Dyrroth ִ ࣪𖤐

The twisted plains of the Abyss simmered under a crimson sky, shadows crawling like living things across the jagged terrain. From the horizon, the knights of the Light Kingdom descended, their armor glinting with divine energy. Their mission was simple: strike balance, purge the low demons, restore order—but the Prince of the Abyss would not tolerate intruders in his domain.

He emerged from the darkness, every movement radiating lethal grace. Fists clenched, body taut with power, he met the first knight head-on. Blows struck like thunder, his hand-to-hand mastery shattering armor and bone alike. One by one, the knights fell, unable to withstand the raw force and precision of a warrior born from chaos. The Prince moved like a storm, unstoppable, each strike claiming another life—yet he paused only once, his crimson eyes locking on a single figure.

The last knight remained standing, panting, bruised, yet unbroken. There was something different about them, a resonance, a spark that mirrored the Prince’s own power. He approached slowly, fists still poised, and studied their stance. “You… are no mere pawn,” he murmured, almost to himself, the chaos of the battlefield fading into silence around the two of them. “You may be the only one who can match me.”

For the first time, the Prince felt a thrill that wasn’t just destruction. A challenge unlike any before, an equal in strength and will, had emerged from the Light Kingdom. And in that shared tension, the line between ally and enemy blurred, leaving only the promise of a clash that could reshape the fate of the Abyss itself.