Exploding demon settlements one after another, the messengers of the Great Gods had finally arrived.
After a war that raged for over a thousand years—claiming countless innocent lives—the forces of light had at last breached the realm of the Demon Lord.
Blasting out the walls with huge blast of holy power, holy angels with radiant wings circled the towering black spires of the Demon Lord's castle. Adventurers clad in gleaming mythril and adamantite armor stormed through the massive raven-black gates, cutting down the vile monsters that rose to defend their lord.
Their mission was clear: destroy the Shadows. End the Demon Lord's reign.
Meanwhile, in the heart of a vast, shadowed throne room, the Demon Lord sat unmoving on his obsidian throne, his two goat-like horns glowing faintly in the darkness. His eyes opened slowly—twin flames of crimson and black swirling within. He looked barely twenty, a young man with an aura of something far older, far darker.
"My Lord," a voice said gently, breaking the silence. "The enemy has broken through. They're coming."
A beautiful woman with great proportions knelt before him. Her long black hair flowed like silk, her porcelain skin glowed under the dim light, and her eyes held a quiet danger. Behind her, others knelt—his most loyal aides. The most feared force in his army.
Despite the dire report, the Demon Lord simply chuckled.
Orders?
Why bother?
They'd already breached the outer defenses. They were inside the castle.
But... what were the chances they'd reach this deep? We have to meet them and finally end this. That was right.
In fact, he already knew. He was going to be defeated.
His Shadow Village—his home—was buried far beneath the surface. A village cloaked in eternal night. Its structures shimmered black and cold, glowing faintly like runes carved into the earth. Roads gleamed with eerie, magical light, guiding only those who belonged.
The village wasn't built on solid ground. It clung to the cliffs and walls of a massive underground hollow, connected by narrow bridges and platforms that crisscrossed the dark like a web spun from shadows. No sun ever shone here. No snow or rain ever fell. Only the constant whisper of cold winds filled the silence.
And yet, this was home—for the Shadow Race, beings forged for darkness. They thrived where others would perish.
They were more than strong. They were fast, agile, precise. Wolves with the strength of ogres. Monsters built not for war—but for killing.
Yet holy power were the bane of their existence.
As the invaders advanced, the human army soon witnessed strange lights in the sky—bioluminescent creatures floating like jellyfish, casting faint neon-blue glows across the cavernous village. The only source of light in a world of darkness.
One of those creatures drifted through the air, its glow landing on a lone figure sitting at the edge of a narrow bridge,
His legs hung over the abyss. His crimson eyes reflected the soft blue light—distant, thoughtful, tired. His goat-like horns stood out.
The Demon Lord: Diablo Umbachswen Rival.
He looked every bit the child he still was—raven-black hair, pale skin, and a long black coat that trailed a smoky aura. His beauty was unsettling, like something inhuman trying to look serene.
"Let us end this here." Diablo muttered, but his voice travelled so loud it made everyone tremble. Then his eyes started to fix on the big black crater they had made and where angelic lights glowed faintly. Behind him, his attendants appeared, dressed in their matching black attire, silent and watchful.
He lived like a boy forced to play a role written for someone else. And he was tired of it.
He glanced down at the shadow demons walking below, all in identical dark clothing, their faces blank and lifeless.
This race, he thought, was broken.
How could they just stand by as foreign invaders marched into their home?
Disgusted, Diablo ran a hand through his hair and stood.
Then, without warning, he stepped off the edge—and fell.
His attendants followed in silence.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
One by one, they landed on the ground below—fifteen feet down—as if gravity itself bent to their presence.
And so began the final battle.
Five Days Later
Amid the smoking ruins of the battlefield, a pair of glowing red eyes snapped open—filled with pain, rage, disbelief, but at the same time, relief.
They were Diablo's.
His body was pierced by countless blades, each one driven deep into his chest. His limbs were broken. His black coat torn and soaked in blood.
Around him, the once-glorious Shadow Village was nothing but scorched rubble. Broken bridges. Fallen towers. Crumbled black stone.
Everything was gone.
Everything he had been sworn by everyone to protect.
But it was finally over. Everything. What a relief.
His breathing was shallow, labored. The flickering flames in his eyes dimmed.
Still, what... had he done to deserve this?
He was only doing his role.
Only doing what a Demon Lord was meant to do.
Why did the entire world turn against him?
Why did they never see beyond the title?
His fingers twitched, grasping at the shattered earth.
'Seriously, why? If I was born as an ordinary lad in some village, won't I be ordinary as well? But I am the demon lord with responsibilities spanning generations pinning me down since I was baby...'
Then he screamed.
A raw, guttural cry of despair and rage.
"AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!"
The earth trembled with his roar. Cracks split through the stone beneath him as his power surged one final time.
And then, silence.
His eyes—once filled with fire—finally closed.
The Demon Lord had fallen.
But his story… was far from over.