Nova's Red City: Twenty Years of Defiance
The accumulated red city of Nova Base sprawled out beneath the tower. Raksha rested one hand on the railing, gazing quietly down at Nova. City walls, densely packed houses and alleys within. Rapid deployment routes stretching toward the battlefield, watchtowers, the stench of red smoke mingled with iron, blood, and ash. Where once there had been nothing but corpse mountains and black pits, now stood a city of survivors—a fitting hellscape.
Footsteps halted behind him.
"Report."
Raksha spoke without turning. Navriel bowed her head silently.
"Current Nova demon count: total 19,832."
Her eyes flicked over the numbers on the slate in her hand.
"Of those, about 60 percent—roughly 11,000—are combat-ready for constant battlefield deployment."
"The remaining 40 percent—around 8,000—are assigned to training, maintenance, production, intelligence, medical, and disposal duties."
For a moment, Navriel's gaze traced the red roads cutting through the city and the line of the walls.
"The outer first defense line remains stable within Balrag's domain range."
"The gates and inner retreat lines are rotating under Gart, Morkan, and Nas's command in a layered structure."
"Central medical zone—El's sector..."
She smiled faintly.
"At present capacity, any demon dragged in from the battlefield within about 10 meters of her center can mostly be sent back out."
"Range and efficiency are still steadily improving."
Raksha nodded curtly.
"Zan's curtain."
Navriel continued without pause.
"Stably maintained over Nova airspace and the outer disposal zones."
"It's evolved into a form that persists until its durability wears down once deployed."
"Observation lines from above remain filled with noise and distortion."
"Heaven can scarcely 'see' Nova properly."
Raksha swept his gaze over the city below the railing once more.
"...Good."
A red wind slowly brushed past the tower. Tracing back briefly in his mind to how Nova had grown this far, Raksha reflected.
First, after the name "Nova" was first uttered.
Ten years later.
Demon numbers hovered between 7,000 and 8,000. Nova was finally beginning to deserve the term "base."
The walls had doubled in layers, with outer trenches and watchtowers erected. Roads out to the battlefield and paths back. Intermediate zones where combat demons trained. Forges and smithies where transformation-type demons began melting red iron and bones together to craft new weapons.
Zan's Breakage now blanketed the entire sky over Nova, extending red lines to the outer disposal yards.
El's Recovery had become routine for demons—a standard stop before heading to the front lines.
Around that time, clusters of surviving demons started forming small markets and exchange points.
That was when Raksha first sensed it.
...The pace of development is unnaturally fast.
Fifteen years later.
Nova was unmistakably a fortress city. Demon numbers surpassed 10,000, and the walls were no longer mere barriers but a massive defense apparatus interwoven with Balrag's domain and Zan's curtain.
At the center: El's medical zone. Surrounding it: rear barracks, retreat lines, training grounds and frontline adjustment areas rotated by Gart and Morkan.
Intelligence zones where Nas and Navriel wove lines and numbers into battlefield records and personnel assignments.
Astamar's outer disposal yards managing plagues and decay, plus corpse mountain recycling.
Transformation demons now shaped not just bricks but houses, towers, bridges—every faint glow from stones and bones in their hands birthing another structure for Nova.
From then on, Raksha felt this pace was "a bit fast even for hell."
It skewed too consistently in one direction to call coincidence. Demons who should have fled blindly toward death inexplicably turned toward Nova.
Timings where they should have died oddly aligned with detours only in Nova's direction.
A faint sense that the name binding all demons at hell's depths was subtly twisting chance.
Satan.
He'd never said he was "helping" Nova, but Raksha knew this wasn't anomaly—it was deliberate tilt.
...He's keeping this city alive.
Twenty years later.
Now.
Nova transcended "base"—a medieval fortress fused with a full city.
Within the walls: elite barracks for combat demons, direct rapid deployment roads linking battlefield and gates, forges and smithies, training grounds, rear recovery zones, central medical area with El's station, inner defense and retreat lines, watchtowers extending sight far afield.
Flesh and battlefield demons formed the main force; sensory and intelligence types handled detection and assignments.
Mind and relational types managed morale and control; material and transformation types focused on expanding the fortress, weapons, infrastructure.
Domain and collective will powers were reserved for rare high-rankers like Bell and Balrag.
Demons were learning not just to fight on the front lines, but to live in Nova.
Zan's Breakage had become a thick curtain enveloping Nova's skies and outer areas once fully deployed—a persistent shield hard to tear until durability failed.
El's Recovery turned a 10-meter radius around her into a zone where "even death sends you back," and that range was still expanding bit by bit.
The speed of one hell city reaching this point in 20 years.
Raksha knew faint traces of Satan's fingerprints marked every step.
The angle of demons' footsteps turning toward Nova.
The slim odds of surviving fields where death was certain.
Escape routes and rendezvous points that seemed coincidental.
All subtly inclined toward Nova.
...This is Nova as it stands now.
Raksha cataloged it inwardly.
"No further reports."
Navriel's words reached the end of Raksha's thoughts.
"I'll send up anything needed as it arises."
Raksha nodded.
"That's all. Go."
Navriel withdrew quietly.
Once more, only Raksha remained atop the tower.
The red city, Nova.
The city pushed forward by Satan's twisted chances.
The first foothold to deny Heaven its hellish testing ground.
Raksha tapped the railing once with a finger.
"Twenty years."
He murmured very softly.
"This should be enough to brace for a hit."
Beneath the red sky, Nova caught its breath.
For the heavenly hand that would descend next.
And for hell's first counterstrike to shatter those fingers.
At the same time, in Heaven.
Within the grand hall layered in cool light. At its deepest recess, above a space like a transparent pond, three small vessels floated.
Sacred Crystals—holy relics forged from condensed light, water, and heavenly authority.
Gabriel stood before them.
Newly elevated to Archangel.
Lord of protection and water.
"The first Sacred Crystal."
His gaze brushed the leftmost vessel.
"Embed it in my body, and it elevates the intensity of existing authorities once."
The light hardens further; the water seeps deeper.
Personal enhancement.
"The second."
The adjacent vessel.
"Binds and elevates the power of angels sharing the same nature."
A high angel standing nearby nodded.
"Protection lines will more than double in thickness, but the number deployable to the surface and hell will decrease."
"Better to reduce numbers."
Gabriel's voice was gentle yet unyielding.
"This battlefield isn't one we overwhelm with quantity."
Collective bonding.
The last, the third Sacred Crystal. Clear liquid circled its walls agonizingly slowly within.
"The third."
Gabriel's eyes fixed on it.
"Renders demonic power unable to touch at all for a set duration—a shield."
Even direct hits that Gluttony can't chew through; reinforcements and other authorities slide off.
Contact isolation.
"At the cost of..."
A mid-rank angel beside him spoke cautiously.
"Continuous strain on the user."
"Records show no cases of using all three—"
"None."
Gabriel continued calmly. His tone was low, but the conclusion firm.
The ointments were already depleted—poured into hell by Raphael.
What remained: three Sacred Crystals, and a few new seals prepared to bind Gluttony.
A few means.
A few countermeasures.
Deep in the hall, blurry maps of hell's battlefields hung on veils woven of light.
Paths where prayer lines descended and ascended, severed points, voids filled only with noise.
Among them, the battlefield where Bell and Raksha had clashed remained unresolved.
"We've reexamined Raphael's battlefield records."
One angel stepped forward.
"Cross-referencing prayer line flows, scheduled descent times, and drop points..."
Figures rose on a ledger of light.
"Delays at projected descent moments, sections where lines twisted then untwisted."
"No interference records from Heaven's side, yet strangely 'detoured' segments."
Another angel continued cautiously.
"Probability makes coincidence unlikely. Something touched hell's will itself, or a hand from below twisted the battlefield—"
The angels hesitated to name it.
Gabriel spoke instead.
"Satan."
The hall's air grew heavier.
"Raphael's delayed arrival wasn't due to surface or heavenly issues—the hell side twisted the passage itself."
He traced the trajectory of Raphael's descent on the light map with a finger.
"We aren't entirely without ways to block such interference head-on."
A few angels raised their heads cautiously.
"Select one prayer line pre-descent and seal it 'in God's name' as a locked passage."
Gabriel's explanation was measured.
"Even Satan can't easily touch that sector."
"No deviations to other paths; the descending angel's feet won't lag."
A short intake of breath rippled through the hall.
The follow-up dashed that hope.
"But maintaining that passage binds several high angels' authorities there."
Gabriel's gaze sharpened.
"Power we could elevate with Sacred Crystals, and numbers for direct deployment—both diminish accordingly."
"For Raphael's battlefield..."
One angel ventured.
"We didn't consider that method?"
"That was a 'test,'"
Gabriel replied quietly. Polite in tone, but judgment final.
"A chance to see how far the ointments reached. How far Satan would twist."
He pointed to the blank on the light map.
"Next isn't a test."
Seal passages against Satan's interference preemptively, or conserve that power for Sacred Crystals and battlefield numbers.
That choice would redefine this descent.
"First, calculate all scenarios."
Gabriel said.
"Battlefields with partial Satan blocks, and without."
"Using one Sacred Crystal, binding two, embedding all three."
His gaze swept the crystals again.
"The decision comes right before descent to hell."
Beneath the red sky, Nova remained quiet still.
Above Heaven's grand hall.
The Sacred Crystals floated unembedded, each circulating pure light at differing speeds.
Hell prepared to receive the blow.
Heaven prepared to descend again.
And somewhere between, the calculations of Satan and Raksha, Gabriel and Bell began slowly diverging in opposing directions.