Chapter 1: The Final Light of the Demon King

  Long ago, when gods still walked among stars and mortals carved legends from the bones of titans, there existed a kingdom not built on nd or sea—but in shadow, myth, and rebellion.

  At the heart of the Bck Demon Forest, wrapped in endless twilight and eternity, ruled the Demon King of Insanity: Kelvin Syltherion Ashborn. Neither wholly demon nor wholly human, he was the wound of two worlds—a scar where light and darkness bled into each other.

  Born of a great healer from another world and a Demon Lord of ancient fme, Kelvin wielded contradiction like a bde. On one hand, he bore the miracle of restoration. On the other hand, the abyss of unmaking. Mercy and madness danced in his soul like twin eclipses.

  His empire was not born of conquest, but of defiance. To his banner flocked dragons, spirits, vampires, and exiled races long hunted by the Holy Kingdoms. They called him a tyrant. His people called him a savior.

  At his side stood the Last High Elf, a name now lost in whispers and snowfall. She was the blessed of the Spirit Queen and King, a wielder of eternal frost, and bearer of a sword said to defy death itself. It was neither war nor prophecy that brought them together, but fate itself—the silent will of the world. Together, they nearly touched divinity.

  But peace is a lie in the world of men and gods.

  The heavens grew jealous. The kings of light conspired. The gods summoned forth their legions: a radiant goddess, four archons of Lust, Pride, Envy, and Wrath; a hundred heroes; a female champion wreathed in fme and armed with the Sword of Light; ten million mortal soldiers; and five million holy fanatics blessed with divine light.

  And against them stood Kelvin.

  The war shattered continents. Rivers boiled. Moons cracked. The skies fell.

  “Skyfall is where we start,” she had whispered.

  It was not a battle—it was an ending. And from that end, the heavens bled.

  Kelvin Syltherion Ashborn killed half of humanity in that war. He crushed nations beneath his wrath, brought the world’s greatest champions to ruin, and cast the gods themselves into silence. The ground became ash. The sky, a screaming wound.

  But even he—Sword Saint of Madness, King of the Free Races—could not protect everything.

  The High Elf fell, betrayed by a god-touched prince wearing light like armor. In her dying breath, she wished not for revenge, but for salvation. For the world. For peace.

  And so, the Demon King obeyed.

  He cast aside his throne and became a weapon—no longer king, but bde. A Sword Transcendent. Wielding eternity, he struck down the descending pgue: creatures of chaos from realms beyond reality, drawn to the death cries of gods and men.

  He ended them all.

  The gods fell. The heavens broke. Silence followed.

  And in the stillness, he screamed.

  His soul split under the weight of loss—one half cast into the void, the other into rebirth.

  Before his body vanished, one final curse echoed across the realms.

  “Humanity has stolen our final light. Let my name be the bde that pierces them through time.”

  It is said that from that day, any human who hears the name Kelvin Syltherion Ashborn feels a crushing pressure in their chest, as if the sky itself colpses upon them. They hear a scream—not of man, not of beast, but something born of grief deeper than death. And then, they fall. Silent. Unconscious. Broken.

  No magic has lifted it. No prayer has silenced it.

  It is humanity’s greatest weakness.

  And so, the name is being erased.

  But erasure is not the same as ending.

  In a forgotten pce of frost, beneath yers of ancient ice, a light stirs. The st echo of hope—reborn in silence—on Earth.

  And far above, the heavens, hells, and eldritch beings watch.

  They feel it—fear, awe, revetion. A new power is born.

  In a frozen church of long-lost stone, the sword of the beloved remains—guarding the entwined bodies of the Demon King of Insanity and his eternal love, untouched by time.

  And in the dark beyond the veil, a being of pure shadow watches it all... and smiles.

  Who knows what is truth and what is not?

  The will of the world knows it all.

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