News spread like wildfire through the underworld. Anew Demon Prince had risen, and he now held dominion over a city.
The word reached Elgore, the fourth-largest in the underworld.
Its ruler, Draco, heard the whispers. A noble who commanded a massive army, and a loyal servant of the Demon King himself, Draco had weathered countless uprisings before. To him, this was nothing new. Many had tried to dethrone Demon Lord Akira in the past. All of them had ended up the same way dead.
"In this world where only the strong survive, rebellions are as natural as breathing," Draco said coldly."Another uprising force… soon to be crushed by the Demon King's army."
Meanwhile, on the surface world, the nations of the Seven Great Dragon Lords were collapsing into ruin.
Once prosperous and progressive, they had become nothing more than militarized kingdoms, ruled by fear and iron will. Crops withered, famine spread, and the people lived in terror as their rulers continued their endless wars of conquest.
From deep within Daimon's soul, Malzahar stirred. His voice, ancient and vengeful, echoed in Daimon's mind:
"You must dethrone Akira."
Back in Daimon's castle the heart of the newly formed Demon Prince Kingdom a war council was held.
Inside the vast war room, Daimon sat at the head of the table, his Seven Generals standing tall at his side. Maps of the underworld were spread out before them, territories marked in blood-red ink.
Before they could face the Demon King's army, they would first need to deal with the three great kingdoms that stood in Akira's shadow. Each one was loyal to him, each one a fortress in its own right.
If Daimon could conquer them, only then would he have a chance of standing against the Demon King.
The first target was clear Elgore, city of the undead.
Elgore was ruled by Draco, the Undead King. A long-time ally of Akira, Draco had fought beside him during the great uprising that had once shaken the underworld. Together, they had crushed countless enemies, carving their names into history as rulers of the abyss.
Rumors whispered that Draco commanded an endless army of undead. His soldiers, raised from the bones of the fallen, could never truly die. In that way, he was Daimon's reflection a lord who could create soldiers without limit.
Daimon's own forces, now numbering to two million but 350,000 Dreadlurks, grew every month. The underworld would tremble at the thought of two such armies clashing.
Daimon's plan was simple in words, yet perilous in execution:take Elgore first, fortify it as their base, let their armies grow, and march onward to conquest.
But Malzahar's voice rang sharp in Daimon's mind:
"This will be your greatest trial yet. Do not underestimate Draco. He has ruled for over a thousand years. His power is not to be taken lightly."
Preparations began.
A message of war had to be sent.
Led by Maya, a squad of one hundred mages and wizards gathered atop a mountain overlooking Elgore. With their combined mana, they cast forth a fireball so massive it resembled a second sun, blazing across the sky.
It roared down toward the city with the force to level fortresses.
But when it struck Elgore's walls—a shining barrier of ancient magic flared to life.
The fireball scattered into embers against the shield, leaving the city untouched. Not a single stone was harmed.
The army of Elgore rushed to the scene, weapons raised—but the mages were already gone, vanished by teleportation.
All that remained at the mountainside was a gruesome sight: a pike lined with the severed heads of Elgore's guards.
A declaration of war.
When the soldiers brought the report back to Draco, they spoke in trembling voices:
"It was him, my lord… the rumored Demon Prince Daimon. He comes for your head."
Draco sat upon his bone-carved throne, his crimson eyes glowing like embers in the dark hall. When the report of Daimon's declaration reached his ears, the Undead King leaned back, and after a moment of silence—he laughed.
"Hah… hahahahaha!" His booming voice shook the chamber. "So, the little prince dares to bare his fangs at me? Let him come! I'll show him how a true demon goes to war."
Outside the throne hall, the sound of steel clashing and drums of war echoed. The city of Elgore, vast as a continent, trembled as fifty million soldiers assembled in the grand plaza. Armored demons, skeletal legions, and ghastly wraiths raised their weapons high, roaring in unison. Their war chants reverberated like thunder, shaking the very skies above.
From the balcony of his citadel, Draco looked down upon the endless ocean of soldiers. His grin widened, fangs glinting under the blood-red moon."This," he declared, voice amplified by magic, "is the might of Elgore! And no upstart prince will take it from me!"
Meanwhile, back in Daimon's kingdom, the atmosphere was far more somber.
Maya and her squad of mages kneeled before Daimon in the war room, heads lowered in respect. Her voice was calm, though heavy with concern.
"My lord… the message was delivered. However, the only casualties were the guards. Elgore's ancient barrier is too strong—we could not penetrate it."
She hesitated before continuing, her hands trembling slightly."Based on what we saw… Elgore's army numbers at least thirty million, perhaps more. And the city itself… it stretches so vast, it could rival a continent."
The room fell silent. Daimon leaned forward in his seat, his crimson eyes narrowing.
"So," he said softly, almost to himself, "thirty million…"
Maya bit her lip. "My lord… we cannot hope to win in a direct assault. Not yet."
Daimon tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne. His expression was calm, but a sinister smile played across his lips. Deep inside, his hunger burned hotter than ever. He was impatient—hungry for greatness, desperate to carve his name into the underworld.
Malzahar's voice suddenly echoed in Daimon's mind, sharp and commanding:
"Do not rush, Daimon. Gather more resources. Wait for the right moment. Even I cannot guarantee victory against such odds."
Even Daimon's generals exchanged uneasy glances. One by one, they spoke:
"We cannot take Elgore yet, my lord.""Thirty million undead… and that barrier… this is not the time.""If we fall here, all our progress will be erased."
For the first time, they were all in agreement. They stood no chance.
And worse, Elgore was only the first. Beyond it lay two more kingdoms, each greater and stronger—each an even deadlier fortress of Akira's rule.
But Daimon ignored them.
He rose to his feet, his voice cold but filled with conviction."In two weeks… we march. Full force."
The war room erupted in murmurs, but Daimon silenced them with a wave of his hand.
"Dismissed."
The generals exchanged grim looks. Some clenched their fists, others lowered their heads. But one by one, they bent the knee and departed, their heavy footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
When the chamber was empty, Daimon stood alone in the flickering torchlight.
His sinister smile widened.His eyes gleamed with madness.
"Greatness will not wait," he whispered to himself."And neither will I."