"Angel Coordinators will monitor all major combat engagements and document exceptional performances. Anyone demonstrating genuine potential receives immediate evaluation and possible mid-expedition recruitment. We’re authorized to offer Academy enrollment on-site for truly extraordinary individuals."

"What about Nephilim participants?" Angel Justiciar Camael asked, his tone suggesting concern. "Reports indicate several registered despite discrimination that typically discourages their involvement."

"Nephilim receive the same evaluation criteria as pure Aether bloodlines," Michael stated firmly. "The Ancients have decreed that divine blessing transcends heritage—if a Nephilim demonstrates capabilities suggesting favor from the Five Holy Gods, they qualify for Academy consideration regardless of Chaos taint in their lineage."

Several Angels shifted uncomfortably at this directive, but none dared challenge an Archangel’s pronouncement.

"The Grand Expedition departs in three weeks," Michael concluded. "Final preparations, equipment distribution, and tactical briefings will commence immediately. May the Five Ancients bless our efforts and grant us victory over the corruption that threatens our realm."

The assembled Angels responded in unison: "May the Ancients preserve us."

The council session concluded, each Angel departing to coordinate their respective responsibilities for the upcoming operation.

And throughout Aether territories, tens of thousands of Searchers prepared for what many recognized might be their final mission.

***

Three Weeks Later.

The Great Dungeon of Death Staging Area.

Rey stood among the assembled masses, his enhanced perception cataloguing the sheer scale of the operation with cold calculation.

Forty thousand Searchers.

The number was staggering—far exceeding what his teammates had suggested based on previous Grand Expeditions.

This wasn’t a routine maintenance operation.

This was military assault operating at scales that suggested the Church intended permanent resolution rather than temporary suppression.

The staging area occupied several square kilometers of cleared land directly adjacent to the Great Dungeon of Death’s barrier—a shimmering wall of divine light that rose hundreds of meters into the sky, its surface rippling with mystical interference that made looking at it directly uncomfortable.

Behind that barrier lay the corrupted city—visible as a dark silhouette against the divine radiance, its twisted architecture suggesting nightmare rather than mortal construction.

Searchers were organized into units of one hundred, each group assigned to a specific Paladin coordinator who would direct their tactical deployment. Equipment stations distributed standardized protective gear—enchanted armor designed to resist plague transmission, purification talismans that could cleanse limited corruption exposure, emergency beacons that would alert rescue teams to critically injured participants.

Rey noted the gear’s quality with professional assessment. Church-manufactured artifacts operating at Tier 7-8 classification, far exceeding what most Gold-rank Searchers could afford independently.

The investment represented significant resource commitment, though Rey suspected much of it would never be recovered from participants who died during operations.

"Attention!" A Paladin’s voice, magically amplified to reach the entire assembled force. "I am Paladin Commander Seraphine, coordinating the expedition’s eastern operational zone. You will proceed to your assigned positions and await entry authorization from Angel Coordinators."

Rey scanned the staging area, his enhanced perception noting the Angels positioned at strategic points around the barrier. Twenty-five of them, each one radiating mystical pressure that made even distant observation uncomfortable.

’Could an Archangel be somewhere among them? Pfft... no way,’ Rey calculated. ’This really is an unprecedented deployment. Whatever the Emperor of Death represents, it’s a threat the Church considers worth mobilizing forces that could conquer entire kingdoms.’

His assigned unit gathered around their Paladin coordinator—an experienced-looking woman whose scarred armor suggested she’d survived previous Grand Expeditions.

"Listen carefully," she stated, her voice carrying authority born from combat experience rather than just ecclesiastical rank. "Once we enter the barrier, communication with external forces becomes difficult. Emergency beacons work, but rescue operations take time. Your survival depends on unit cohesion and following my commands precisely."

She gestured toward the barrier.

"The plague is still active. Direct contact with infected entities can transmit corruption even through protective equipment. If you’re infected, report immediately—early intervention might save you. Concealing infection to continue fighting will kill you and endanger everyone around you."

Rey listened with appropriate attention while internally his mind worked through tactical calculations. The plague represented an interesting complication—environmental hazard that operated independently of direct combat, creating pressure that would force even skilled practitioners to constantly monitor their condition.

’Perfect for demonstrating competence without revealing supernatural capabilities,’ Rey concluded. ’Managing plague exposure while maintaining combat effectiveness will distinguish capable practitioners from those who simply possess raw power.’

The Paladin continued briefing, detailing objectives, retreat protocols, and reward evaluation criteria.

Rey absorbed it all while maintaining his Eru persona—attentive, professional, appropriately nervous about the danger but determined to prove himself.

Around him, other Searchers displayed visible anxiety. The forty percent mortality rate wasn’t an abstract statistic—it meant roughly sixteen thousand of the assembled forty thousand would die during this operation.

Looking at the faces surrounding him, Rey recognized that many of these people wouldn’t survive to see daylight again.

He felt nothing about that realization except cold assessment of how their deaths might serve his objectives.

A bell tone resonated across the staging area—pure sound that carried divine harmonics suggesting Angel-crafted signal rather than mundane alarm.

"Entry authorization granted," Paladin Commander Seraphine announced. "Proceed to barrier access points in orderly fashion. May the Five Ancients preserve you."

The Angels positioned around the barrier activated their techniques simultaneously, divine light intensifying as they created controlled apertures in the mystical wall.

Massive gates appeared—twelve openings each large enough to accommodate thousands of Searchers, their edges shimmering with barely controlled power that suggested maintaining these breaches required tremendous effort even for Angels.

Rey’s unit began moving toward their assigned entry point, the mass of Searchers flowing like a tide toward openings that would lead them into a nightmare made manifest.

He walked among them, his expression carefully arranged to suggest determination mixed with appropriate caution, his mystical pressure suppressed to Gold-rank parameters that wouldn’t distinguish him from thousands of other participants.

But inside, his mind operated with cold precision.

Rey reached the barrier’s edge, the divine light washing over him with pressure that would have been painful without his enhanced resistance.

Then he stepped through.

Into darkness.

Into corruption.

Into the Great Dungeon of Death.