The sky bled crimson.
A thousand screams tore through the heavens as the once-mighty Demon Realm crumbled beneath divine flames and celestial judgment. Mountains melted into rivers of ash, black spires cracked and fell like broken teeth, and the screams of the dying echoed across dimensions.
The Coalition of the Upper Realms had come in full force-Angels with blazing wings, Elven archmages channeling the stars, Human saints clad in radiant armor, Dwarven rune-breakers wielding mountain-crushing hammers, and beastkin legions howling under moon-blessed banners. An alliance forged from fear, hatred, and desperation. A coalition to wipe out one race: the Demons.
They said the Demons were too powerful, too unpredictable. That their nature was cruel and their existence chaotic. That mercy was a mistake and coexistence, a myth.
So they killed them all.
Or so they believed.
In the heart of the inferno, amid crumbling citadels and charred corpses, a child wailed. Blood-streaked, horned, and barely alive, he clutched the remnants of a silk blanket once embroidered with the sigil of the Incubi-a sub-race of the Demon Kind known for their beauty, temptation, and terrifying potential.
Death circled him like a vulture.
But salvation came in the form of one who should have slain him.
Seraphyne Elarion, Blade-Maiden of the Moon Court, was a name sung in songs and etched into the pillars of Elven legend. A cultivator whose spirit arts had turned tides and whose name caused demons to tremble. She was among those leading the final assault on the demon capital... when she found him.
His black hair was stained in blood, but his face-elegant, regal, unmistakably elven.
To her, he was no demon. He was the lost child of the Elven royal family, believed to have been stolen by demon cultists. Her heart ached with guilt and purpose. Without hesitation, she spirited him away, far from the battlefield, far from judgment.
She named him Kael'theron-"Star of the Forgotten Moon" in the ancient tongue-and raised him as her son.
He learned the way of cultivation not through domination, but balance. Spirit harmony, sword dances beneath moonlight, the will of nature, and the teachings of serenity. He meditated beside trees older than kings and walked among ancient spirits who whispered of fates yet to unfold.
But deep within him, something stirred.
A dream of fire and ruin.
A whisper of screams and betrayal.
A bloodline that refused to be silenced.
As Kael'theron grew, so did the tension between what he was taught and what he felt. His aura shifted in moments of stress-too wild, too dark. His cultivation, though elegant, grew at unnatural speeds. And at night, his dreams were filled with cities he had never seen, voices he had never heard... and names that once held power.
Though raised as an elf, he was never truly accepted. Whispers followed him like shadows. "He's different." "Too cold." "Too calm." Some even dared speak what others feared: "He's not one of us."
But Seraphyne stood between him and the world, her conviction unshaken. Yet even she could not silence the truth that beat in Kael'theron's heart like a war drum.
He was not the Elven prince.
He was not born of moonlight and stardust.
He was the last demon.
And the world that slaughtered his kin would one day learn what their mercy had sown.
Because Kael'theron Nightmare was no longer a forgotten child.
He was a storm, wrapped in flesh.
A spark of chaos...
and chaos never dies.
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