Zytra - the land of the brave, a haven for adventurers far and wide. It promised riches and glory and offered plenty to those who she deemed worthy.
Like many others seeking to mark their names in the lands, a man had arrived in this land many years ago with little more than twenty Syros (currency of Zytra). Fear of poverty did not deter this man, as his lust for battle far outweighed his flesh's desire for sustenance. This man's rage-fuelled fierce desire to become the strongest being in the world thrust him neck deep into the hairiest of situations, but he always found a way to beat the odds and emerge the victor.
Some would find it ironic that the happiest moments of this man's life all came in the midst of battle. From the elder dragons of Skrymdoor to the famous murderers of Zetana. He had seen them all, beat them all, and now there was nothing left he could challenge. Now and then, an adventurer would show up to challenge him. Sadly, none could match him, and the fights never lasted long enough for him to get any real pleasure.
Empty.
That was his sole emotion. He needed something more, something to reawaken his thirst. Unfortunately, this was a wish the land of Zytra could grant no longer.
At the center of Zytra sat a massive, dark forest called the 'The Forest of Dreiza,' home to all manner of demons. Patrons in taverns, kings in palaces, and warriors in their strongholds all touted this place as the most dangerous location in all of Zytra.
However, one hidden rule of Zytra was that, wherever danger thrived, there was almost always considerable profit to be made. The Forest of Dreiza was no different. High-Level mana beasts guarded impressive caches and treasures capable of transforming frogs into a Prince overnight.
Despite knowing the risk, greed, lofty ideals, dreams and even love often drove men and women to challenge the forest. They all believed they would be the one to return home with enough riches to completely change their lives. Unfortunately, The Forest of Dreiza was not so generous with its gifts. Only one in every ten people that entered the forest returned, their numbers adding to the horde of undead that forever haunted the land.
Located at the center of the abominable forest was a mountain that peaked past dark clouds that forever blocked Dreiza's sky. This hill was nicknamed 'Oni Hill,' by adventurers because of the several demons that made it their home. It once housed the great Demon King, but he lost his life to the current occupant of the castle, a man feared in all the realms for his cruelty, the 'Harbinger of Chaos,' Razznik Y'Terlow.
Deep within Oni Hill, a magnificent throne constructed entirely from bones sat on a cold stage overlooking a dreary, bleak throne room. Floating balls of light called 'magelights' illuminated the room, revealing its occupants, two skeleton Death Knights, a skeleton arch-mage, and a red-haired young man who looked to be in his late twenties.
The three skeletons drew a stark contrast to the man who stood in front of the wall behind the throne. One was over 2 meters tall and donned a full set of high-level bronze armor. The hilts and blades of two swords as tall as he was poked out from behind a tattered cape. The second death knight looked to be a hybrid between beast and man. Its four arms were folded across its chest, a four-meters long tail curled around it. The second death knight had a skinny build, and rather than armor, its bones formed a hard, impenetrable shell. The skeleton arch-mage wore a standard mage's robe and held a large staff which used a human skull as its focusing orb.
Silence reigned in the throne room as the skeletons watched the man dip a brush into one of many small pots rotating around him. Satisfied with the color, he proceeded to update the painting on the wall.
"I always thought Lord Razznik hated paintings," the second death knight, Sephyr the Swift murmured, breaking the silence. It had a shrill voice that slightly echoed its words.
"Lord Razznik does not hate paintings," the first skeleton, Rozios the True refuted. It had a hoarse voice akin to that of a sixty-year-old man. "He hates the act of painting."
"Explicitly, he hates painting himself," the skeleton arch-mage, Khounuit the Damned emphasized.
Sephyr used its tail to scratch its head. "Then why is he painting now? He has been on that thing for two days already."
Rozios and Khounuit shared a look. A depressed atmosphere descended as both skeleton warriors looked at the naïve Sephyr.
"That is because the time has come." In the end, Rozios was the one to speak up.
"Time?" Sephyr muttered.
"The time has come for Lord Razznik to leave our side," Khounuit explained, his voice uncharacteristically hollow. "Thus, The Lord chose to indulge in something he would normally never do."
Sephyr was even more confused. "Why would Lord Razznik leave us?"
Khounuit tightly gripped his staff to control his tumbling emotions. Once again, Rozios the True provided the answer. "The Lord has a task he must fulfill."
"Ah, I see," Sephyr nodded. "You guys scared me for a moment there. When will he return?"
"You dare to question The Lord's time!?" Flames burst out of Khounuit's eye sockets as he heavily reprimanded Sephyr.
"Sorry," Sephyr apologized.
"The Lord will return when he wishes," Rozios the True stated, promptly reducing the tension. "Sephyr, it is right to miss The Lord's presence. There is no need for apologies."
"Okay, so he will return like always. Hehe, you guys should not have gotten me so worried in the first place."
Rozios and Khounuit once again shared a look between themselves. "Yes. Like always. The Lord will return."
"They are here," a deep voice boomed, carrying in it an authority that could not be disputed by any living being. The three undead generals shuddered as the brush in the hands of Razznik Y'Terlow fell to the ground. A series of loud cracking sounds echoed in the hall as the pots fell to the ground and shattered.
The man swiped his hand in the air. The seemingly benign action caused a small screen to appear in front of him. He rapidly clicked on a few options, and a pillar of light surrounded him. Moments later, the light disappeared to reveal a terrifying, black, full-plated armor. The skull motif and dense dark aura effusing from the armor harkened memories of the previous demon king.
Razznik Y'Terlow turned around, his face hidden behind a grotesque helmet that had wrought terror and trauma in countless hearts across the plains. The combination of the mask and armor granted him the nickname, 'Demon King of Dreiza' coined by a famous bard.
The Demon King solemnly regarded his constituents. What a joke. Who would believe that the Demon King only had three soldiers at his command? Yet this was the reality. Razznik granted the demons and undead under the previous Demon King their freedom when he slew the former Demon King. Ever since then, the number of beings in Oni Hill drastically reduced over time until there were only three left.
These final three warriors had refused to leave the hill, and Razznik let them do what they want. Who would have thought these three would be the faces he would see at a time like this.
"My Lord, there are over five-hundred warriors on the ground floor," Khounuit reported. "They have just begun battle with the fodder skeletons."
"Five Hundred," Razznik repeated. "Hmph, as I thought. This is not the location."
"My Lord?"
"Nothing," Razznik said with a wave of his hand. "Go and welcome the guests. I will be at the peak." He looked at Rozios and Sephyr. "Rozios the True, Sephyr the Swift; battle to your heart's content."
Rozios clasped his hand to his chest and bowed. "As you desire, My Lord,"
"Hehe, your wish is my command," Sephyr stated, and with a flash, it disappeared from the room.
Rozios the True watched as Razznik made his way over to an exit on the east side of the throne room. As always, the Great Demon King cut a solitary figure, marching towards a future only he could see. Something inside Rozios snapped. "My Lord!"
Razznik paused and turned to look at the general. "What is the matter?"
'Will you return to us?' Rozios resisted the temptation to voice his thoughts. Instead, he shook his head and said, "Nothing my lord. See you soon." Rozios tapped his feet against the earth and a small mandala formed under him. A pillar of light shot up from the mandala and shrouded his figure. Moments later, the teleportation matrix sent him out of the throne room.
"If it is alright with you, I would like to remain here," requested Khounuit.
"Do what you want," Razznik replied and turned around. The magelights dimmed, ultimately shutting off as the Demon King made his way out of the throne room. Within seconds, the throne room plunged into dense darkness.
The exit Razznik took led to a stone staircase hewn into the surface of Oni Halls. Razznik looked down at the dark forest with mirth as he ascended the stairs. How long had it been since he laid eyes on anything else? Months? Years? The Demon King could not be certain.
In years past, Razznik often ventured into dangerous realms in search of enemies to fight. He would then return to this mountain to rest before leaving for another conquest. Its barren walls used to be home, but then one day he ran out of enemies to fight. One day he returned from a conquest without finding a single foe worthy of fighting. That day turned two. Days soon turned into weeks and weeks into months.
At one point, Razznik finally admitted the horrible truth he had been avoiding. There were just no longer any beings he could challenge. He was officially and unequivocally the strongest being alive in all the realms.
Becoming the strongest should have been a point of celebration for the Demon King, especially as it was a dream millions of adventurers strove toward. Unfortunately, for this Demon King, the goal should have remained just that. His entire existence relied on the journey to become the strongest. Now that he was, where was he supposed to go from there?
Ever since he admitted the truth to himself, Razznik cooped himself in Oni Hill like a good Demon King, listlessly wasting away his time. The occasional challenger did pop up now and then; Destined heroes with their magic swords or famous mercenaries looking for a quick buck. Unfortunately, none managed to excite the Demon King. He dispatched the few that made it past the Death Knights with ease.
The walls of Oni Hill that once felt like home now closed in on him, wallowing in his solitude.
Luckily, Oni's walls were not all there was to the mountain. Razznik finally ascended to the peak and was greeted with a stunning sight, despite the lack of sunlight. A small garden with an assortment of flowers, most of which were planted by him, decorated the path he followed from the mountainside to a glass marble throne that sparkled ever so magnificently when the sun rose.
A small lake glistened under the moonlight with the most beautiful fish living freely in it. Unbeknownst to most this lake's water was made entirely from the Rebirth Elixir. A small bottle of this Elixir could pass for millions of Syros. Yet, it was being used to raise fish by the wasteful Demon King.
Indeed, it was a spot for the king of the land.
But, it would not be his after today. After today, none of these would matter.
Razznik sighed as he walked past the pond and arrived at his throne. Resting on the side of the throne was a buster sword so large, many had asked how he managed to wield it, let alone swing it the way he did.
Razznik handcrafted the sword himself, much like every weapon in his infamous 'twelve series.' He had used metals from the depths of Groknir, land of the savage dwarves, and flames of the elder dragons, pouring all his desires for greatness and power into every strike of the hammer.
The black masterpiece had been born from the embers of the dying flames. Razznik personally picked the skull that adorned the hilt from the King of Dragons' feeding grounds.
Razznik picked up the sword and sat on the throne. He balanced the blade on his legs and leaned into the throne. He shut his eyes, reveling in the silence that followed. The night wind brought with it memories of the past. His time training at Level 0. He had spent over two years learning proper combat techniques from every martial school in all the major cities he could find.
Razznik often wondered how people would react if they knew he didn't pass level 1 for over six months while was in the first city. He had spent that whole time training in combat schools, his only source of income the pittance he earned from helping the artisans in the town.
It had been a long, dull and arduous period, but it served as the foundation for the legends that would later rise. People often envied the finished work, but rarely considered the blood, sweat, and tears needed to get to that point.
Crunch!
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted Razznik's journey into memory lane. The Demon King opened his eyes and saw a lock of brown hair slowly rising at the end of the path. As it rose, it revealed its owner to be a young mage in his late teens. He was dressed as the traditional mages in a blue gown and held a staff whose power even the demon king respected.
Razznik's mind traveled to the three skeleton knights who always awaited his return. So, they fell.
"Impressive," the Demon King acknowledged. "It must not have been easy to defeat the Guardians. You must be proud of yourself."
The man did not reply.
"From your appearance, I presume the rest of your party died in the mountains." This taunt, the mage did react to in the form of a wince. Over five hundred of his companions perished against three skeletons. It was a miracle he wasn't traumatized.
Seemingly oblivious to the mage's troubles, Razznik said with a solemn gaze, in the depths of which smoldering embers silently burned, "A small price to pay."
Razznik cleared his thoughts and stood up. He balanced the buster sword on his shoulder and strolled towards the mage. "Now then, your party lays dead behind you, and you cannot possibly hope to beat me on your own. So, what is it you desire? Gold? Power? Fame? I will grant to you that which is your desire as your reward for making it this far."
"...ake," the mage replied, barely above a whisper.
"Pardon?"
"A handshake!" the mage repeated with an embarrassed yell.
"Ho? A fan then?" Razznik sighed with a tinge of disgust in his voice. "Fine then," he replied and stretched out his hand.
"It is an honor," the mage acknowledged with a bow and grasped Razznik's armored hand with his. Right then, a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, followed closely by a grin just as, if not more grotesque than the Demon King's.
Realization dawned upon the king, but before he could react, the mage screamed, "[Long-Distance Teleportation!]".
Long-Distance Teleportation was one of the most useful skills in Zytra, but a mage could typically only use it on themselves. To use on an ally or friend required either a high-level transmutation skill or an appropriate item. To use on an enemy, however, required a mastery of the conjuration field of magic.
Adventurers rarely used Long-Distance Teleportation outside of transportation because of its many restrictions. Some of these restrictions included: body contact; teleportation takes both you and your target, and worst of all the lengthy spell required to cast it on an enemy.
Razznik had seen it used a few times for suicide missions. Users would transport an enemy into the skies with them. They would then both plunge to their deaths. However, ff this mage thought he could kill the Demon King like this, he had severely underestimated Razznik's abilities.
Razznik watched a rotating blue light envelop his body and braced himself for the journey. With a flash, nothing remained where they once stood. The clearing fell into a deathly silence as the last embers of the sinking sun disappeared, drowning the mountain in still darkness.
Below the peak, individual magelights occasionally blinked, shedding the tiniest of light on a massive painting that spanned the throne room's four walls. Three different colored will-o-wisp lights appeared in the darkness and floated to the back of the throne where they would burn eternal.
Several miles away, a small, soft blue light appeared on a large field bearing, terrible scars of a battle once fought here. The field never recovered from the harsh treatment, and the only vestiges of the once beautiful land were pockets of grasses scattered around the scorched earth.
At the center of this field, the blue light pulsated like a heartbeat, then rapidly expanded, taking on the form of two men. It softly dissipated, revealing the demon king and his captor, their hands still clasped still tightly clasped.
The mage fell to his knees, exhaustion evident on his sweat-drenched face. The fatigue was yet another drawback of the 'teleport' skill; it rendered its user incapable of further movement for a few minutes. It also drained all the mana from whoever cast it no matter how large his/her mana might be.
It was for all intents and purposes, a suicide option to use it, which was why it mildly surprised the king to see he was not up in the sky or above some volcano.
"Where are...?" Razznik started to ask, but the question died in his throat. He recognized the field in which they had landed. Nostalgia flooded him like a wave, as he recalled the epic fight he participated in on this field.
Yes, this was where it all began. It was only fitting that this be the final battlefield.
"Child, Your life shall cease now," Razzznik said to the young mage whose hand he still held tightly. "But as a just reward for your bravery, I grant thee this staff," he said with a smile as a white oak staff materialized in his left hand. "Wield it well. The staff of Eid has a monstrous power even I found hard to control, but I am sure it will not prove too difficult for one such as you."
The mage weakly reached out and accepted the weapon, immediately feeling his body grow stronger once his hand made contact. He did not have time to relish his new staff because a black mass immediately blocked his vision.
"To the circle, he returns," whispered Razznik as the mage's body dissipated into to petals of light, which softly flowed upwards towards the blackened sky.
They both knew, however, that this was not actual death. Those marked by the goddess - as he once was - had the gift of immortality. When killed, they would be reborn in one of her temples. Razznik lost that gift when he rebelled against her, which in turn turned him into the most wanted man in the land.
"What do you have planned for me?" the Demon King mused as he surveyed the field known as the 'Valley of K'iol.'
The 'Valley of K'iol' was once the battleground or more correctly, a coliseum for the Perians. The Perians were a nation of giants which when not waging war with itself, terrorized its neighboring towns. The giants loved to watch the battles fought in the valley from the towering cliffs that bordered the valley.
Years past, a decree had been sent out for all adventurers to find a way to stop the tyranny of the giants. The current Demon King was but a young adventurer back then. In his first real conquest, he challenged Roth, overlord of the giants to a duel. After a long and terrible battle, Razznik emerged victorious, shocking the world. Razznik then used his privilege as the new overlord of the giants to order them across the ocean to a different land where they could rampage to their hearts' content.
The battle put his name on the ears of every adventurer, noble and even gods. Most of them sought him out to further their agendas, unwittingly granting him even more power, until eventually, he became far too powerful.
Such is the fate of the strong
A sudden change in the atmosphere snapped the Demon King out of his reverie. Fog began to rise from the mountains around him. It coiled its way around the field with a sinister hiss, increasing in height and thickness as it did so.
The fog formed a circle around him, blocking his view of the surrounding mountains. The formless beast rose even higher and arced over him, eventually cutting off his view of the clouds. As if, recognizing its prey was captured, it abruptly plunged towards down, and rapidly engulfed him.
A silhouette formed in the mist, as Razznik, unfazed by the strange fog, drove his sword into the earth.
"Demon King Razznik Y'Terlow," the silhouette called with the voice of a mature lady. "You have been charged with treason against the Zytraen Empire. What say you in your defense?"
"Ha... Hahahahaha!" Razznik bellowed with exaggerated amusement. His helmet warped the sound of his voice into a deep, sinister laugh akin to a thousand demons.
"What amuses you so?" the silhouette asked.
"Treason? Against the Zytraen Empire?" Razznik challenged with a chuckle. "Surely you jest?" he asked, disgust and anger evident in his voice.
"You were tasked with destroying the demon clan. Instead, you chose to not only side with them but also deigned to attack your fellow adventurers. What is that if not treason?"
"What gives you the right to decide if an entire race lives or dies?"
"The goddess, Aethir giver of life, ordered it so."
"What consequence does that hold? Are you saying the gods cannot be wrong? Or perhaps you believe Aethir may take a life because she offered it?" The woman in the fog seemed not to have an answer to his question. Razznik continued in a lighter tone. "It matters not does it. Our words, thoughts, and methods are completely different. Nothing I say will get through to you, nor will anything you say get through to me. There is only one way for people like us to communicate truly." Razznik brandished his sword with apparent enthusiasm.
"It is regrettable. I had hoped we could resolve this peacefully. I suppose this is a fitting end for 'Razznik the Destroyer'" the silhouette wistfully said.
"How about we begin?" Razznik declared as he swung his sword in an arc. A massive shockwave instantly scattered the fog. "Ho. This is quite the reception," Razznik stated as he surveyed the once empty field.
Adventurers of all races had already surrounded him, their approach masked by the fog that had settled in earlier. Their numbers easily ranged in the millions, and most of them looked strong enough to give him trouble.
"This is not a reception Demon King," the silhouette voice called from one of the surrounding cliffs. The voice was revealed to belong a lady who looked to be in her late twenties. Hair, the color of snow fluttered in the night breeze, underneath which a pair of cold blue eyes glared at the Demon King. Adorned in a white robe and matching headgear, this woman was a true figure of matchless beauty. "This is your funeral," she corrected, as she raised her left arm.
"For one such as I to be sent off by so many? This is truly an honor," Razznik smugly replied. His sword dematerialized, and a pair of blood red swords with chains that wrapped around his arm took its place.
"Do not flatter yourself," she scolded and brought down her arm.
Like a bolt of lightning running through metal, a frenzy arose in the warriors around Razznik. The intensity of the excitement increased the closer they were to the Demon King.
A flurry of arrows, spears, balls of fire, ice (basically every projectile in the nine realms) tore through the air, their target the lone warrior in the middle.
"Ha! So it begins," Razznik laughed as he whirled his swords around him. With a cry of defiance, he slammed his swords onto the earth. Cracks instantaneously appeared in the ground around him, out of which pillars of flames erupted. These flame pillars destroyed or blew away every last projectile.
The sight of Razznik's black armor amid the pillars of flames, strolling ever so slightly towards them, sent a chill up the signs of everyone.
"Monster," was the word on the lips of every one present as the Demon King lunged at them.