The Endgame War on the Purple Ember Continent drew to a close.
The Monarchs pursued with the Dark Tide army, stopping only after every member of the Blue Lantern Race had escaped across space.
From then on, every resource node on the Purple Ember Continent belonged to the Dark Tide Legion.
Though the Blue Lantern Race possessed an absolute advantage in combat strength, with greater Divine Realm reserves and stronger core forces, it had suffered utter defeat in this struggle of life and death.
Every being of the Dark Tide was a warrior who had crawled out of a purgatory of death.
From birth, they underwent round after round of selection.
Not one of the eighteen Monarchs had risen to that position from nothing.
Their Path to Godhood Ascension had trampled countless territories and crushed powerful enemies of other species. Beneath every step lay the piled corpses and bones of countless destroyed civilizations.
Brutal slaughter was their daily life, and blood-soaked battle was their faith. In the eyes of the Dark Tide's beings, defeat and destruction were no disgrace; death in battle was the highest glory.
All they sought in life was one exhilarating, protracted battle, without regard for life or death.
This was the most fundamental gulf between the two sides.
Dark Tide Warriors were born without worries holding them back or shackles upon their minds.
Even the Dark Tide Monarchs who ascended to their Thrones were merely splashes amid the surging waves of the vast Dark Tide System, blades within the torrent of conquest.
The survival of their race, the expansion of their territory, the continuation of their civilization, and the countless heavy burdens of the road ahead had never belonged to the rank-and-file warriors or the Monarchs.
Those fell under the authority of the supreme Demon Gods.