Darkness was his domain.
And yet, for the first time in countless lifetimes, even the darkness felt tainted.
The Emperor of Destruction opened his eyes within the vessel Zero had given him—the shadow body wrought from dark mana, forged in defiance of fate. The world unfolded before him like a dying star—blinding, trembling, bleeding light that screamed of corruption divine.
He flexed his new hand slowly, feeling the texture of existence ripple beneath his palm. "Hmph," he murmured, voice deep, resonant, and dangerous. "A fine vessel… far sturdier than I expected from a mortal boy."
Around him, Aamon's throne room trembled as if the realm itself rejected his presence. Black marble peeled and reshaped under invisible strain, each pulse of the Emperor's aura colliding with the Devil King's dominion.
