What is this 'Dimensional Chat' ?

Chapter 119. The Price of Unity

While the family waited for their husband's return, Fatalis, Crom Cruach, and Great Red found themselves stirring up trouble in their own way.

Kicked back on a stolen throne—once owned by a minor devil noble who'd suffered a most convenient accident—Fatalis lit a cigar forged from her own dragon fire. Smoke curled around her horns as she surveyed her latest plans with a wicked grin.

"Alright girls," she exhaled, the smoke forming the shape of a dragon skull. "Devils are selling contracts, angels are peddling dogma... and no one's selling weapons. That's a market gap—and I'm filling it with bullets and bastardry."

With Kuoh under low-profile surveillance and a base secured deep in the Underworld, Fatalis had launched her latest operation:

Her first recruits? Disgraced noble devils—those exiled for taboo magic or losing in Rating Games. To them, she offered something rare: not redemption, but relevance. A new home where strength and loyalty mattered more than lineage.

Using demonic energy ripped from forbidden relics, she crafted hybrid artifacts—raw, experimental, and volatile, but powerful. No contracts, just allegiance.

Great Red stood nearby, watching a test subject ignite a plasma blade carved with cursed sigils. The air crackled.

"You're insane," she grinned. "I love it."

"Duh. If sanity paid well, I'd be bankrupt," Fatalis said with a smirk. "And I'm a Calamity Dragon. What did you expect? That I'd sit at home, bake cookies, and wait for my husband to tell me what to do? Not my style." She paused. "He didn't explicitly forbid this... I think?"

Crom Cruach sighed. "Big Sis… Hubby's definitely going to lecture you when he hears about this."

"And I'll pretend to listen while braiding his hair or something," Fatalis winked.

The war council was assembled.

Great Red lounged lazily on a throne-shaped chunk of obsidian, spinning a plasma coin between her fingers.

Crom Cruach leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, a small scowl on her face.

On their side, there's the first member, he's immaculate as ever, stood like a sentinel, reading over troop reports.

To these outcasts, she offered gear—crafted in blasphemy and brilliance—that masked their holy signatures. They called themselves The Avernus Wings. Leading them was a twelve-winged angel and twin railguns charged with sacred light.

Saraphiel, former executioner of Heaven, bowed low. "Praise to the Black Dragon. Fatalis-sama, what are your orders?"

Crom raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You're recruiting these guys? Weren't they Heaven's assassins? I heard these guys are sealed in Lower Realms of Heaven after the end of the Great War."

Saraphiel narrowed his eyes. "And you're Crom Cruach. Evil Dragon, now posing as a woman. Why should we trust you?"

Fatalis smirked, pulling Crom onto her lap like a pampered pet. "Relax. She's house-trained. Aren't you, Crom-chan?"

"Ah—n-not in front of everyone!" Crom blushed, glaring at onlookers. "Quit staring or I'll burninate you all into ash!"

The squad stiffened.

"She's treating Crom Cruach like a lapdog… What in the heaven are you, Fatalis-sama?" Saraphiel whispered. His gaze shifted to Great Red. "...And who's the red-haired girl? A relative of Sirzechs Lucifer?"

Great Red's pupils narrowed to slits. Her aura surged—a primal wave of cosmic force.

"Compare me to a devil again, little pigeon," she said, voice layered in otherworldly resonance. "And I'll peel your soul apart scale by scale. Try guessing what I am... before your courage runs out."