And it came to pass that the flames of war spread across the seven demon nations, each consumed by its own ambitions and strife. Yet, beyond the sight of kings and warlords, there lay forces older than any throne, older even than the Great Sundering itself.
In the forsaken wastes of Xhorgath, where the land itself groaned beneath the weight of ancient calamities, the sky bled a sickly hue, and the wind whispered the names of the forgotten. Here, in the desolation that no nation claimed, something stirred beneath the ashen earth.
Deep within the labyrinthine ruins of a city long since swallowed by time, an obsidian monolith stood, untouched by age or war. Around it, the ground pulsed with a faint, eerie glow, and the air crackled with unseen energies. The ruins bore no banners, no claim of ownership, for none dared to tread where the cursed city lay.
And yet, they came.
A procession cloaked in shadows emerged from the storm-wracked horizon. Their leader, a figure wreathed in tattered robes of deepest crimson, raised a gnarled staff towards the monolith. At his back, a host of hooded figures knelt, their voices rising in a chant that carried through the dead air, resonating with the bones of the forgotten city.
"Xharnath, He Who Slumbers, stir from your endless dream."
The monolith pulsed in response, the glow intensifying, as if the very stone drank in their words, drawing power from their invocations.
The figure's hood fell back, revealing a face of ghastly pallor, his eyes pits of swirling void. "The war above rages, yet they do not see. They know not what they awaken with their petty squabbles. Let them fight, let them bleed—so that we may rise."
The earth quivered beneath their feet, as if some great beast shifted in its slumber. The robed figure smiled.
Far to the north, where the tundras of Varkthar met the jagged ridges of Drelthor, the first battle lines were drawn. The banners of the Varkthar clans snapped in the frigid winds as their warriors, clad in armor of carved bone and blackened steel, prepared for war. Across the valley, the legions of Drelthor loomed, a disciplined force of iron-clad warriors, their formation impeccable.
Ralthor, High Chief of the Varkthar, stood upon a ridge, his great axe buried in the frost beside him. His breath misted in the cold as he watched the enemy array themselves.
"They come in numbers," muttered Tharak, his lieutenant, tightening the straps of his gauntlets. "We hold the high ground, but they are prepared for siege."
Ralthor's gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "Let them come."
A distant horn sounded. The silence of the tundra shattered as the forces of Drelthor surged forward, their battle cries lost in the howling wind. The Varkthar stood unmoving, their weapons gleaming beneath the pale light of the storm-laden sky.
And then, the earth trembled.
Not from the march of war, but from something else. A low, reverberating growl echoed from beneath the ice.
Ralthor's grip on his axe tightened. "Something stirs."
Deep within the heart of Ghorath, where sorcery and secrets entwined, Lord Khoras stood at the threshold of his chamber, gazing upon the arcane sigils etched into the stone floor. The incantations of his sorcerers filled the halls, their voices weaving ancient magics into the very air.
A vision took shape before him—a land divided, kingdoms at war, and yet, beyond the battles, something else. A darkness, old and unfathomable, rising beneath the surface of the world.
Althea, ever his cautious counselor, stepped forth. "We tamper with forces beyond even our understanding."
Khoras exhaled, a slow, measured breath. "And yet, those same forces are stirring without our hand. If we do not act, we will be swept away like embers in a storm."
Althea hesitated before inclining her head. "Then let us be the storm."
And so, the world turned as it ever had, yet unseen by the warring nations, a greater shadow loomed. The demons, for all their might and cruelty, had never known gods, nor feared divine wrath.
But there were things older than gods. Things that remembered.
And in the depths of the world, they awakened.