dark descendent lurking fate

Pain was nothing new to Khur Zhal.

But humiliation—that was something else entirely.

He had fought humans who flared with desperate power.

He had traded blows with throne manifestation warriors.

But to be struck down...

To lose an arm...

To be forced to flee like a rat before beasts—

This was unforgivable.

---

1. The Return to the Abyss Spire

Khur Zhal crashed into the black stone of the Abyss Spire, the demonic fortress carved into the cliffs of screaming souls.

His arrival sent tremors down the entire tower.

Guards dropped to their knees.

Warlocks gasped at the sight of blood trailing from their general's shoulder.

> "Fetch the Witch-Mender," he snarled.

No one dared hesitate.

Within moments, the old hag appeared—her skin like cracked parchment, her eyes hollow and dark.

> "A beast did this?" she rasped.

> "Three," he growled. "A Tier 7 and two Tier 5s."

She blinked once.

> "You… faced Vyren?"

His glare silenced her.

> "Fix me."

The healing ritual began, but the arm was lost. Even with dark alchemy, it would never fully return.

> "Replace it. I'll have a better one," he said coldly.

---

2. The Council of Claws

Later, in the dark war chamber, Khur Zhal stood before his elite generals.

The room stank of sulfur, steel, and blood. Crimson banners fluttered along the walls—each soaked in real skin.

> "The altar is not some forgotten ruin," he declared. "It is a sanctuary—guarded."

They listened silently.

> "Three beasts have awakened to protect it. One is Vyren the Flame Tyrant."

The room stirred.

Vyren was a name that even demon warlords feared—a predator that once devoured armies for sport.

> "And something is within the altar. Something the beasts are willing to die to protect."

A commander, hooded and blindfolded, asked:

> "A relic?"

> "No." Khur Zhal's lips curled.

> "A human."

---

3. The Obsession Begins

He walked slowly toward the edge of the map.

> "A boy. Young. But powerful."

> "You saw him?"

> "No," Khur Zhal hissed, his voice trembling with bitter rage. "But he was the reason. The storm began when he claimed the altar's soul. And the beasts fight for him."

A long silence followed.

Then laughter—cold and sharp.

> "So… the beast-child is now our enemy?"

Khur Zhal did not smile.

> "No. He is our key."

---

4. Forge the Arm, Gather the Spies

He turned toward the witch-mender again.

> "Prepare the furnace."

> "For what?"

> "To forge me a new arm—of demonic alloy, reinforced by abyss bone."

He turned to his captains.

> "I want every warlock, every soul seer, and every realm diver searching for a path to that altar. I don't care what the cost is."

> "We will find a way," one hissed.

> "And when we do," Khur Zhal said slowly, voice low and menacing,

"I will rip Vyren's throat, burn the altar to ash… and bring that human boy back in chains."

---

5. A Name to Remember

He looked down at his severed arm, the bandages soaked crimson.

> "I want to know his name," he muttered.

> "The boy?" a general asked.

Khur Zhal nodded.

> "He wounded me. That makes him mine."

---

6. Far Across the Realms…

At the same moment, in a high-ranking demon palace, a scout returned to a noble lady known for her intelligence and venom.

> "My Lady," he whispered. "Khur Zhal has ordered a realm-wide shadow hunt. They seek… a human child."

The lady smiled, slowly sipping black wine.

> "Oh? Then we shall find him first."