Gnos wasted no time proving which way the wind was blowing.
The moment the Eredar Twins reclaimed control of the command center, he practically threw himself at their feet.
The sisters looked thoroughly unimpressed.
"We never realized you were capable of this much loyalty," Alythess said dryly.
It wasn’t entirely unfair.
When Gnos had served under the Twins in the past, he’d been little more than a competent employee. Orders came down, work got done, rewards were accepted. He’d been loyal enough... until their term of command ended. Then his loyalty had quietly expired along with it.
Now, somehow, the same demon looked ready to devote his life to their cause.
Gnos let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"You don’t understand! Working under Har’mondas has been absolute torture. That idiot is all muscle and no brain. Every day my talents were wasted. Completely wasted!"
Comparison, Evenson reflected, was a merciless thing.
It wasn’t that the Twins had suddenly become extraordinary commanders.
Har’mondas was simply an astonishingly low bar.
"I finally see the truth," Gnos continued, piling on the flattery with reckless enthusiasm. "You two are the true leaders of the Felscar Rift. Its captains. Its mentors. Its guiding stars!"
"Enough."
Salyssra cut him off with visible irritation.
"Tell me something useful. Are the Rift’s artillery batteries still under your authority?"
Unlike Agatha, Gnos wasn’t the sort of fanatic who inspired confidence. His loyalty could be bought, sold, and likely rented by the hour.
Fortunately, the Twins didn’t need unwavering devotion.
They needed someone useful.
"Yes." Gnos answered immediately. "Har’mondas never cared about the artillery systems. Their command permissions are still assigned to me."
He hesitated.
"...There’s just one problem."
"What problem?" Alythess asked.
"I can’t activate them."
Silence.
Salyssra narrowed her eyes.
"Are you mocking us?"
A flicker of fel fire danced across Alythess’s fingertips.
"Or have you forgotten exactly what happens to people who waste our time?"
"N-No! Never!" Gnos hurriedly waved his hands. "It’s the Soul Engine! It shut down because it ran out of fuel. Without power, the artillery can’t even boot up. It’s not my fault!"
The Twins exchanged a thoughtful glance.
That explanation, at least, made sense.
Unfortunately, it created a much larger problem.
Soul Engines consumed staggering amounts of soul energy, and the one beneath the Felscar Rift was an older model. Back when the Burning Legion still controlled countless battlefronts, fuel had been plentiful. Souls poured in from endless wars across the cosmos.
Earth offered no such luxury.
"Leave the fuel to me," Evenson said.
Both sisters looked toward him.
"You understand what you’re volunteering for?" Alythess asked. "Keeping an old Legion Soul Engine running isn’t cheap."
Salyssra nodded.
"And the Rift’s engine predates most of the modern upgrades. It burns through souls far faster."
She looked at Gnos for confirmation.
He nodded immediately.
"If the quantity isn’t enough..." Evenson said with a faint smile, "...then we’ll make up for it with quality."
Alythess folded her arms.
"High-quality souls aren’t exactly lying around waiting to be collected. Harvest enough of them, and every mystic organization on Earth will notice. That’s hardly compatible with staying hidden."
"I know."
Evenson’s smile didn’t fade.
"The trick is understanding that souls have something like... freshness."
The room fell quiet.
People died every second across the world.
Hospitals.
Battlefields.
Crime-ridden cities.
Disaster zones.
There was never a shortage of death.
But death alone wasn’t valuable.
Someone who spent years dying from illness often reached a point where suffering dulled into numb acceptance. They desperately wanted to live, yet had long since abandoned hope. When death finally arrived, it was almost a release.
Such souls rarely possessed much power.
The same held true for hardened killers.
Terrorists.
Cartel bosses.
Professional murderers.
After enough bloodshed, killing became routine. Some of them could slaughter another human being without the slightest ripple of emotion.
Their souls weren’t especially valuable either.
Numbness was the enemy.
The greatest souls weren’t born from evil itself.
They were born from transformation.
The instant hope shattered into despair.
The moment unwavering faith collapsed.
The unbearable guilt of a righteous person committing an unforgivable act.
The agony of watching one’s own ideals rot away while remaining painfully aware of every step into darkness.
Those souls still burned.
Those souls were fresh.
And because they were fresh...
They carried immense power.
It was the same reason so many of the Lich King’s greatest Death Knights had once been heroes or fanatics.
Champions who died betrayed by everything they believed.
Holy warriors forced to commit the very atrocities they had once devoted their lives to destroying.
The Lich King twisted their convictions but left behind just enough humanity for regret to survive.
That endless internal torment became the source of their terrifying strength.
Trying to manufacture thousands of souls like that on Earth would require something resembling an industrial-scale horror show.
At that point, attracting attention from every supernatural power on the planet would be inevitable.
Unless, Evenson thought, someone else had already done all the work.
A slow, thoroughly villainous grin spread across his face.
He patted the dimensional pouch at his waist.
"As it happens..."
"I already have a batch."
"How many?" Salyssra asked.
"One thousand."
The Twins immediately looked toward Gnos.
He mentally calculated the Soul Engine’s consumption before giving a cautious nod.
"If the quality is truly exceptional..."
"...that should be enough."
"It is."
Evenson’s confidence never wavered.
"These are souls that even a Lord of Hell refused to give up on."
Years ago, Mephisto had orchestrated the fall of the entire town of San Venganza.
He tempted every resident into surrendering to their deepest desires, corrupting them completely... then ensured they died at the exact moment of ultimate indulgence.
A thousand souls.
Each one overflowing with temptation, regret, corruption, and despair.
Perfect fuel.
Mephisto had coveted them ever since.
The only obstacle had been the Contract of San Venganza.
Carter Slade’s unexpected crisis of conscience had carried the contract beyond Mephisto’s reach, preventing him from claiming what he believed was rightfully his.
Eventually, that contract had fallen into Evenson Richter’s hands.
And there was one thing no warlock, even a spectacularly questionable one, would ever do.
Hand over a treasure like that willingly.
Instead, Evenson had calmly lied.
He’d told Mephisto that Thor had taken the contract back to Asgard for safekeeping, sending the Lord of Hell chasing shadows while the real prize remained tucked safely away.
Until now.
He’d never found a use worthy of those thousand priceless souls.
At last...
He had one.
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