CHAPTER 36: THE SHOW MUST...

Zara produced a map, spreading it across the table. Seven positions marked in red around the Ashard perimeter, forming a rough semicircle facing Radiant Empire territory.

"Krazax was the linchpin, but it’s only one piece," she explained, her finger tracing the defensive line. "Outpost Dra’kul to the east—held, but barely. Constant skirmishing. Outpost Vor’esh to the west—lost two weeks ago, retaken last week, lost again yesterday. It’s a meat grinder."

She pointed to the others in sequence. "Mor’ghul. Zar’eth. Kul’vas. Gor’thak. And Shal’drim at the northern edge—the coldest, most isolated position. Each one faces Radiant Empire forces. Each one is slowly losing."

"Gorath holds overall command," Koth added. "But each outpost has its own commander, its own personality, its own problems. Some are led by fanatics who’d rather die than retreat. Others by cynics who think the war is already lost."

"And Gorath wants me to..." Liam trailed off, already knowing the answer.

"Do for them what you did for us," Varg finished. "Turn the tide. Break the Empire’s momentum. Prove the Demon God isn’t just a one-battle wonder."

Liam studied the map, the Cognitor already feeding him data—supply lines, troop movements, probability matrices. Seven outposts. Seven different tactical situations. Seven chances to succeed or fail.

Seven stages for his performance.

"When do we leave?" he asked.

Koth blinked. "We, my lord?"

"You think I’m going alone to meet this Arch-Demon who called me a ’desperate fiction’?" Liam’s lip quirked in something that might have been a smile. "I’ll need a show of force. Twenty soldiers—the best from Krazax. Veterans who fought in the courtyard."

"That would leave the outpost undermanned," Zara cautioned.

"The Radiant Empire just lost three hundred men and their Commander," Liam countered. "They’ll need time to regroup, to process, to decide their next move. We have a window. We use it."

He looked at each of them in turn. "Besides, leaving Krazax isn’t a risk. It’s a message. We’re not cowering behind walls anymore. We’re taking the fight to them."

Koth’s scarred face split into something approximating a grin. "The garrison will be honored to accompany you, my lord."

"Good. We leave at dawn." Liam turned back to the window, to the smoking pyres that had nearly finished their work.

"Dismissed."

They filed out, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the distant smell of burning flesh.

[New Objective: The Seven Outposts]

[Objective: Secure the Ashard Perimeter]

[Reward: Variable based on performance]

[Warning: Failure will result in loss of territory, resources, and credibility]

[Current Essence: 9,847]

[Evolution Points: 45]

[True Essence: 984]

[Stage: 3-Star Greater Fiend]

The numbers were staggering. The battle had given him more power than every previous gain combined. He could feel it humming beneath his skin, eager to be used, to be shaped into something devastating.

Forty-five Evolution Points. He could unlock multiple skills. Could evolve existing ones. Could become genuinely, terrifyingly powerful.

But power, he’d learned, was the easy part.

The hard part was deciding what kind of monster to be when you had the power to choose.

He pulled out the Focusing Crystal from his pocket—the gift from the Nameless Litany, still unused, still waiting. The 300% amplification it promised sat in his palm like a small sun, full of potential and consequence.

One day, he’d need it. One day, the performance would require something beyond his current capabilities.

But not today.

Today, he just had to survive meeting an Arch-Demon who’d survived three centuries of demon politics and holy crusades.

How hard could that be?

---

That night, Liam dreamed.

Not of the battle or the executions.

He dreamed of an apartment in a city he could barely remember. Of a broken refrigerator that hummed in the silence. Of pill bottles on a nightstand and a phone that never rang with auditions.

He dreamed of Liam Cross, the failed actor, who’d been too drunk or too depressed or too fundamentally broken to make anything of himself.

That Liam looked at him with sad, knowing eyes.

"You traded me for this?" Dream-Liam asked, gesturing to nothing and everything. "For power you hate and a role you can’t escape?"

"I survived," Liam said. "That Liam would have died in that bar. Shot by a desperate man who had nothing left to lose."

"And what’s the difference?" Dream-Liam smiled, but it was broken around the edges. "You died anyway. I died. We both did. The only question is which death was kinder."

Liam woke to gray dawn light and the sound of soldiers preparing for the march.

He dressed in silence, strapped Igar’s Shard to his back, and didn’t look in the mirror.

He was afraid of what he might see.

Or worse—what he might not see anymore.

[Humanity Index: 31%]

---

The march to Gorath’s fortress would take two days through mountain passes and hostile territory.

Two days to prepare for a meeting that could make or break everything he’d built.

Koth was waiting outside his quarters, fully armored, his honor guard assembled and ready.

"My lord," the Commander said, and the title no longer felt like a courtesy.

It felt like a cage.

"Let’s go meet an Arch-Demon," Liam said, his voice steady despite everything.

The performance, after all, had seven more stages.

And the show...must go on.