Evil Grows

The Demon King paced restlessly within the dark confines of his throne room, his furrowed brow betraying the deep concern that gnawed at his immortal soul. His kingdom, a realm of shadows and malevolence, teetered on the precipice of collapse. The dire tidings had reached his ears, and the weight of the situation bore down upon him like a curse.

The Elves, a race known for their ancient wisdom and unparalleled skill in the art of warfare, had declared war on his dominion. Their allegiance was with the humans, those ephemeral beings who had summoned champions from distant worlds to stand as their vanguard against the demon horde. It was a calculated move, a strategic alliance designed to tilt the scales of power in their favor, and the Demon King could feel the bitter sting of betrayal.

His demonic legions, once unyielding and formidable, were now engaged in a losing battle. They fought valiantly, but they faced a relentless onslaught from the combined forces of Elves and humans, who believed they held dominion over all realms. The very land that had once belonged to demons was slipping through their clawed fingers like grains of sand.

Just a week prior, the invaders had breached the formidable gates of the demon stronghold, and it had fallen upon the Demon King himself to confront the heroes summoned by the humans. These champions, seemingly immortal, had been a relentless thorn in his side. He had vanquished them, but as immortals, they would return, rising anew with undying resolve.

The Demon King knew that time was his greatest enemy. With each passing day, the invaders gained more ground, inching closer to the heart of his dark realm. His thoughts raced, seeking a strategy, a glimmer of hope that could turn the tide of this war. For in the face of overwhelming odds, the Demon King's indomitable spirit refused to bow, and he was determined to defy fate and

The somber words of his advisor weighed heavily upon the Demon King's shoulders. The once-thriving demon economy, a vital pillar of their kingdom's strength, now lay in ruins. The dwarves, known for their masterful craftsmanship, had turned their backs on the demon realm, refusing to trade goods and armor that were desperately needed. The dragons, ancient allies and sources of immeasurable power, had severed all ties. Key economic centers had fallen into the hands of the enemy.

These dire circumstances were not lost on the Demon King. He understood the motives behind these decisions, driven not by malice but by the looming specter of destruction. If they didn't comply with the invaders' demands, his people would be condemned to a life of fear and servitude or subjected to unspeakable horrors.

In the face of this despair, the Demon King's resolve remained unbroken. He knew that drastic measures were required to ensure the survival of his kingdom. Rising from his throne, he left the throne room behind, his advisor left in awe of his determination. Descending through layers of darkness, he reached a hidden chamber that lay shrouded in obscurity, a place only accessible with a secret key.

Inside this chamber resided a young man, now in his prime. He possessed a formidable physique, his muscles honed by years of training. Long, unruly hair concealed his eyes, and he worked diligently on a mask, surrounded by an array of masks of various designs and themes. This man, this human, had been found by the Demon King on a battlefield that had unfolded twenty-four years ago.

Remarkably, the human had never uttered a single word throughout his life, a silence that held a special significance for the Demon King. It was in this silence that he found solace, for in this human, he saw a symbol of unwavering dedication, an embodiment of the relentless spirit that would drive them to defy the encroaching darkness.

The Demon King, known as Placidusax to his subjects, understood the immense danger that the man in the chamber represented. This human, who had grown under his care, was a double-edged sword, a potential disaster waiting to unfold. The crux of the matter lay in the fact that this man, this enigmatic figure of muscle and masks, comprehended not the concepts of good or evil. His existence was a singular focus, revolving solely around himself, his masks, and the presence of the Demon King.

Born into a world consumed by war long before his first breath, this man knew not of the innocence that others took for granted. His life had been forged in the crucible of battle, and his silence was the echo of a war-torn soul. Placidusax considered him as one of his own few children, an unlikely bond forged amidst the chaos of their realm.

Yet, as the world outside grew ever darker, and the encroachment of humans threatened to engulf their kingdom, the Demon King realized that the time had come to release this man into the uncertain future. It was a decision fraught with peril, for the man's understanding of morality was non-existent, and his actions could prove catastrophic.

Placidusax's heart ached with the weight of this choice, but he knew that it was a necessary sacrifice to protect what remained of his realm. He had little hope for his own salvation, but he held onto a glimmer of faith that this child, this silent warrior, might somehow find a way to survive amidst the chaos that lay ahead. With a heavy heart and a silent prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, he resolved to let go of the man, releasing him into a world where the line between savior and destroyer was perilously thin.

And so was evil released onto this world, forever taking roots in people's fear and anger. 

And evil never dies...