The Demon Realm was never meant to be still.
Even in silence, it throbbed ....like a wounded heart refusing to die.
A sea of crimson mist rolled endlessly across the land, glowing faintly beneath a torn sky where the moon bled into bruised clouds. Mountains of black stone clawed upward, their edges dripping molten veins that pulsed like living flesh. The air reeked of sulfur and blood; the wind whispered names no mortal tongue could bear.
At the center of that burning desolation, the Citadel trembled.
For centuries it had stood untouched — a fortress forged from the bones of dragons and the blood of the first Demon King. But now, cracks split its walls like awakening veins. The throne of obsidian pulsed....once, twice — and then a shadow stirred upon it.
The shadow took form.
