In a lone dreary night filled with everlasting darkness, stood none in this empty forest, but the howl of frolicking wolves and lions hunting its prey. But yet the darkness bore an object forgotten to all living of peace.

A group of men covered in a mantle of dark, ominous clothes stood encircling an alter to commence a ritual. The ritual is said to cleanse the world of evil. The definition of evil to these barbarians is all those who have a hold over the might of magic.

There are known as Demon Lords, 66 in number. Worshipped by priests and priestess to fulfil their eternal order. Each having enough power to succumb humans to the delight of misery and plight. In fear, they thrive for their sorrows their right. Humanity, a race of destruction took that as their challenge. If a god even a demon be so strong then as races of Eden even they shall bow to none.

A great war soon engulfed the entirety of the continent. The plague reached homes throwing humanity to its bowels of despair. The demon god of disease laughed on their demise. The despair fueled his days and sharpened his nights.

So the entirety of population dwindled enough for humans to turn on their barbaric age. Caravans plundered as the ships drowned by the king of the oceans. The world knew of fright of the Kraken living in an oceanic night.

None was safe as fear gripped hold of their hearts but again who can the blame anyone for this blight upon their world seemed of their own doing. Humanity was never meant for magic, never meant to stand above their own station. Even so one dared for the right to above all as an example of might. A race gave no pity for its sin its might, fear in hearts demons alight.

Blood and gore feasted the lands for in applause of the villages burnt insight. Alas will a hero be born is known not to all...but what however is said is of a prophecy in light. The light cut from the darkness of the sky.

Again, humanity screams for their plight and the kings of pleasure and delight.

An ending to this twilight seems afar to the wolves and lions seeking a grandiose feast of blood. But again the ritual was done commemorating once more birth of a demon from centuries apart.

The continent will shake in every step he takes, blood will ravage the field in his stead. But again will anyone put a stop to this brewing of storm? A question haunting all but the answers unknown. Hither and thither, the children wail but their despair brings toil of none to their aid.

Oh, great hero, come fast for their lives held in the hands of thee. Will misery be your way or love stand for sanctity to your place? Come fast, O'heralder of storms for your need in this generation is yet to come...