High above, Nether Monarch Astaroth's Shadow Throne shook violently beneath the lava pillar's impact. Darkness spilled from it, staining the sky like ink.
Astaroth's cold will swept the battlefield with the precision of a radar, resisting the Lord of Lava's furious assault while tracking every movement in the chaos.
When Wither Chanter Electra's Divine Might suddenly weakened and a deep, dark force hurled her out of the heart of the battlefield like discarded rubbish, Astaroth's ancient will stirred at last.
He had seen—or rather, sensed—everything that happened in that instant.
Night's blockade. Deception's illusion. And finally, a merciless expulsion that had deliberately left her a way out.
Electra's humiliating retreat was no accident of battle. She had been cleared from the field.
"Dies Martin..."
For the first time, something like realization entered Astaroth's will.
The seemingly reckless threat from Lava and Torture, Night's concealment, and all the chaos and interference Dies Martin had caused before...
They had not been meant merely to sow confusion and make the others lose their nerve.
That was only the surface. A smokescreen!
The real goal was to use the chaos as cover while Night and Deception, the two best suited to covert action, joined forces to remove the battlefield's wild card and bring that stretch of sea entirely under their control!
He and the Lord of Destruction—even Electra, who had been driven away—had all been deftly used by Dies Martin.
They had suspected and guarded against one another, spending so much effort contending with Lava and Torture that they had handed the real hunters a perfect opening.
What a Lord of Lies! What a scheme within a scheme!
A cold fury rose in Astaroth at having been fooled.
He had not lost through lack of power. He had been outmaneuvered.
Dies Martin had exploited