The Slayer had just finished clearing a demon outpost.

  Bodies littered the ground. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and charred flesh.

  Click.

  The Slayer habitually racked the slide of his shotgun. But this time, there was only the hollow sound of an empty chamber.

  No ammo.

  He checked the BFG-9000 on his back. The energy gauge had bottomed out after the bombardment of the Blood Sea and hadn't recharged yet.

  The Chaingun's barrel was repaired, but the ammo box was hollow.

  Even the Chainsaw's fuel gauge was blinking an angry red light.

  The Slayer stood amidst the pile of corpses, maintaining his silence.

  He didn't call for backup like a normal soldier, nor did he show a hint of panic.

  He simply holstered the empty shotgun and slowly drew the Crucible.

  Hummm—

  The red energy blade ignited.

  His intent was clear: No guns? Then I use the sword. No sword? Then I use my fists.

  The slaughter does not stop.

  Just then, Daoist Singularity’s excited voice crackled through the helmet headset:

  "Great Warrior! Hold on! Don't rush into melee yet!"

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  "Your delivery is here!"

  The Slayer looked up.

  There was no dropship, no orbital supply pod.

  But ten meters directly in front of him, a microscopic spatial fluctuation rippled through the void.

  Vwoom—

  A golden ring materialized out of thin air.

  Immediately after, five palm-sized, translucent "Courier Imps" (a manifestation of the Daoist Five Ghosts Teleportation Spell) struggled out of the ring, heaving a heavy, dark green metal crate.

  They dropped the crate in front of the Slayer, bowed respectfully to him, and then whoosh—dived back into the light ring and vanished.

  The Slayer looked at the crate.

  It was stamped with a prominent logo: [Nether Express].

  There was also a handwritten label: "Supply Drop for the Great Warrior (Includes Extra Spicy Meng Po Soup)."

  The Slayer stepped forward.

  SMASH. One punch to open the lid.

  Inside, neatly stacked, lay the spoils of war production:

  Enchanted Shotgun Shells x50

  Depleted Uranium AP Rounds x1000

  High-Energy Chainsaw Fuel x3 Canisters

  BFG Argent Cell x1

  And a bottle of... red, bubbling liquid (Meng Po Soup).

  The Slayer picked up the soup and pulled the tab.

  Gulp.

  Down in one go.

  The familiar taste of sulfur and extreme spice exploded in his throat.

  Rage Meter: INSTANTLY FILLED.

  He tossed the empty bottle aside.

  Then, he began to reload.

  Ka-chunk. Click. Clack.

  The sound of metal locking into place was music to his ears.

  The Slayer re-shouldered the fully loaded Chaingun, refueled the Chainsaw, and hung the Super Shotgun in its quick-draw holster.

  He cracked his neck.

  Status: Fully Restored.

  Back in the Netherworld control room, Singularity watched the Slayer's resource bars instantly refill on the screen. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with satisfaction.

  "This is the power of the 'Five Ghosts Transport' spell combined with 'Spatial Point-to-Point Delivery,'" Singularity noted in his logbook with pride. "This is... The Cloud Armory."

  Consumption vs. Supply.

  In this cross-dimensional war, the Slayer was no longer fighting alone.

  Behind him stood the entire industrial capacity of the Netherworld.

  The Slayer turned around, looking toward the distant Demon City that had just been alerted by the noise.

  He raised his reloaded Super Shotgun and fired a single shot into the air.

  BANG!

  That was the signal for war.

  "Next Chapter: Establishing an Outpost. Singularity thinks sending courier packages is too much hassle. He decides to plant a flag in Hell—how about building a City God Temple?"