Nightmare Realm.
In the center of a desolate wasteland, where the ground consisted of gray ash and the sky swirled with a vortex of violet despair, stood a structure that defied gravity.
It was a majestic, dreadful black spire.
It pierced the heavens like a jagged needle, its obsidian surface absorbing what little light existed in this forsaken world.
And at the very peak of this architectural monstrosity, inside a room that was surprisingly lavish in a gothic, vampiric sort of way...
A figure sat by an arched window, their chin resting on their palm as they stared out at the abyss.
It was a cliché situation.
Usually, in fantasy novels, the beautiful princess or the heroines would be the ones locked up in the Demon Lord's high tower. They would weep elegantly, gaze out the window with longing eyes, and wait for the hero to storm the gates.
However, reality had a cruel sense of humor.
Here, the prisoner was a man.
Right, A MAN!
