The Shadow Abyss had become more than just a refuge—it was now Aadhir's kingdom of darkness. Tendrils of shadow stretched from the cavern walls, crawling like living serpents, waiting to obey his will. And from the abyssal power he had absorbed, he could feel others drawn to him, those who hungered for strength and feared neither death nor damnation.
His first followers emerged in silence, crawling from hidden crevices or materializing from shadows. Discarded souls of long-forgotten devils and murderers, all seeking a master who could give them purpose—and power. Aadhir did not speak. He did not need to. His presence alone demanded loyalty, for strength recognized strength.
"Blood… pain… power…" he whispered, tasting the air as if it were a delicacy. "You will follow me, or die."
Those who did not kneel were slaughtered without hesitation, their screams feeding the abyssal power that now surged through Aadhir's veins. Shadows consumed the corpses, binding their souls into his growing army.
Word of his awakening could not remain hidden. Celestial scouts, sensing the pulse of devil blood capable of defying heaven itself, arrived at the edge of the abyss. They were young, arrogant cultivators, confident in their divine mandate.
"You there!" one called, a pale aura of righteousness surrounding him. "We come in the name of Heaven. Step out and surrender your soul, or be destroyed!"
Aadhir's crimson eyes gleamed with amusement. "Step into the abyss… and let me show you death."
The first scout leapt, sword glowing with celestial light. It was fast—but not fast enough. Aadhir's blades were already moving, a storm of shadow and blood. Steel met darkness, and the clash exploded in a storm of sparks and screams. Flesh was sliced, armor shattered, and the scout's life force was devoured instantly, his soul howling in despair as it fused into Aadhir's growing power.
The remaining scouts faltered. Aadhir moved like a demon born of nightmares, every strike precise, every kill efficient. Blood sprayed across the cavern walls, mixing with shadows in a horrifying dance of death.
When the last scout fell, kneeling on the ground with a torn body, Aadhir leaned close, whispering into his ear:
"Tell your masters… I am no longer a man. I am the Devil who will devour Heaven."
The abyss seemed to pulse with his voice, resonating far beyond the valley. Somewhere, the faint glimmer of celestial light flickered, a warning that the heavens themselves would soon act.
Yet Aadhir did not falter. His army of shadows and devils was growing, each soul feeding him, strengthening him, and binding him closer to the title he hungered for: Devil Emperor.
The first taste of power over others, the first conquest against Heaven—it was intoxicating. Aadhir laughed, low and cruel, the sound echoing like a blade through the darkness.
"Let the heavens send their armies," he murmured, running his fingers along the twin dark blades. "I will cut through them… and drink their souls."
From the abyss, shadows stretched further, creeping out of the cavern into the world above. Aadhir's presence would be felt, and soon, all realms—mortal, devil, and heavenly alike—would tremble before him.
He was no longer Aadhir the man. He was Aadhir the Devil, a predator, a storm, a king in the making. And this was only the beginning.
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