Adam's cold, practical gaze shifted from the broken demon to the pile of bloodied abyssal steel armor in the corner.
The sight of it brought a fresh wave of frustration.
This material had been a significant obstacle. Its high durability had stopped his powerful blows from causing lethal harm to the demons. Each and every punch that he had landed had caused a minor annoyance, as a phantom pain lingered in his fist.
Given the metals marvelous nature, his next step was clear; he needed to understand its properties, and its weaknesses.
He walked to the pile and lifted a pauldron, the was metal unnaturally cold and heavy in his hands.
He ran his fingers over its gleaming, smooth surface. He felt the faint, almost imperceptible hum of the inscribed enchantments that gave it strength. When he flicked his finger against it, a pitched ring would fill the dungeons silence.
With his hell's eyes active, the demonic runes in his pupils squirmed and focused, allowing him to see the intricate web of energy woven through the metal. It was a weave of power that was inscribed, layered over one another, making it so resilient and durable, while also boosting the users strength.
He would need to be meticulous.
This was not a task for brute force, instead, it was more like a puzzle to be solved.
He needed to find the seams in the enchantment, the points where his own demonic mana could be injected to stress, fatigue, and ultimately, break it.
He settled onto the cold stone floor, the pauldron in his lap, his entire world narrowing to the complex, magical structure of the abyssal steel.
An abundant, yet high-quality, product from hell; and a rare resource for others.
The dungeon, the prisoners, the word outside; all faded into a distant hum. Even the gazes of some of the now awakened berserker demons did nothing to take his attention away.
There was only the metal, the complex magic, and a vigorous young mind seeking to dominate it.
Time spilled slowly into the abyss.
The next day dawned with a violet, perpetual twilight. The air thick with the metallic scent of blood; alongside the aroma of fear…
No two days were the same in hell.
Sometimes there were 3 suns, at times a dozen blood moons, and today perpetual twilight. Volcanoes could sprout like weeds, or a deathly winter could blanket the landscape. At times, quiet often even, rifts would open.
The decent of gods and chaos to other worlds, or at times a flood of otherworldly beings seeking opportunities within hell.
A disturbing beauty of an odd nature; an appeal of charm shrouded in madness.
Of course, hell's 1st layer was protected from most apocalyptic events.
Adam emerged from the dungeon, his figure a silhouette against the hellish glow.
The past hours had been spent in focused isolation, the outside world a blur.
His fingers, though clean, felt as if they were still tracing the physical and intangible seams of the abyssal steel, his mind echoing with the complex inscriptions of its enchantments.
He had not simply removed the armor; he had dissected its soul, learning the points that built it's resilience, mapping the points where a concentrated, patient application of his will could make it fail.
The material was amazing!
A welcomed 'gift' from his enemies.
Unfortunately, there was only 14 sets…
Stepping into the basin was like stepping into a frantic, newly-ordered world.
The chaos of the previous day's battle had been swept away, replaced by grim, purposeful work.
The 300 captured demons, their wills broken by the overwhelming display of Adam's power and the stark choice between service and annihilation, were now his workforce.
The landscape was transforming.
The basin, once a desolate expanse, was now dotted with crude shelters.
Rough stone hovels leaned against each other for support, deep holes dug into the hard earth served as burrows, and messy piles of leathery leaves and twisted branches formed makeshift nests.
It was a chaotic, burgeoning slum; a necessity rather than ambition.
Adam's gaze swept over it with cold indifference.
This was temporary; once he crossed into the Awakened Devil realm, this entire layer would be a memory.
The infrastructure was temporary, not a legacy.
His eyes then found the one structure that held a sliver of importance.
Above the dungeon entrance, a cleaner, more solid building of roughly fifty square meters stood.
Its stone blocks were better fitted, its shape more deliberate.
He had Roh personally oversee its construction while he was engrossed in his studies; much to the stunned reverence of the demons.
This was not a home; it was a lounge.
A barracks and infirmary for his peak-tier lesser demons; for Roh, the flame demons, and the others who had proven their worth.
It was a sign of prestige, a tangible reward for strength and loyalty, and a safe place for them to recover from the wounds earned in his service.
It was a tool for morale, a calculated investment in his most valuable assets.
And a division in hierarchy…
His gaze then lifted to the platform of the black obelisk, a possessive smile touching his lips.
There, walled off for security and privilege, was his true inner sanctum.
Blair and Agri were there, recovering within the nascent structure that housed the dimensional gate's control pedestal.
Their proximity to his ultimate project, to the very heart of his power, was their reward, a constant reminder of their favored status.
His decision to 'announce' what his 'interest' were.
Adam patrol continued along the shoddy perimeter.
The most urgent project, besides the nexus, was the wall.
Through the night, the 300 demons had been driven relentlessly, and now, a low rough barrier of sharpened rock and packed earth was beginning to snake around the base of the obelisk; defining the inner territory.
The rudimentary homes of the lesser demons were all outside this emerging ring of defence as expendable buffers against the next attack.
As he walked, his hell's eyes, now constantly active with a faint, scrutinizing glow, scanned his subjects.
He saw the scythe demoness directing a group of imps, her remaining arms gesturing with sharp authority. He saw at the points where her three arms had been severed, little black, chitinous nubs were growing and pulsating faintly with demonic energy.
They were small, no larger than a finger, but they were there.
Hell's native regenerative capabilities were already at work.
She would be whole again, and her loyalty would be his. She had been tested in fire and steel, and she had not broken.
And her appearance was monstrous, yet not unappealing…
"…"
A cold sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.
The attack had been a setback, but it had also been a catalyst. His domain was stronger for it, more organized, and most importantly, more his.
The demons proved themselves, but so had Adam to them.
He continued his patrol, a young devil surveying his growing kingdom, every demon's bowed head a metaphorical brick in the foundation of his future empire.
The infernal suns and gloomy moons cycled through their bloody hues, marking a couple of days of relentless, grinding labor.
Below the obsidian spire, the basin hummed.
The once chaotic horde of 300 demons had been forged into a single, sweating, straining engine of labor force.
Their forms, a grotesque display of hell's seemingly twisted imagination, moved with a unified purpose that was alien to their innate nature; only devils could forge these chaotic demons into beings of purpose.
The air rang with work, the clank of stone on stone, the thud of packed earth, the loud shouts of Roh and the other overseers driving them forward.