Seated at the peak of a tall mountain in the Eastern continent of Prometheus, the demon who's name is Azazel had his eyes fixed on a battle between mortal and god.
How mundane the mortal was, and how divine this god was, was still up for debate, but the participants of the batyles coild be described as such.
It was an interesting battle, but it was reaching its climax.
Azazel sighed,
"So it's about to end. No, this is just the beginning..."
He looked up at the sky.
Because of its location in the Hell realms, Prometheus' atmosphere was very heavy, with a high mana concentration. Because of the enchantments he had placed on it, however, it was practically impossible for beings weaker than Tier 3 to use mana without his permission.
The skies had been muddy brown for a long time, perhaps a few thousand years.
But today...
Today, they were a deep shade of crimson.
It was like a river of blood had ascended into the sky.
