Round 9: Steel Fortress

The Metal Man also emitted a stench almost as foul as that of the Berserker Demon—resulting from his constant stuffing of Infernal creatures’ internal organs into his own body.
A fairly fresh heart from a Tornator Demon was stuffed into the hole in his chest, but it seemed to be rotting just as before.
His body, corroded by massive amounts of flesh and blood, was covered in a rust-colored layer, and it seemed filled with decaying filth. Yet surprisingly, this never affected his precise, deadly, almost surgical killing movements.
The Succubus seemed to have had enough and jumped down from the wall.
“It seems we can’t make any progress here…” As if unaware of the Metal Man’s stench, she whispered in his ear, “If you want to fully repair your body, you’ll need the heart of a more powerful creature… like a Deep Prison Demon or a Balor Flame Demon…”
The Metal Man turned to look at her. Because the Succubus was too close, for a moment their lips seemed to touch. She quickly pulled away from him like a frightened rabbit.
There still remained a sensation on his lips—cold, bloody, as if made of countless pieces of flesh frozen over over millions of years.
“Have you also lost faith in that mage?” The red glow in the Metal Man’s eyes was like needles. Suddenly, the Succubus realized that her long-used method of tempting him with memories might not be reliable after all.
“I can help you kill him. I don’t like mages… most of them.”
The Succubus thought the Metal Man might be smiling.
“I am Lord Stephanie’s personal property… Do you want to seize Lord Stephanie’s property?” The Succubus calmed down and began to use her eloquent words.
“I remember someone saying… I have no personal property.”
The Metal Man tilted his head back, seemingly lost in memories again: “I think perhaps I should leave here.”
“What?” The Succubus was caught off guard by this sudden news: “Your body isn’t fixed yet! With a stronger demon heart, you’ll become a true Infernal creature!”
“Oh. That’s not important. I think I’m gradually remembering what I’ve lost… Although you deceived me, since you helped me recover some memories—though not intentionally—I won’t hold it against you.”
The Succubus was flustered by the Metal Man’s sudden change. Just as she was about to say something else, the little demon Pippi flew over, chirping loudly: “Metal Man! The commander is looking for you!”
“…The portal can only hold for a short time… So, go to a place more suitable for you to slay more demon hybrids!”
The commanding voice of the Succubus Commander still rang in their ears. The bewildered mercenaries were forced onto the Ship of Chaos and set sail—
They were non-Infernal creatures who had survived many battles, holding a certain status in the camp, their strength even recognized by the demons—hence, they were no longer needed here. The demons never relied on strong beings to help them. Do you think you can decide the outcome of a bloody battle? Then go to a bigger battlefield.

In the Battle of Blood, there are no heroes, nor is there a need for them.
“You damned Tanali bitch! You did this on purpose!”
The Metal Man and Stephanie were among this crowd. The Succubus and Pippi were there too, and unlike the others, they seemed extremely pleased.
Stephanie cursed frantically. He now realized that the Succubus’s attempt to pair him with the Metal Man was merely to make him one of these outcasts, but he couldn’t do anything to change that outcome—
Now they were like a small stream flowing into the endless ocean.
The mage swore he would destroy the Succubus once and for all this time, but when he found that the destination of this journey was the Plain of Abysses rather than the gray wastelands of the Battle of Blood, he gave up his vow under the Succubus’s soft pleas.
“…We’ve arrived at the Plain of Abysses. It’s just one step away from getting out…” The Succubus moaned beneath him. “Aren’t I thinking of you?”
This was the top of the countless layers of the Bottomless Abyss.
The Metal Man sat by the dock of the steel fortress, looking at this desolate land devoid of life, covered in thick ashes, under the light of a deep red burning sun.
The River of Darkness wound its way through these ashes—some of its channels flowed into bottomless abysses on the surface, while others spilled out sewage that joined the River of Darkness as tributaries. The Metal Man and his group must have come here via one of these tributaries.
The steel fortress here was unimaginably huge; even from a great distance, its terrifying outlines could be seen.
Pippi had disappeared somewhere; perhaps this place was his true home.
The Metal Man touched the steel walls, feeling a hint of surprise. Where did all this steel come from?
In some long-forgotten memories, he had seen such magnificent steel cities and even been inside them…
A group of approaching spirits interrupted his thoughts.
These spirits were formed from souls twisted by the Bottomless Abyss but not fully assimilated. Pale skin, cruel claws, sharp teeth, sparse hair, and lifeless eyes were their usual features. Their strength could generally be judged by their appearance—the more swollen their bodies and the more maggots writhing within them, the closer they were to the evil essence of the Bottomless Abyss, perhaps about to transform into lower-tier demons or soon to be devoured by the abyss.
The spirits fled in panic when they saw the Metal Man, perhaps because the foul aura from the flesh and blood of thousands of hellish creatures accumulated on him was too much for them to bear.
The Metal Man ignored them and headed inside the fortress.
The entire steel fortress was filled with spirits, various demons, mercenaries from the Battle of Blood, and adventurers mad enough to explore the Bottomless Abyss.
“Come! Take a look! Armor made of red dragon scales! It will protect you from the flames of those devilish hybrids without a scratch!”

A man of indeterminate race held high a red chainmail set just taken from the fire before him, shouting, with several more pieces piled nearby. If one paid close attention, they would notice that the scales on the chainmail were too rough and its color was unnaturally red; those with some knowledge of magic might even sense the temporary “protective flame” spell cast upon it…
Yet many still flocked to it. Perhaps they weren’t all unable to see it was fake, but rather unwilling to give up even the slimmest, false hope.
“Look! The snow elves who dwell atop the world’s peaks! Their skin is as cool and sweet as snow—so delicate!”
The slave trader bidding on the other side, caught up in his enthusiasm, tore off the top garment of the nearest female elf: “Look! Look at these breasts! Look at this skin! In every way, they’re top-quality! Limited supply! Don’t wait until your neighbor is embracing one of them before crying regretfully!”
There were also many crowded around him, most of them seeming experienced. They held up coins, gems, larvae, or various items obtained in battle, bidding excitedly, seemingly unconcerned about what tomorrow would bring or whether the magical items in their hands would save their lives in the upcoming war.
Perhaps they had gradually come to understand one of the truths of bloody warfare—no skill or possession guarantees your survival. Don’t place too much reliance on them; even going into battle naked isn’t a big deal.
So why not engage in some more pleasant activities before going to war, instead of going naked?