We Strike First
On the morning of the third day since the vanguard plague mist had receded, the base was once again filled with the clamor of 'daily life.' Demons hauled stones atop the walls, crunching through dust and ash as they moved back and forth, while inside came the dull thunk, thunk of excavating the shattered foundations of the gates. Near the treatment area, faint red energy leaked through the gaps in the newly erected fences and tents. The wounds still lingered. They weren't fully healed. But the base was no longer just taking hits like before.
Raksha gazed down at the maps hanging on the wall in the command room, pieced together from salvaged parts of the tower. One was a rough map of Hell. The other, a layout of the base interior. Red marks dotted it here and there—the spots the plague mist had touched even once.
Nas reported from the side. "The outer walls have been patched enough not to collapse immediately."
"The inner passages have detour routes bypassing the contaminated zones, separating the traffic flow."
Raksha lifted his hand from the map and asked, "Treatment area."
"Layered around the range of Zan's power." Nas pointed to the base's center. "From here inward is the safe zone."
"The remnants haven't fully vanished, but the spread has definitely slowed."
Raksha nodded curtly. "Good."
Then, in a flat tone, he drew the conclusion. "From now on, this isn't a base that just holds out."
"We remake the board for battle—starting here."
A light knock came from the door. "Come in."
The door opened, and El, Balrag, Navriel, and Zan entered. El came in first with light steps. "You called?"
Balrag forced his massive frame through the door and leaned against one wall. The stone floor rumbled lowly with each step he took.
Navriel scanned the room quietly from the back. Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the red light.
Zan entered last and bowed her head to Raksha. "You summoned me."
Raksha glanced once at El and Zan, then tapped the layout map. "We'll divide this into three zones."
"Outer, middle, inner."
Raksha's finger first pointed to the walls. "First zone." The outer walls and the rubble piles inside them. "Balrag, you take this."
"Make the ground heavy."
Balrag accepted calmly. "I'll increase the weight of the ground and air."
"It'll take twice the effort to move as usual."
El chimed in from the side. "Then any bastards who make it that far will have to come at us for real, life or death."
Raksha smiled faintly. "At that point, we smash them."
His finger swept over the training grounds and passages next. "Second zone."
"Regular soldiers, front-line shields, flank breakers."
"And El."
El raised an eyebrow. "Middle?"
"You'll be moving back and forth constantly." Raksha summed it up simply. "While the front holds, your recovery keeps them up."
"Break through from the middle, then patch them up."
El rolled her shoulders and grinned. "Hold the front, keep the back from dying."
"Sounds fun."
Finally, his finger stopped at the base center—where the treatment area and warehouses clustered. "Third zone."
Raksha looked at Zan. "This is your spot."
Zan drew a breath. "Plague, prayers, curses—catch anything burrowing in."
"Slow it down to your range, and if possible, shove it back out."
Zan nodded slowly. "......Yes."
Raksha's tone wasn't scolding. It was confirmation. "I saw it yesterday."
"The force pushing out from inside. It's enough."
Zan lightly brushed her fingers. The sensation of red fragments still lingered beneath her skin. "I'll... block it from reaching the inner areas as much as possible."
Raksha nodded. "Good."
"This time, we build the base design around your power from the start."
At those words, Zan's fingertips clenched briefly. 'Build into the design.' Not a path dictated from above, but drawing her own line for the first time.
Then Navriel spoke up, gazing at the Hell map. "Then let's start with the combat-ready personnel here now."
Her voice was quiet but clear. "Bell District base standard: about 2,700 combat capable."
"Three high-rank demons. Raksha, Balrag, and me."
She paused briefly, glancing at El. "Ranked low-rank top-tier on paper, but combat-wise, she can hold her own against early mid-rank."
El pouted. "You don't have to spell it out like that."
Navriel continued without retort. "Forty mid-rank combat demons."
"The rest low-rank combatants. Excluding the injured, around 2,600."
She added lowly, "From up there, it's the perfect size for a test sample."
El furrowed her brow. "Test?"
Navriel pointed to one red zone on the map. "Astamar."
"Normally the type to just release plague in its own territory and watch."
She paused a beat. "But lately, prayer lines have gotten excessively dense around that zone."
Zan murmured quietly. "Prayer lines..."
Navriel nodded. "The threads where prayers rise from the surface and power descends from above."
"They're tightening those threads, probing a few spots in Hell."
"Seeing how far the plague spreads, where the resistance lies."
Balrag muttered low. "So we were the test subjects."
"Yes." Navriel nailed it down flatly. "Bell District was one in this rotation."
"We were supposed to rot clean in this plague wave and get wiped as a 'failed zone' from the ledger."
Raksha rubbed his chin lightly. "They keep the surface tidy like a ledger, and poke Hell like a test sheet..."
His gaze returned to Astamar's name. "Then next time, they'll jab here again."
Nas replied curtly. "High chance they'll swing the mist this way."
Raksha nodded. "Yeah."
All eyes in the command room turned to Raksha. He spoke calmly. "Until now, we've just blocked what came. That's why we were always on the receiving end."
Then, quietly, he shifted direction. "Now we change it."
"We don't wait for the mist to come again."
Raksha's eyes caught the light. "We go find the bastard who made it—first."
El's eyes sparkled. "Straight to hit Astamar?"
"Yeah." Raksha pointed to each position. "Small strike team. Balrag seals the outer, Nas holds the base."
"I'll clear the path ahead. El grabs the survivors on the flank."
"Zan slows and snaps any plague or prayer lines aimed at us."
He looked at Navriel. "You keep reading where the prayer lines drop from."
"Lines rising to the heavens from around Astamar, lines pouring into Hell."
"Both."
Navriel closed her eyes, then opened them. "I'll show you the flow right up to the break point."
After a brief silence, Nas asked. "When do we depart?"
Raksha didn't hesitate. "Finish team by end of day, leave as soon as ready."
"Latest before the remnants fully settle."
Balrag said heavily. "I'll handle the outer till then."
"Pile more weight under the walls."
El shook out her arms. "Guess I'll train the kids and watch the front line again."
Raksha nodded. "Head to the training grounds today."
"Test how long the front holds based on your movements."
El chuckled shortly. "Got it. Time to drill 'em till they puke."
Zan stepped back. "I'll... familiarize myself with the inner line first."
"Where to block from."
"How far to extend."
Raksha looked at Zan briefly. "Good."
"Whoever holds the strings from above—this is ours to decide."
The demons filed out one by one. El dragged Nas toward the training grounds, Balrag turned for the walls. Navriel lingered a moment longer, etching the dense prayer line spots into her mind. Zan gazed quietly at her hands. The spots where red fragments had bloomed.
'Not raising threads upward now—but the power to block here.'
Only Raksha remained before the maps. Hell's jagged lines. A single red circle atop them.
'Astamar.'
Raksha drew a new line from that name to the base. Not the path the mist would take—but the path to the mist's maker.
He tapped the red line's end once more. "No more just holding."
The quiet soliloquy drifted before the maps. "Now we strike first."
The Bell District base, from this day, was no longer merely a fortress enduring—it quietly clenched its first fist to strike back at what descended from above.