The journey to the Hollow Veil began beneath skies that refused to clear. A gray shroud lingered above the plains, as if the heavens themselves watched in silence. Every step forward carried the echo of what had been left behind—the shattered remains of the Crimson Fortress and the ghosts of those who had fallen there. The army moved in grim unison, a living tide of shadow, fang, and flame.
Draven rode at the forefront, silent as ever, his cloak of darkness flowing behind him like liquid night. The shadows around him never rested. They moved with a quiet pulse, stretching outward, scanning, whispering faint reports into his mind. He saw through them, glimpsing the terrain miles ahead. The Hollow Veil was close—too close. The air was already shifting, growing colder and heavier. The scent of sulfur and iron filled the wind.
Behind him, the coalition marched with purpose. Demons with cracked armor bore their weapons proudly, their eyes hard with determination. The great beasts that survived the siege walked alongside them, their bodies scarred but unbroken. The war had changed them all. There was no longer a distinction between demon and beast. Only survivors. Only warriors.
As the day bled into dusk, the horizon began to ripple with strange light. A fog spread across the ground, faintly glowing with veins of crimson energy. It was the border of the Hollow Veil—a forbidden land said to consume all who entered without permission from its master. Legends whispered that even the Demon King avoided it, for it was not merely a place. It was a wound in the world.
The coalition halted at the edge. A few of the younger soldiers stepped back instinctively, their instincts screaming of danger. The fog whispered, faint voices threading through it, repeating the same word over and over. Return.
Draven stepped forward. The shadows gathered at his feet, spreading in a circle that burned away the fog near him. The ground beneath was black stone, cracked with glowing red lines that pulsed like veins. "This is where it begins," he said softly.
One of the commanders hesitated. "Is this truly the path, my lord? The Veil devours even demons of high rank. Its power is unstable."
Draven's eyes glimmered faintly. "That's exactly why the Demon King hides his amplifier here. The instability conceals it. But that same chaos can be turned against him."
He raised his hand, and the shadows responded. A faint pulse rippled outward, marking a path through the fog. "We move as one. The Veil reacts to fear, not strength. Stay together, stay focused."
The army advanced. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air changed completely. The world became quiet, as if sound itself had been swallowed. The fog thickened, the light fading until only faint silhouettes remained. The ground beneath their feet felt unstable, shifting between solid and liquid. It was as though they were walking through memory, through the echo of something that should never have existed.
Draven could feel it—the pressure, the whispers, the countless eyes of the Veil watching them. It was alive.
He extended his power, wrapping the army in a shroud of protective shadow. The fog recoiled slightly, parting before them. But every step forward came with resistance, as if unseen hands tried to drag them back.
Then the first attack came.
Shapes emerged from the mist—figures made of fragmented light and darkness, their bodies half-real, half-dream. They were wraiths born of the Veil's energy, feeding on fear and chaos. They moved without sound, gliding across the fog, eyes glowing like molten gold.
The first one struck at a demon soldier, its blade phasing through armor like air. The soldier screamed as the light around him shattered. Draven reacted instantly. Shadows surged from his hands, slashing through the wraith in a spiral. The creature dissolved into mist, but two more appeared where it had fallen.
"Form defensive rings!" Draven commanded, his voice cutting through the silence. "Shadows front, beasts behind, mages in the core!"
The army obeyed immediately. Beasts roared, creating waves of heat that dispersed the fog temporarily. Demons raised wards of flame and shadow, trying to keep the phantoms at bay. But the wraiths multiplied, twisting the mist into claws and spears.
Draven moved through the chaos like a dark flame. His shadows struck in arcs, slicing through entire clusters of wraiths. Each time his blade of shadow met their light, the air rippled violently. He could feel the energy of the Veil reacting to him, curious, almost sentient.
Then it struck back.
The fog thickened again, and for a moment, the world flickered. The ground shifted beneath them. The horizon vanished entirely, replaced by a vision of the Crimson Fortress burning anew. Screams echoed—familiar voices, both allies and enemies. The Veil was not attacking with strength. It was attacking with memory.
Draven gritted his teeth as the illusion tried to take hold. He saw flashes of his past life, the moment of his death, the endless void before his rebirth. For a heartbeat, he felt it all again. Then his shadows pulsed, cutting through the illusion like glass.
"This realm feeds on regret," he said, his voice steady though the world twisted around him. "Ignore what it shows you. It cannot harm what you no longer fear."
One by one, the soldiers began to resist. They moved forward again, their steps slow but unwavering. Every time a wraith lunged, it was met with steel and flame. The fog screamed, a sound like a thousand broken voices.
Draven raised his hand, calling upon the shadows once more. This time he focused deeper, reaching into the core of the Veil. He could feel something beneath all the chaos—a pulse, rhythmic and steady. The amplifier. It was buried deep within the fog, guarded by the will of the realm itself.
The battle continued for hours, though time had no meaning here. When the last wraith dissolved into mist, the army found themselves standing before a vast chasm. At its center, suspended in the air, floated a massive crystal sphere, glowing with dark red light. The amplifier of the Hollow Veil.
It pulsed slowly, each beat sending waves of distortion through the fog. The light twisted reality around it, bending stone and space alike.
Draven stepped to the edge of the chasm. "This is it."
The others waited for his command.
He extended his arm, and shadows poured from his fingertips, forming a bridge of solid darkness across the void. The structure shimmered faintly, as though resisting the Veil's will. Draven stepped onto it without hesitation, walking toward the amplifier.
The moment he reached the halfway point, the fog surged upward. A shape rose from the depths—a towering being made entirely of light and shadow. It was not a wraith. It was something far more ancient. Its eyes burned with crimson fire, and its voice shook the air.
"You should not be here, usurper of night."
The voice echoed through the realm, shaking even the most hardened soldiers.
Draven stopped. "Then why do you stand in my way?"
"I am the Guardian of the Veil," the being said. "Created by the Demon King to protect the heart of his power. Your existence threatens the balance of realms."
Draven's expression hardened. "Then I will unmake that balance."
The Guardian raised its hand, and spears of light descended from above, crashing into the bridge. The shadows buckled but held. Draven's power flared, and he leapt forward, his blade of darkness forming instantly in his grip. The two forces collided with blinding brilliance, light and shadow tearing through the air.
The impact sent waves of energy across the chasm. The coalition braced as the shockwave tore through the fog. Beasts roared in defiance, and demons shielded the wounded. Above it all, the duel continued—a storm of light and shadow, creation and destruction clashing with every strike.
Draven's power deepened with every movement. The shadows bent to his will completely, shifting shape, weaving through the Guardian's defenses like serpents. But the Guardian was not weak. Every strike it made carried the weight of the Veil itself, bending space and warping energy.
For a long moment, it seemed neither could win. Then Draven's eyes flared red. The shadows beneath him expanded outward, forming a vast circle. His voice was low, but it resonated with power.
"Shadow Dominion."
The world went black.
For an instant, all light vanished. The Guardian's form flickered, struggling against the darkness. Then Draven's shadow blade pierced through its chest. The being froze, its form dissolving into mist and light. The echo of its voice faded into silence.
Draven stood alone before the amplifier. The bridge trembled beneath him. He could feel the energy pulsing stronger now, aware of his presence. It recognized him—not as an enemy, but as something familiar.
He raised his hand again, pressing his palm to the crystal. Shadows spread across its surface, merging with its glow. He didn't destroy it immediately. Instead, he listened. The amplifier pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. And beneath that rhythm, he heard something else—a whisper.
A voice, faint and cold.
"So you have come this far, Draven."
The Demon King's voice.
It was calm, distant, and terrifyingly composed.
Draven did not answer. He let the silence speak for him.
"You destroy what you do not understand," the voice continued. "But every amplifier you shatter draws you closer to me. You think you are defying me, yet you follow the path I have laid."
Draven's grip tightened. "If you believe that, then watch how your plan burns."
The shadows flared, surging into the amplifier. The crystal cracked, light spilling out like blood. The realm screamed, the fog twisting violently. And then, with a single burst of power, the amplifier exploded, its energy scattering into the air like dying stars.
The Hollow Veil shuddered. The fog began to dissolve. The endless whispers fell silent.
When Draven stepped back across the bridge, the soldiers were waiting. Their eyes widened as the fog cleared, revealing open sky for the first time in centuries.
The Hollow Veil was free.
Draven stood at the center of the army, his cloak billowing in the rising wind. The second amplifier had fallen. The war was spreading faster than the Demon King could contain.
As the light returned to the world, Draven looked eastward, where the horizon burned faintly red. He could feel it again—the Demon King's presence, no longer watching from afar, but preparing to move.
And in that moment, a faint smile touched his lips.
The Hollow Veil had awakened. And the shadows were only just beginning to rise.