Lyrian descended from the towering branches of Yggorath, drawing the attention of every creature dwelling in the forest of Eldoria. His descent was majestic, and each of his steps made the roots of the gigantic tree creak, as if the very earth acknowledged his presence. Once on the ground, Lyrian, with his imposing stance and fiery red eyes, surveyed his surroundings, taking note of the small figures hiding in the shadows and among the trees.
With a resonant voice, filled with authority, he spoke: "Come out."
The creatures, trembling in fear, began to emerge from their hiding places. Among them were elves with pale, weary faces, tiny fairies fluttering timidly, dwarves covered in dust, and other magnificent beings whose eyes reflected both fear and wonder. All their gazes converged on Lyrian, unable to look away from this figure who seemed both a savior and a terrifying force.
Sensing the fear lingering in the air, Lyrian raised a hand as a gesture to calm them and spoke firmly, yet with a hint of compassion: "Do not fear. Your days of suffering and oppression are over. The tyranny of demons and humans shall end, for I have arrived."
His words echoed through their souls, igniting a spark of hope they had lost long ago.
As his gaze swept across the group, Lyrian carefully observed the elves—creatures who shared a resemblance to him, though clearly inferior to his majestic presence. He also took note of the fairies, whose magical glimmers barely illuminated the darkness of their lives, and the dwarves, who, despite their natural resilience, seemed broken by the weight of years of oppression. Lyrian saw them not just as beings to protect but as key pieces in the grand chessboard of fate.
Without hesitation, he pointed to one of the elves, whose stance suggested he was a scholar or someone of knowledge among his group. With a determined gesture, he summoned him: "You. Tell me where the Empire of Solium, home of the hero Arden, and the Scarlet Kingdom, domain of the Demon King Khael, are located."
The elf, uncertain and slightly intimidated, stepped forward. Though his voice trembled at first, Lyrian's presence seemed to strengthen him, as if he had already begun to believe in this new leader. "I can show you their locations, my lord," he responded with a reverent bow, acknowledging Lyrian's natural authority.
Lyrian extended his hand, and with a fluid motion, a sphere of dark energy enveloped the chosen elf. The magic pulsed around them like a living current, lifting them together toward the towering World Tree, Yggorath. From that height, the elf precisely pointed to the locations of the Empire of Solium, where humans reigned under the protection of their hero Arden, and the Scarlet Kingdom, where the Demon King Khael wove his dominion with fire and shadows.
With the information etched into his mind, Lyrian descended smoothly, gently placing the elf back among his people. Wasting no time, he turned and soared through the skies, heading toward the Scarlet Kingdom with overwhelming speed. It wasn't fear that drove him to leave the humans for later; simply, the best was always saved for last.
As he advanced, the sun reached its peak, bathing the land in its scorching light. When he finally arrived at the borders of the Scarlet Kingdom, he descended, landing with imposing elegance. The ground, blackened by centuries of war and bloodshed, groaned under his feet.
Nearby demons noticed his presence. Some gazed at him with curiosity, their eyes filled with intrigue, still unaware of the magnitude of what they were witnessing. But Lyrian needed no words.
He unleashed his aura of chaos, and in an instant, a dark torrent erupted from his body, enveloping the air like an invisible storm. It was neither an explosion nor an attack, but an overwhelming pressure—a whisper of power that only those within the Scarlet Kingdom could feel.
The demons trembled. Something out of the ordinary had arrived in their land. Something that did not fear, did not ask for permission, and did not bow before them.
Lyrian smiled.
Inside Demon King Khael's castle, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Nervous murmurs from the demon generals echoed through the halls, and the shadows seemed to stir under the weight of an unknown presence approaching their borders. A chaotic, dark, and powerful force had emerged, and the news was far from reassuring—this new entity not only rivaled the human hero Arden but also appeared to be a direct challenge to Khael himself.
The Demon King, seated on his obsidian throne, maintained a calm demeanor, though his deep, fiery eyes remained locked onto the magical screen floating before him. The image was clear and disturbing: Lyrian, walking with absolute tranquility toward the castle, an imposing figure, indifferent to the chaos he was causing around him.
Every demon warrior and monstrous creature that attempted to confront him disintegrated before they could even touch him, reduced to dust by the aura of chaos radiating from his body. Lyrian's relentless march continued, and according to the latest reports, this entity might be directly connected to the World Tree—the colossal titan that had emerged hours ago in Eldoria, shifting the balance of all Eryndor.
Khael, leaning back in his throne, reflected coldly, though the cracks in the obsidian beneath his hands betrayed his growing frustration. Finally, his voice resonated through the chamber, firm and laden with authority
"Generals, persuade this intruder. Stop him at all costs. Do not underestimate his power, but do not allow him to reach my walls."
The armored figures of his generals—fearsome warriors of the demon kingdom—bowed before him. Though many were gripped by nervousness, they could not disobey the Demon King's orders. They left the hall in silence, preparing to face a force that seemed beyond comprehension.
Khael remained alone, with Lyrian's image still projected before him. A dark smile began to form on his face—a mix of challenge and calculation. He knew this encounter would be unlike any other. The war had changed, and Khael was ready to face it.
The generals of the Scarlet Kingdom advanced toward the intruder with determination. There were five of them, each a titan in their own right—legendary warriors among the demons. Their names echoed as omens of death throughout Eryndor: Vorlak the Skinner, Drathos the Black Flame, Kaelith the Master of Shadows, Zuran the Undying, and Shyrra the Queen of Bloodied Lances.
Lyrian, advancing steadily, sensed their arrival long before they came into view. The ground trembled beneath his steps, and the air grew thick with a threatening energy. Yet his expression did not change; his crimson eyes gleamed with a mix of indifference and defiance. Each of his strides made the atmosphere of the Scarlet Kingdom grow heavier, as if his mere existence was a weight even demons could not bear.
The generals surrounded him as he neared the castle gates. Vorlak, the most impulsive among them, bellowed with a voice like thunder:
"Stop right there, intruder! We do not know who you are or why you have come, but your insolence ends now."
Lyrian tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on Vorlak. His lips curled into a cold, calculated smile—one that seemed to pierce the general's resolve.
"Useless insistence. Do you truly believe you can stop me?" His voice was calm but carried an overwhelming presence, as if chaos itself spoke through him.
Drathos, with black flames dancing in his hands, responded defiantly:
"This is the Scarlet Kingdom. Even if you are a mysterious force, this place does not belong to you."
Lyrian extended a hand, his aura rising to a level that instantly extinguished Drathos's flames. The pressure increased, and the ground beneath him began to crack.
Kaelith, the Master of Shadows, attempted to ensnare him with his magic, summoning dark chains that erupted from the ground. But before they could touch him, the chains disintegrated into dust before Lyrian's aura. Shyrra, relying on her speed and precision, hurled her lances with pinpoint accuracy, yet they simply hung in the air before vanishing into nothingness.
Lyrian did not move. Not a single gesture of effort, nor a word of warning. The generals were beginning to realize—this was no ordinary battle. They were not facing a mere warrior; they were facing something beyond comprehension.
Zuran, the Undying, towering with immense strength and protected by an energy that rendered him impervious to magic attacks, charged at Lyrian. But as he came within range, his body simply began to unravel, as if chaos itself was erasing his existence piece by piece.
The five generals, feared across the Scarlet Kingdom, now found themselves wrapped in despair. Lyrian observed them coldly, and with an almost mocking tone, he said, "You have no idea what you are dealing with. If this is your strength, then your king will be just as disappointing."
Finally, Vorlak, wounded yet still defiant, shouted, "Our king will never fall before an intruder like you!"
Lyrian stared at him indifferently. "That remains to be seen."
As he continued his march toward the castle, the generals stood frozen, unable to stop him. Demon King Khael, still watching through his screen, clenched his fists.
Lyrian, shrouded in a devastating aura of chaos, stood amidst the ruins of what had once been the five feared generals of the Scarlet Kingdom. The bodies of Vorlak, Drathos, Kaelith, Zuran, and Shyrra now lay lifeless, stripped of any semblance of power, their forms scarred by the overwhelming force that had obliterated them. It was not just defeat—it was absolute humiliation; chaos itself had erased any trace of their former glory.
Without hesitation, Lyrian raised his hand, and chains of dark energy burst from the ground, writhing like living serpents. The chains latched onto the bodies of the generals, coiling around their limbs and torsos. It was as if the very shadows of the Scarlet Kingdom had betrayed them. Lyrian, showing no emotion, began dragging them behind him, leaving a trail of destruction as he advanced toward the castle.
The sound of the chains scraping against the earth echoed throughout the kingdom—a sinister proclamation of his arrival. Every demon who watched from afar recoiled, paralyzed by fear. None dared to intervene; Lyrian's presence was an undeniable declaration of authority. His figure, enshrouded in chaos and dragging the fallen generals behind him, was a sight that would be forever etched in the memories of all who witnessed it.
As he neared the castle gates, the blackened walls seemed to tremble under his approach. The massive doors swung open on their own, as if the castle itself acknowledged the inevitability of his arrival. Lyrian stepped inside, dragging the chains behind him, his aura continuing to seep into every corner of the fortress.
Inside the grand hall, seated upon his imposing obsidian throne, Khael awaited. His burning gaze did not falter, but even he felt the weight of the chaos saturating the air.
Before him, Lyrian released the chains, letting the lifeless bodies of the generals crash to the floor with a hollow, final thud.
Lyrian lifted his gaze, fixing his intense crimson eyes upon the Demon King. "I have come for you," he declared, his firm, resonant voice shaking the very foundations of the castle. "Your time is over."
Khael, maintaining his composure, rose from his throne, his infernal aura overflowing as dark flames coiled around his hands. In a cold, measured tone, he responded, "You've put on an interesting show, intruder. But this is where your chaos ends."
The Demon King Khael, seeing the lifeless bodies of his generals at his feet, rose to his full height, his aura beginning to unleash like a relentless storm. The crimson glow in his eyes burned with fury, and the ground beneath him started to crack under the pressure of his immense power.
The entire castle trembled, as if the Scarlet Kingdom itself was responding to its sovereign's will. A dark, dense energy erupted from his body, expanding like an infernal wave that made the air vibrate and plunged the hall into complete darkness. Every shadow in the kingdom rose as a spectral force, obedient to its master. The walls pulsed with his contained rage, and the black flames atop the pillars flared with intensity.
"If you have come here with the intent to challenge me," Khael said, his voice booming like thunder, "then prepare to witness what it truly means to be the Demon King."
And in an instant, he unleashed his full power.
His aura erupted without restraint, transforming into a storm of pure destruction. Deep fissures opened in the ground, the atmosphere grew heavier, and the air in the hall filled with scorching, suffocating heat. Shadows fused with flames, creating an apocalyptic vision around Khael, who now stood enshrouded in his true essence—the demon who had ruled Eryndor with absolute force for centuries.
Yet as all of this unfolded, Lyrian simply smiled.
It was not a smile of defiance nor mockery, but a tranquil, calculated expression—as if he already knew the outcome of this battle before it had even begun.
His crimson eyes reflected absolute confidence, and his stance showed no trace of tension. From the moment he stepped into the Scarlet Kingdom, he knew his victory was already written.
Khael vanished in a burst of speed, attacking mercilessly with a wave of infernal fire. Lyrian did not move. There was no hesitation, no need to evade. The flames simply dissipated before reaching his body, swallowed by the chaos flowing within him.
The Demon King narrowed his eyes at this but did not relent. His attacks continued—bursts of dark energy, claws wrapped in infernal power, slashing shadows—each one enough to annihilate entire armies. But none reached Lyrian. It was as if the world itself rejected him.
Lyrian sighed, gazing at Khael as though evaluating a child attempting to defy his superior.
"Impressive spectacle," he said calmly, "but you are mistaken about one thing, Khael. You did not come here to fight an enemy. You came to face your fate."
The battle had barely begun, but it was already decided. Chaos had come to claim its throne.
The confrontation ended decisively, just as Lyrian had predicted. The Demon King Khael had no chance to balance the scales, as the vastness of Lyrian's chaos had overwhelmed him from the very start. With a fierce, resolute motion, Lyrian struck Khael against his own throne, the impact resonating throughout the grand hall.
Khael, weakened and overwhelmed, coughed heavily, expelling dark blood that stained the floor beneath him. His gaze still burned with pride, but his body betrayed his state—he no longer had the strength to rise.
Lyrian descended slowly, imposing, his calculated steps filling the silence with tension. His flawless and serene face showed no anger, only a cold and contemplative expression.
"You know, Demon King," he began, his voice reverberating like an echo through the vast chamber, "I hold no grudge against you."
Khael lifted his gaze, his brow furrowing with confusion. In a weak yet inquisitive tone, he asked, "If you hold no grudge against me, then why did you attack my kingdom?"
Lyrian tilted his head slightly, as if pondering before responding. Finally, he said:
"As I made my way here, calmly, I felt something I could not ignore. Beings that do not belong to your kingdom—chained, captured, and used for aberrant acts. I cannot tolerate such a thing. That, Khael, that bothered me a little. But don't worry…" Lyrian paused, his gaze growing darker. "All of that will end when I finish with you. I will free them. And your people… they will serve under my command now."
Khael, unable to reply, clenched his fists in a mix of helplessness and despair. Lyrian slowly raised his hand, materializing a dark blade with jagged edges, forged from chaos itself. With controlled precision, he pointed the sword at Khael, ready to decapitate him and close this chapter of the Scarlet Kingdom.
But at the exact moment, a small, innocent voice echoed through the hall.
"Stop!"
Time seemed to freeze. Lyrian slowly turned his gaze toward the source of the voice, finding a demon girl with dark hair and scarlet eyes standing at the far end of the hall. Her simple dress and the vulnerability in her face clashed entirely with the grim and violent atmosphere.
Khael, upon seeing the girl, was horrified. His face filled with panic, and for the first time, his fiery eyes showed something beyond pride or defiance—they showed true fear.
Lyrian, still holding the sword ready, did not take his eyes off the girl. His expression remained unperturbed, but something within him—perhaps a spark of curiosity—led him to keep his hand suspended, refraining from delivering the blow.
The silence in the grand hall of the Demon King's castle was almost suffocating. The air was still charged with the remnants of unleashed power, the ground cracked from the battle that had ended far too quickly. Lyrian, with a smile filled with amusement and malice, dissipated his aura of chaos, as if the destruction he had just caused had been nothing more than a passing game to him.
With slow steps, he advanced toward Khael, who was breathing heavily, his body weakened and his pride shattered. Lyrian leaned slightly toward the defeated king and, with an icy whisper, said:
"You don't mind if I speak with that girl, do you?"
Khael wanted to react. He wanted to rise, wanted to confront him, wanted to protect his daughter. But the darkness enveloped him. His body fell unconscious, hitting the ground with a hollow echo.
Lyrian observed calmly and without emotion. With a slight tilt of his head, he now directed all his attention to the little demon girl who had interrupted.
With tranquility, he walked toward her, each step echoing through the grand hall. His imposing figure contrasted with the fragility of the girl, whose small body trembled with a mix of anger and fear.
When he stood before her, Lyrian tilted his head slightly, as if examining her with curiosity, and with his soft yet powerful voice, asked:
"Who are you?"
The girl, with clenched fists and eyes full of anger, looked at him without hesitation, challenging him with all the bravery her small heart could muster. With a firm, though trembling tone, she replied:
"Why did you hurt my father?"
Lyrian listened to her words, and for the first time since his arrival in the Scarlet Kingdom, he let out a disturbing laugh. It was not mocking nor cruel, but a pure expression of entertainment, as if he had found something genuinely interesting in this unexpected situation.
Lyrian, his imposing presence still palpable, leaned slightly toward the little demon girl and, with a curious tone, asked:
"Tell me, little one, what is your name?"
The girl, trembling with both fear and helplessness, lifted her gaze to meet Lyrian's piercing red eyes.
"My name is Azara," she replied in a faint voice, her tone filled with anger and pain as she looked at the bodies of her father and the generals scattered across the floor.
Lyrian smiled—a smile that did not convey comfort but a mix of satisfaction and anticipation.
"Azara," he repeated softly, savoring the name as if it were the beginning of a game.
"Listen carefully. If you wish for your father to keep breathing, I offer you a deal. Become my servant, and I promise I will not harm him further. But if you refuse…"
Azara did not need him to finish the sentence. She looked at her father, Khael—his inert body and his proud reign reduced to ashes. She also looked at the fallen generals, titans of war who had been unable to stand against this single elf.
She knew she had no choice. The little girl's heart raced wildly as her hands trembled, but she finally closed her eyes, swallowing her helplessness, and replied:
"If you promise not to hurt my father anymore… I will accept."
Lyrian let out a low, disturbing laugh. His eyes gleamed with a spark of triumph upon hearing Azara's words. Without saying more, he slowly raised his hand and, with unexpected gentleness, patted her head.
"Good decision, little Azara," he said in a tone that was almost a whisper, though its meaning carried a terrible weight.
"Do not worry. I will keep my word… though I have other plans for you and your father. Plans that, in time, you will understand."
Azara felt a shiver run through her body as Lyrian's hidden intentions remained shrouded in shadow. Meanwhile, chaos loomed like a cloud over the Scarlet Kingdom.
.