Malzahar's astral form floated silently in the underworld, far from the surface. Though he was a Supreme Dragon Lord, he moved with caution.
Here, demons ruled. And above them all sat the Demon King Akira.
Even The Seven Great Dragons feared him.
Akira possessed a Demon Lord Seed. When awakened, it granted infinite mana and unmatched power. Some said a true Demon Lord could even rival a Supreme Dragon Lord.
"I didn't come here for war," Malzahar whispered. "I'll take back what's mine. One day... they will pay."
He drifted unnoticed, surveying the brutal world. Here, strength was everything. The weak were nothing.
One day, he saw a young demon a scrawny boy get kicked aside by a much larger one. The boy coughed, bruised and starving.
Daimon. The weakest demon in the underworld.
Malzahar watched him. He remembered a child like that from Beastonia. Back then, he'd told his general, "Goruk, feed him."
Now, he watched Daimon crawl beneath a bridge, whispering through tears, "I'll kill them all. All of them."
"Poor kid," Malzahar said, floating above.
Years passed.
Daimon grew into a teenager but remained weak. Still beaten. Still alone.
One night, a massive hellhound chased him through the streets. He ran, terrified, begging others for help. He had no choice but to run towrards the direction of a resting demon soldiers. The demon soldiers ignored him until the beast turned on them. They killed it, angry at being forced to act they beat up Daimon until he was half dead.
Daimon collapsed from exhaustion. Malzahar hovered near.
"Always like this..." Daimon sobbed. "I want to change! I want it all! I'll kill them all!"
Then he fainted, starving and broken.
In this world, every being was born with a gift, a blessing. Some had Berserker Rage. Others had Flame Affinity. Some could transform, teleport, or copy abilities.
But Daimon? He didn't even know if he had one.
Yet.
He wanted to survive. He had no choice.
With tears in his eyes, Daimon devoured the days-old corpse of the hellhound. "I'll do anything to rule this world!" he cried between mouthfuls.
Then he coughed blood. His body shook.
Anyone watching would've thought he died.
Demon soldiers found him soon after. They dumped his body in a graveyard with countless other corpses.
But Daimon woke up.
The first thing he saw was a small puddle of water, glowing with moonlight. He leaned over it and saw his reflection.
He was buffer. His eyes were sharper. His body had changed.
A rustle came from the bushes.
"What now?" he said.
Then in the dark, wild forest a massive boar charged at him.
Instinctively, Daimon ran. A familiar scene: him running for his life.
But something felt different.
"Why isn't it catching up?" he thought.
Boars were fast. Especially when charging. Yet, it lagged.
"Am I... faster?"
He checked himself. His physique was clearly improved. After eating the hellhound, something inside him had changed.
He needed to test it.
He ran. He found a broken bridge split in the middle. Hellhounds could leap far. Maybe now, he could too.
He sprinted for momentum and jumped.
He soared across the gap and landed with ease.
"I'm strong!" he shouted.
But then he heard growls.
A pack of dark wolves.
He was relieved until he remembered something important: dark wolves were faster than hellhounds. They had mana. They could dash.
One wolf scratched his back before he could escape. He tumbled into the forest.
The wound was deep.
He stood, barely. The wolves circled him, growling.
Daimon saw a broken axe nearby. He grabbed it just as a wolf charged.
He swung.
The axe crushed the wolf's skull.
He stared. "I... I killed it?"
He threw a rock at another. It died.
The remaining wolves growled but fled.
Then he saw it.
A giant magical serpent.
It spat venom. Daimon rolled aside, barely dodging.
The snake charged. He shut his eyes.
"So this is how it ends."
But the snake stopped.
Then fled.
A shadowy figure hovered over Daimon. Malzahar.
He floated to the wolf's corpse.
Daimon followed the unspoken suggestion. He knelt, trembling... and devoured the dark wolf.
This time, he didn't cough.
As he swallowed the last bite, he felt it.
Power.
His wounds healed instantly. Strength surged through him.
Malzahar watched. When Daimon first ate the hellhound, he had seen it faint, but real. A violet light inside Daimon.
The awakening of a gift.
A blessing.
"The Devourer," Malzahar whispered. "An ancient blessing... maybe even a curse."
He floated closer. "I have to protect this kid."
There was one rule.
You can only devour something if it's weaker than you.
"You cannot kill a Supreme Dragon Lord," Malzahar said. "But you can devour one."
Back in the present, Daimon stood over the dead wolf, feeling the transformation.
He walked to a tree massive and old and kicked it.
The tree toppled.
He laughed. "I'm strong!"