The Slayer walked out of the "Eye of the Storm."

  Abyss Layer 10 — "The Barrens."

  Unlike the previous layers, there were no extreme elemental storms here, nor any breathtakingly grand vistas. There was only grey, barren earth and air so thin it was nearly impossible to breathe.

  But this was the truest depiction of Abyssal society.

  The Slayer stood on a high ridge, looking down.

  Beneath his feet lay a sprawling "Slum" constructed of bones and scrap metal.

  Countless low-tier demons—Imps, Zombies, Thralls—were packed like maggots into these rickety shacks. They were emaciated, eyes dull, biting and tearing at each other over a piece of moldy carrion.

  The air reeked of despair and stench.

  And in the center of the slums stood a colossal, resplendent "Lord's Tower."

  It was a structure built entirely of high-purity Demon Steel and Soul Crystals. The top of the tower emitted a field that siphoned away every last bit of spiritual energy (Qi) from the surroundings, supplying it only to the upper-class demons within.

  Surrounding the tower was a towering wall, mounted with heavy artillery looted from other planes. Beneath the wall lay piles of corpses—low-tier demons executed for trying to climb over and steal a breath of energy.

  Extreme poverty and extreme luxury formed the most blinding contrast here.

  The Slayer walked down from the ridge.

  His armor looked completely out of place in this grey world.

  Dark red flames flowed over the Demon Dragon Thorn Armor, a high-energy reaction that felt scorching just to look at.

  The Yin Yang Shotgun hung at his waist, the golden thunder of the left barrel and the blue ice of the right barrel flickering alternately, illuminating the surrounding dust in a kaleidoscope of colors.

  The Sky Eye System on his automated shoulder cannon scanned continuously, red laser lines sweeping across the ruins of the slums.

  The Thunder Sword on his back buzzed with static occasionally, purple arcs jumping in the air.

  He looked like a God of War who had time-traveled from the future back to the Stone Age. Or, a Pay-to-Win player in max-level god gear who had wandered into the starter village.

  Several Imps by the roadside saw him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  They had been fighting bloody battles over half a thigh bone. But when they saw the Slayer—draped in flowing light, every piece of gear radiating destruction—they froze.

  In their hands were rusted scraps of iron; on their bodies were tattered hides.

  Before them stood a man whose very breathing mask was inlaid with top-tier filtration runes.

  No attack.

  No roar.

  Those Imps instinctively dropped their bones, knelt on the ground, and trembled. That wasn't reverence for the strong; it was the primal fear of an insurmountable class gap.

  The Slayer didn't look at them.

  He walked straight toward the Lord's Tower.

  The heavy cannons atop the tower spotted him.

  *BOOM! BOOM!*

  Several energy shells, seemingly powerful, were fired his way.

  The Slayer didn't even dodge.

  When the shells hit his "Hell Thorn" reflective armor, it was like eggs hitting a rock.

  *Pfft.*

  The shells shattered. The flames on the Slayer's body didn't even flicker. Instead, the reflected shockwave instantly collapsed a nearby guard tower.

  The Slayer continued forward.

  He reached the main gate of the Lord's Tower. The door was carved with defensive runes and claimed to be indestructible.

  He didn't use a gun.

  He didn't use a sword.

  He simply extended one hand—the iron gauntlet covered in Demon Dragon skin and tempered by Samadhi True Fire.

  A gentle push.

  *CRASH——————!!!*

  The entire gate, along with the frame and half the wall, instantly collapsed.

  It wasn't that the door wasn't hard. It was that the "Poverty" behind the door—the structural weakness caused by cutting corners and lack of spiritual energy—was as fragile as paper before the Slayer's overflowing power.

  The Slayer walked into the hall.

  The high-tier demons inside were holding a banquet. They wore gorgeous silks (looted from the human world) and ate fresh flesh (squeezed from the lower classes).

  When they saw the Slayer walk in—fully armed, glowing with special effects, and seemingly accompanied by his own BGM—they dropped their wine glasses.

  The Slayer looked around.

  He saw greed in the eyes of these demons. They stared covetously at his equipment, wealth they couldn't accumulate in several lifetimes.

  But a second later, greed turned into terror.

  Because the Slayer drew the chainsaw.

  *"ROAAAAR—"*

  The Tiger Soul roared.

  This saw was hungry, too. It didn't want to eat the skinny wretches outside. It wanted to eat these fat, oily lords.

  The Slayer revved the chainsaw.

  The slaughter began.

  ...

  Netherworld, Control Center.

  Singularity watched the one-sided massacre on the screen and thoughtfully wrote a line in his notebook:

  "The Truth of the Abyss: A pyramid built on absolute exploitation."

  "The reason they haven't conquered the Netherworld in tens of thousands of years isn't because the Netherworld is strong, but because they are too poor. The cannon fodder at the bottom doesn't even have a decent knife, while the lords at the top only care about pleasure."

  "This structure... is too brittle."

  On the screen, the Slayer had finished clearing the Lord's Tower.

  He stood on the roof and kicked over the device that was siphoning energy.

  The monopolized energy was instantly released, turning into a rain of spiritual light that sprinkled onto the slums below.

  The low-tier demons stared blankly at the sky, feeling the long-lost nourishment of energy.

  The Slayer didn't stay.

  He turned around, looking deeper into the Abyss.

  *Next Chapter: The Despair of Demons. The high-and-mighty lords finally realize that against an enemy who has 'Pay-to-Win' written all over his face—and actually has the skills to back it up—they have absolutely zero chance of winning.*