Before the rifts, before the realms learned harmony or ruin,
there was Irithel—a warrior born beneath the red moons of the Demon Realm.
Beautiful.
Gallant.
A sword-dancer whose every step left drifting embers,
a combatant whose resolve shone brighter than any flame.
Fate, however, is cruelest to those who still believe in light.
After losing all she held dear—friends, kin, the life she once protected—
the universe answered her sorrow.
From the deepest furnace of Hell's final layer rose the Abyssflame,
a fire that devoured truth, shadow, and hope in equal measure.
It chose her.
Or perhaps… it mourned with her.
Entwined with the inferno came something older than time itself:
the Ethereal Soul, the primordial core of creation.
It sank into her heart, merging with the dark flame within.
But no being—mortal, angel, or demon—was meant to wield both.
Her soul cracked.
Her tears burned black.
Her kindness twisted into a force the realms had no name for.
Thus was born Demonlord Irithel,
the one who stood above ruin and shaped it to her will.
⸻
THE ERA OF CORRUPTION
With madness and brilliance intertwined,
Irithel forged a dominion where none had existed:
Nexus.
A realm suspended in the folds of reality,
a fortress where skies shimmered with fractured memories,
and rivers of living blue flame marked her sorrow.
A home built on desolation
—yet a throne only she could sit upon.
No intruder could approach without being reduced to ash.
Her reign was silent,
but her presence shook all realms like distant thunder.
⸻
THE GREAT SIEGE OF NEXUS
Whispers spread.
Heroes stirred.
Even ancient enemies stood side by side.
Warriors of the Earth Realm,
Arbiters of the Angelic Host,
and the Demon Realm's fiercest champions
united to reclaim the Ethereal Heart before it shattered the cosmos.
Ninety-nine legends marched into Nexus.
They entered not to conquer—
but to save existence.
What they encountered was terror gilded in beauty.
Irithel fought as though she commanded the end of days.
Her blade carved arcs of collapsing starlight.
Her wings, wrought from Abyssflame itself,
swept aside entire armies in a single stroke.
She called down burning constellations like javelins,
split mountains of ether with a flick of her wrist,
and summoned oceans of void-fire that swallowed the earth.
The siege lasted nine days.
On the tenth, the ninety-nine fell.
And yet… in the moment their spirits touched her,
something stirred.
A memory.
A warmth.
A forgotten shard of herself.
For a heartbeat, she returned to sanity.
⸻
THE SEALING OF NEXUS
Clarity cut deeper than any blade.
She looked upon the fallen—
heroes, tyrants, strangers—
and understood:
She must not be allowed to walk the realms again.
With trembling resolve,
Irithel raised her hand to the sky she built.
Chains of pure will erupted,
binding the ninety-nine souls to her own,
binding the Ethereal Soul within her chest.
A prison of sorrow.
A seal born of sacrifice.
The Abyssflame surged outward in a cataclysmic wave,
cloaking Nexus in eternal fire.
Gateways shattered.
Paths vanished.
The realm slipped from all maps, memories, and worlds.
In her final moment of clarity,
her voice carried through the collapsing dimension:
"Let none find me…
nor the heart I carry…
until fate commands otherwise."
Then the Demonlord vanished into her own darkness,
and Nexus fell silent—
a forgotten realm, sealed for eternity.
⸻
THE ETHEREAL SOUL AWAKENS
And then…
the Ethereal Soul gazed outward.
Across dimensions it reached,
its awareness threading through the veils of reality.
It scanned the endless tapestry of existence,
searching — waiting — calculating.
In its infinite perception,
it sensed a soul capable of inheriting its burden.
A soul resonant enough to survive its power.
A soul that would rise when the moment demanded it.
That soul was Isaac,
in a distant reality,
living an ordinary life,
ignorant of the cosmic storm that had just begun.
And in the shadows between dimensions,
ancient forces stirred — entities who had waited far longer than mortals could dream.
The time had come.
The hunt would begin.
The Ethereal Soul settled into its silent vigil,
patient and unblinking,
awaiting the day its new bearer would awaken:
A soul destined to wield power over time and space,
or be utterly consumed by it.