy in the air, a scent Rakul barely registered as he tracked the Abyssal Lyra. Every strategic kill was a victory against the hated primal urge the Empire had engineered into him.
He loosed an arrow from his Bow Ego, Ignis Vitae. The projectile found Lyra’s flank. There was no sound, only an instantaneous, devastating flash of internal light as the creature’s core life force was consumed and ignited. The Abyssal buckled, disintegrating into blackened dust that settled like fine, corrosive glass before it hit the ground.
PLASMA (Leto Strahd), his face alight with unnerving cheer, strolled over the scorched earth. He carried a fresh, bloody dagger, its blade still damp. He had claimed the trophy.
"Ah, you didn't leave me much fun, Rakul!" Leto chirped, his smile wide and genuine. He stopped to smear the Abyssal's dark blood onto his own cheek, his eyes twinkling with sadistic glee at the prospect of more chaos. "An Abyssal! Imagine that. We were told the targets were merely powerful warlords. Low-level targets, easy kills."
RUBER (Elise Bathe), the child warrior, stood a small distance away, cuddling her Doll Ego, Mors Puppa. Her stare was flat and cold. "She was strong," Elise conceded in a small, chilling voice. "But weak. No fun at all. I did not get to play."
Leto laughed, patting Elise's head—a risky gesture only he ever dared. "Exactly, little one. The true fun is in the quality of the game, not the quantity of the kill. We need better players for this arena."
Miles away, in the fortified valley of the Ironclad Clans, the enormous, muscular warrior ESSENTIA (Rein Fanu) completed his devastating task. His body was tense, radiating contained CDE. Utilizing his Totem Ego, The Stone Pillar, he had focused his Tectonic Emulation power, and with a grunt of primal exertion, the entire valley floor had instantly solidified, turning soft earth into unyielding, engineered basalt. He then raised kilometer-scale spires of dark rock, impaling the entire clan.
He stood like a monument to destructive pride. "We both need a better opponent," he muttered to the totem, his voice a low rumble. His colossal ego, fueled by the illusion of his own divine strength, was utterly unsatisfied. The targets were powerful, but their strength was brittle and easily shattered by his foundational might.
The testing campaign continued, successful in accumulating data, but failing to satisfy the bloodlust or the pride of the Crimson 10. The true test, and the true cost, was yet to come.
The most critical test involved Valeri, the strongest of the Crimson 10. Clad in her perfect Red Empire uniform—the red cross symbol prominent on her chest, her hair tucked under a soldier's cap, her legs encased in sexy, high-laced army boots—she arrived at the Sword King's Citadel City with the overwhelming confidence of an Apex Commander.
Valeri unleashed her legion of lesser demonic entities, their shrieks a deafening prelude to the attack. "I am here to measure the strongest of Elarith,” Valeri projected, her voice amplified by CDE, ringing with cold authority. "Your defeat will serve the greater good."
The Sword King emerged, not with fear, but with the silent, geological presence of a continent. He ignored the demonic chaos and the shouting of the attacking forces.
When he reached the main city square, he stopped, his legendary sword still sheathed. He raised his hand and brought the hilt of the sword down once, hard, into the stone pavement.
A wave of incandescent, blinding white force erupted from the impact point. It was not a roar, but a silent, deafening pressure that cracked the very air.
Valeri’s entire demon horde—every single entity she had painstakingly summoned—was instantly dissolved. The creatures vanished into fine, black particulate dust, their essence neutralized by a force that transcended mere physics.
Valeri’s analytical mind, a mechanism trained to ruthlessly calculate variables, went into immediate crisis. Her Kinetic Nullification field—an ability that manipulated time and space—flickered violently, momentarily unable to compute the sheer, unquantifiable nature of the Sword King's power. This is not kinetic energy, her inner voice screamed, detached and precise. This is divinity. Calculation threshold $0.0003\%$. Probability of success: Negligible. Survival contingency: Activate.
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She knew, with cold statistical certainty, that unleashing her full Apotheosis would only cause a momentary ripple in the Sword King's aura before his counter-attack obliterated her. She swallowed the acrid taste of failure, the bitterest pill any commander could take. The data was worth more than her life.
She brought her arm up in a sharp salute, masking her existential dread with cold professionalism. "For now, I will retreat. I acknowledge your power, Sword King."
The Sword King finally looked at her, his eyes holding the immutable truth of the world. "If you are here to test the water," he said, his voice calm yet deafening in its finality, "I'm afraid, you are far lacking. The Dark Lord himself will make easy play to all of you. Even I can't comprehend his true power. Consider this as a warning."
Valeri’s lips thinned. The warning was brutal and true. She forced a confident, brittle laugh. "You wait, Dark Lord! The Chaos Domain will soon be defeated by the Red Empire!"
With a flash of distorted kinetic energy, Valeri disappeared, carrying her catastrophic findings straight back to her Emperor.
The news of the Crimson 10's destructive, yet ultimately revealing, campaign traveled like wildfire, amplified by frightened survivors and Lysarra's network.
Deep within the Divine Domain, Raze (#4), the Sword King's son, was punishing a training dummy, seeking to burn away the frustration of being held back. He snatched the reports detailing the Ironclad Clans' defeat. His eyes locked onto the accounts of the warrior ESSENTIA.
"A giant, impossibly muscular man... his weapon, a massive, black totem... he used the very earth to impale his foes..."
The description—the brutal, muscular giant—did not fit Emmet's slight, intellectual frame. Yet, the word totem echoed like a crippling blow in Raze’s mind. Emmet had always used a totem as a unique focus for his strange, powerful arts. Raze gripped the report until the parchment tore. Is it him? Did you join the Red Empire, Emmet? The possibility was a paralyzing, sickening betrayal, forcing him to discard the paper in disgust and resume training with a savage, misdirected fury.
The alarming reports forced the Elarith Council into emergency session.
An old man with a long, frantic mustache slammed his fist on the table. "It is the Red Empire again! Why don't we go full war with them already?"
A senior member sighed. "You know very well we can do that, but that will only make them stronger. That is what they want. A full scale war is only a ritual to them. The mass CDE harvest from such a conflict would accelerate their Apotheosis projects."
"Geez," grumbled the long mustache man. "Yeah, I know, but if the Chaos Domain makes a move, the Red Empire won't be able to lift a finger."
Lysarra, the information expert, entered. "You know very well the Chaos Domain does not wish to intervene with Elarith's concerns," she stated, her voice smooth and cold. "We have problems—or should I say, we are preparing for a far much bigger threat—so we will not concern ourselves with that. However, we have sent the Inquisitors to counter their smaller operations."
She proposed her counter-plan: "I propose we take advantage of this. In order to make them behave for now, let’s show them that they are not that powerful, even the Sword King thinks they are not strong enough to challenge him."
"What do you propose?" asked a Council elder.
"A ranking system," Lysarra smiled. "A true measure of the strongest in the continent."
A high-ranking statesman narrowed his eyes. "So you are going to make a false narrative with your fake ranking?"
Lysarra chuckled. "Not entirely fake. The Red Empire is free to challenge them, and I’m sure it won't be favorable to them. This merely formalizes their limitations."
"We need more information about the Red Empire technology," a member insisted. "We can't just sit still and let them do what they like."
Lysarra’s smile deepened, thinking of her asset. "Don't worry. We have trustworthy people who are going to do that, oh, maybe more. Let's say I have high hopes for them."
The mustache man scoffed. "We tried that already. We can't enter their domain without making our spies planted with worms, and none ever survive or came back."
"Ah, you just have to trust me on this," Lysarra said, her confidence absolute. The Council ceded the strategic play to the Chaos Domain.
The Elarith Power Index: Top 10 was published across the continent, a brazen public declaration that spat in the face of the Red Empire.
In the Imperial War Council, Valeri stood enraged as the ranking was displayed.
"They are mocking us! The list isn't accurate since the Crimson 10 did not make use the full power of their Ego!" a commander roared.
The Emperor silenced the room. "Let it be. The Chaos Empire is not making a move, and we dare not provoke them further."
He then focused on the tall, cloaked man in the shadows. "How is the plan going?"
"Everything is working smoothly in your favor, my Emperor," the man confirmed. "Project Chimera is nearing completion, and the Sanguine Harvesters are positioned. The ranking proves we must bide our time and grow stronger through other means. The Dark Lord is an obstacle, but an eventual sacrifice."
"Good," the Emperor repeated. "The season of open challenges is over. The season of espionage has begun."
Far from the Imperial fortress, Mr. Craft (#9)—the masked artificer whose true identity was Emmet, ranked strategically by Lysarra—was completing his final preparations in his cluttered workshop.
"Ahh, I wish I have a Glow Crystal to imbue on you now," Emmet muttered, adjusting a screw on his artifact. "You're almost ready, old friend."
Skull, the Bone Warrior, stood nearby. "That ranking has put a target on your back, Craft. You’re going from low-profile to high-value."
Emmet shrugged, donning his simple but effective mask. "If they know where I am, they won't be looking where I'm going. Lysarra's intelligence is sound. The depot is exposed."
He looked at the others, the tension coiling in his gut. "Well, our next destination will be full of demons, as Lysarra said. I hope we'll get a fruitful harvest."
His target was a high-risk, Red Empire resource depot containing the exact, rare crystals he needed. It was a place the rest of Elarith considered impregnable.
The time for subtlety was over. The game had begun.
The next destination: Deep into the Red Empire.