As the world slowly succumbed to chaos, Ezrahl became stronger from its flames and ashes. He had always gained whatever he wanted, always being the prodigy who never failed.
A warrior so perfect as if he forged to become so ever since his eyes opened to the world. Ezrahl never spared any thoughts for those he perished. Ahzure's demise was forgotten in the endless lives he claimed.
In the future that followed, his sins and his crimes were slowly ignored by the world. He claimed power over everything, and so they turned a blind eye. One by one, everyone bent their knee in front of the devil.
No one would say he was wrong.
Only Aesther still stood against him after the fall of her armies and the last rebel forces. She was the only one who saw that his gilded throne was made of blood and bones.
She was the only one who deeply despised him from the bottom of her heart.
All alone.
"Do you—"
