The Demon Realm was never meant to be still.
Even in silence, it throbbed — like a wounded heart refusing to die.
A sea of red mist rolled across the land, glowing faintly under a torn sky where the moon bled into the clouds. Mountains of black stone rose jagged and cruel, their edges dripping with molten veins that pulsed like living creatures. The air burned with the scent of sulfur and blood, and the wind whispered old names no mortal tongue could bear.
At the center of that endless ruin, the Citadel trembled.
For centuries, it had stood untouched — a fortress built from the bones of dragons and the blood of the first king of demons. But now, cracks ran across its surface like veins awakening after a long sleep. The throne, carved from obsidian, pulsed once, twice… and then a shadow moved upon it.
The shadow took shape.
