Lucifer sat up on the fleshy pillar.
His mind was intact. The five women surrounding him had successfully anchored his Prime consciousness, filtering out the maddening, apocalyptic noise of forty thousand clones fighting a Primordial god.
He took a deep, steadying breath. His void-swirling eyes cleared, locking onto the colossal, continent-sized mass of Nihilanth.
The World-Eater was heavily damaged. The sheer, mathematical impossibility of fighting tens of thousands of Mythic-tier Warlords, Valkyries, and Oracles was taking its toll.
Massive, burning craters lined the beast's dark matter flesh. The cosmic net of silver starlight held its primary tentacles firmly pinned to the cavern walls.
"We are breaking it," Elara Prime breathed. The Twilight Sovereign stood beside Lucifer, leaning on her spear. "The clones are overwhelming its regeneration."
"It's a Primordial," Lucifer stated coldly, standing up. "It doesn't break. It adapts."
