For ten thousand years, there had only been the suffocating, silent void.
To the Primordial Spirit of the Abyssal Bone Demon Emperor, time was not measured in the rising and setting of the sun, nor in the shifting of celestial constellations. It was measured in the agonizing, microscopic degradation of his supreme soul against the absolute, purifying starlight of the divine seals. He had been a sovereign of slaughter, a being whose very breath withered mountains and boiled oceans, reduced to a formless, sensory-deprived consciousness trapped within a flawless, opaque monolith.
Then, the agonizing starlight had flickered. The spatial tethers had snapped. And finally, the crushing, physical boundaries of the black crystal had shattered into millions of jagged fragments.
The Primordial Spirit surged outward, a torrential, formless ocean of pure, unadulterated malice expanding into the cavern.
