Nightvail was not like the human realms of Crevalis.
There were no scattered kingdoms, no petty border disputes, no lists of noble houses to memorize. Instead, the entire Nightvail Plate existed as one colossal empire, forged from shadow, ambition, and the ever‑present pressure of darkness. Endless regions of the world never saw sunlight; clouds of gloom hung like a permanent veil. Dark forests twisted endlessly, creatures with glowing eyes prowled the lands, and black mist coiled around every tower like living smoke.
At the heart of this vast domain stood the empire's only true city — the Black Throne Citadel, a monumental palace carved from obsidian so dark it appeared to swallow surrounding light. The halls whispered with old magic, and prideful demon generals trained relentlessly for war.
Inside the grand throne chamber, the air shook with the booming laughter of the demon king.
"Haa—haa—haa! My soldiers!"
Rakshasha, the founder and first ruler of the demon empire, stood proudly before his elite warriors. His massive claws gleamed under the dim torchlight, and his crimson eyes burned with cruel ambition.
"I, Rakshasha, command you! Under my rule the demons will march against the humans of the Xian Empire! Their swords will shatter, their spirits will break, and—"
"No… you won't."
A cold, feminine voice sliced through the air like a knife, cutting off his speech instantly.
Every demon stiffened.
Their nature was prideful — arrogance was in their blood. To interrupt the demon king's long‑prepared historical declaration was an insult that could not be forgiven. Rakshasha's smile cracked like brittle stone.
"Who dares interrupt this sacred moment?!" he roared.
A reply came, calm and chilling.
"I do."
Shadows all across the throne room began to tremble. They slithered across the floor, drawing toward a single point like ink pulled by invisible gravity. The darkness gathered tighter and tighter until it condensed into a swirling shadow vortex — a black hole tearing open reality itself.
From that swirling abyss, she stepped out.
A woman, breathtaking yet terrifying.
Long black hair flowed down her back, her skin pale as moonlight, her eyes glowing a deep scarlet. Two elegantly curved black horns rose from her head — unmistakably demonic, yet her body carried an unnatural grace rarely seen in Nightvail.
Worse than her beauty was the aura that walked with her.
Shadows curled protectively around her feet, as if afraid to leave her side.
The entire chamber went silent.
No demon dared breathe.
Even as tension filled the air, Rakshasha refused to be belittled.
"You think a pretty face can frighten me?" he snarled. "I will—"
He lunged.
A blur of claws, black energy, and roaring fury shot toward the woman.
She didn't move.
With a simple shift of her body — one step to the left, one tilt of her head — Rakshasha's explosive punch hit nothing but air. He swung again, roaring, but she avoided it effortlessly, as though she had seen the attack before it even began.
"You should stop, Rakshasha," she warned, voice soft but carrying across the entire hall.
He didn't.
Before his third strike could land, something flashed.
A ripple of shadow cut through the air.
Rakshasha's body remained standing.
But his head was no longer attached.
It flew upward, then fell to the polished black floor with a loud thud.
Silence.
Not one demon spoke, moved, or even swallowed. Their king — a ruthless monster feared for centuries — had been defeated so thoroughly that he hadn't touched her once.
The woman calmly walked past the corpse, her steps soft against the crimson‑stained floor. She ascended the obsidian stairs and sat casually on the demon king's throne, as if she had always been meant to sit there.
The demons watched, trembling, unsure what would happen next.
She crossed one leg over the other, lifted her chin, and finally spoke.
"I am Lilith — Hellborn Devil."
Her voice echoed like an enchantment across the chamber.
"I am here under divine instruction. The gods themselves have decreed that I oversee your upcoming war."
The demons bowed.
Not because they accepted her.
But because terror made their knees collapse.
As Lilith rested her hands on the throne, the shadows around her deepened. Nightvail had gained a new ruler for this war — and unlike the kings before her, she was not born of pride.
She was born of Hell.