The Red Dragon Just Wants To Do As It Pleases

"Hide! Quick!" Yolanda's warning came through.

David and the other Dragons, just like polar bears pouncing on seal pups, sprang forward with their forelimbs, ready to burrow into the loose, corpse-strewn earth of Barto Hell.

But they hadn't expected that with this thrust, the ground would suddenly collapse like quicksand. Just as their bodies slid down, they saw a fortress, its fierce appearance somewhat resembling the Soul Train, streak past them in midair.

"It seems the worst has happened," Yolanda murmured.

"What is that?" asked Mofei, the tail-damaged White Dragon.

"A Flying Fortress," Yolanda explained. "It's the second-generation product of the Soul Train's design. Its Hell Engine is also powered by a Soul Furnace, and it's directly under the command of Archduke Avernus of the Bronze Citadel. In the early years, it was used as a command center or strategic defense line. However, with the discontinuation of the Soul Engine, it's now generally only used for troop movements and long-distance telepathy during the direst battle conditions. Right now, it's most likely being used to pursue us. We cannot be captured, or we'll lose our last right to defend ourselves."

"If that's the case, then we should split up," David said. Since the worst-case scenario had already happened, continuing to stick together had become meaningless.

"Alright." Yolanda looked at him deeply. "David Uthos," she said, "I'm sorry. This sudden incident is very likely the result of a conspiracy against me. I apologize."

"Talking about this now is meaningless. Let's focus on surviving first," David said expressionlessly.

They weren't fools. Such a large breach in the Blood War front had opened behind them; the telepathy relay stations couldn't possibly have missed any battle reports, not even anticipatory ones. Yet, they had still been arranged to board a Soul Train that just so happened to be passing that location. It all reeked of a conspiracy hatched by the devils of Barathrum Hell.

"Farewell, my friend. I, Yolanda, will repay this life-saving favor and debt," she said. Then, the Dragonkin succubus vanished like a wisp of smoke into the shadows at the end of the subterranean cavity.

"Is she trustworthy, Dragon Lord?" Shadila, the usually silent Green Dragon, asked with some doubt as she watched Yolanda disappear.

"Logically and in terms of interest, I currently have no conflicts with her or her father, Christoph," David replied. "Besides, I don't believe I possess any value that would warrant using a core heir—one who represents the union of two families—to exchange for."

In the previous brutal battle, had he made a single mistake, Yolanda likely wouldn't have survived on her own; even her soul might not have escaped. Whether devils or demons, some possessed peculiar magical artifacts and special methods capable of imprisoning and capturing souls.

"Brother, let's get out of here quickly! It stinks," Tania complained, finding the smell unbearable.

"Stay put. At least it's relatively safe here," David chided, tapping Tania on the head with his tail.

Tania's reminder made David take a sniff. He sensed the air in his nostrils, thick with the stench of rot and death, each breath feeling like it devoured a spark of life. Paradoxically, a sense of relief washed over him.

He knew where they were now.

They had crossed the heartland of Avernus and arrived at the edge of the legendary Maggot's Nest.

At the end of the Maggot's Nest stood the Dragon Cliff, soaring into the heavens.

Indeed, as they continued through the subterranean cavity, the ground became wetter and more slippery, as if paved with the fermenting accumulation of ancient corpse fluids.

Gradually, more various unknown liquids and twisted, semi-rotted Soul Shells began to appear on the ground. Yellow mold crept along the walls, emitting a faint glow in the darkness and providing the only light source in this place.

Huge, writhing masses of flesh occupied most of the underground space. These were aggregations of Soul Shells brought from the various Lands of Torment.

They huddled together out of Despair and instinct, like emperor penguins snuggling for warmth before death. Only these were far more disgusting than penguins. They would bite and tear at each other, slowly decomposing together into these 'flesh masses'—conglomerations of Soul Shells and dark energy. These masses constantly moved and twisted, like invisible stomachs digesting every Soul Shell that fell into this place.

After a long period, new Inferior Demons were continuously bred from these masses—they struggled and crawled out, bearing new hatred and pain.

Around the maggot eggs, devils were often busy at work. They used long hooks to select the nascent Inferior Demons from the flesh masses.

Those that appeared 'different' were taken to the surface. They were arranged in rows to be sent to embankments, encampments, and any place they were needed. They could also serve any function: slave labor, cannon fodder, military whores, or even emergency rations.

However, this 'difference' was entirely subject to the whims of the Barban Demons. So, for Inferior Demons, crossing that first threshold of promotion often genuinely required a bit of luck.

In this lightless place, these hook-wielding Barban Demons would occasionally 'slack off.' They would drag some newborn Inferior Demons into a deeper, darker area for torture and amusement. During this process, the souls let out shrill screams. However, these sounds seemed to be drowned out by other noises in the cavity: the wailing of countless souls and the roars of Inferior Demons.