"It's not a matter of Divine Crystals, Webster. It's a matter of command. I have absolute trust in my subordinates' judgement. If she believes the war must continue, who am I to interfere with her judgment? If you want peace, go to the battlefield and convince her. But I do have one suggestion."
Webster's eyes lit up, "What is it, Your Majesty? Do you have some other conditions for ending the war?"
He thought Haru might have some other demands for halting the war like Divine Artifacts or some territory of the Dark Empire. He was absolutely willing to trade them for peace until the battle of planets began.
"Ah, it's not that. I just want to say that if you go to convince her, be mindful of your choice of words. After all, unlike me, my subordinates have quite a fierce temper. And not to be rude or anything, you aren't their match if it comes to a battle. And in our world, 'weaklings' aren't qualified to negotiate with the strong. They can only beg. But then again, you should be more familiar with this reality than I am."
Webster: "..."
'Am I a part of the Evil Faction or are you? Those are supposed to be my lines!'
Webster understood. Haru wasn't interested in peace, he was hungry. The Great Aetherium and the Castle Lords viewed the Dark Empire's Gods as nothing more than a fresh source of 'exp'. Haru was shielding himself from diplomatic fallout by pretending he wasn't the one holding the leash.
"I see." Webster said, his voice cold and flat, "Farewell."
He turned and vanished, leaving the hall without another word. It was only once he was thousands of kilometers away from the Angel City that his rage finally boiled over.
"He won't stop." Webster hissed, his divine incarnation trembling with hatred, "He wants them dead. Every last one of them."
He looked toward the distant horizon where 200,000 of his Gods were currently being systematically harvested. He had traversed the Endless Continent for 100,000 years; he was not a man who forgot a debt.
"Light Empire, Aetherium Empire, Castle Faction… I will remember this." Webster vowed to the empty air, "When the Battle of Planets truly begins and the world is in flames, I will make sure the Great Aetherium pays back every soul they took today with interest."
…
The core of the Light Empire had been hollowed out and replaced by a cosmic slaughterhouse. Within the shimmering, translucent walls of the 'sealed battlefield' battlefield, the air was a thick, toxic soup of ozone and the heavy, metallic scent of divine blood.
Outside, the four Supreme Goddesses, Lysandra, Eveline, Yvonne, and Amelie, stood as the pillars of this prison. Their combined Divine Power had anchored the battlefield so firmly that even Webster, in his true body, could not have shattered it to save his people.
The million-strong legion of the Great Aetherium and the Castle Faction moved with the cold, rhythmic precision of a harvesting machine. They were cleaning the field layer by layer, from the outside in.
"Do not! Why is this happening?!" A Dark God roared, his voice cracking as his Divine Body was detonated by an angelic strike. He left behind only a shimmering Godhead and a scatter of broken artifacts, the only evidence he had ever existed.
"I surrender!" Another screamed, throwing down his staff, "I will follow the Great Aetherium! I will believe in His Majesty Kazehaya!"
His plea was met with a synchronized strike of divine fire that annihilated his soul instantly. In this theater, there were no prisoners. Every death was a calculation. With the Divine War looming, the Castle Faction viewed the Dark Empire's army as a limited-time resource. They weren't just fighting a war; they were harvesting 'exp' to ensure their own survival against the demons. It was a world that had no room for mercy.
…
By the time the Blood Moon crossed the zenith, the carnage was staggering. Tens of thousands of Dark Gods had fallen, and over 200,000 God Tier alchemy puppets and undead servants had been reduced to scrap. The ground of the pocket dimension was literally stained red, divine blood falling like a torrential rain upon the broken remains of once-immortal beings.
The Dark Empire's Gods were victims of their own arrogance. They had marched in with six trillion troops, a force they believed was invincible. They thought that even if they couldn't defeat the Great Aetherium, they could at least force a stalemate.
They never expected the Great Aetherium's reaction to be as fast as a lightning strike, pulling their entire leadership into a cage before they could even deploy.
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