The figure slowly descended, his presence a palpable weight that pressed down on everything around him.
Diaval's breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his muscles ached from the effort of merely staying upright.
As the figure approached, Diaval's vision cleared enough to make out the distinct features of his father, Valtor Astarot.
Valtor's appearance was imposing. His black hair, tied in a ponytail, whipped in the wind, and his four curving horns glistened ominously under the moonlight.
The black scales that dotted his skin shimmered with an eerie light.
Despite not being in his full dragon form, the sheer power he radiated was enough to bring grown beasts to their knees.
Diaval tightened his hold on Betty, who had passed out under the immense pressure. He could only imagine the torment she endured before slipping into unconsciousness.
Valtor's descent was slow, deliberate, as if he were giving everyone time to fully grasp the gravity of his presence.
Diaval's mind raced, memories flooding back about his father's formidable reputation.
Valtor Astarot was not just a demonic being; he was a legend in the world of Ranora.
His rise from a lesser dragon to the Noble Dragon King was a tale told in hushed tones across the Beast Continent.
He was the reason the Beast Continent was feared, a name that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest warriors.
In his youth, Valtor had been a lesser dragon, born into a world that did not favor the weak.
Betrayed by his own kin and left for dead in the barren wastelands, Valtor's survival was nothing short of a miracle.
Through sheer will and unyielding determination, he clawed his way back to life.
His early years were marked by countless battles, each one a step towards his ultimate goal of supremacy.
Valtor's prowess in combat was unmatched; his ability to adapt and overcome his enemies was legendary.
He became a master of cultivation, achieving the seventh realm, a feat few could boast.
The 7th Star Beast was a title that denoted not just power but a level of mastery over one's own essence and the energies of the world.
Valtor's journey through the realms was fraught with peril, but each challenge only made him stronger.
'This man, single-handedly made history by causing the Beast Continent to be divided into three provinces,'Diaval thought as a drop of sweat rolles down his cheek.
The Beast Continent had once been a land of unending conflict, divided among warring factions.
Valtor's rise to power culminated in the Great Beast War, a conflict that reshaped the very fabric of their world.
The war was brutal, with battles that left entire regions scorched and lifeless.
Valtor led his forces with an iron fist, his strategies and raw power decimating enemies. His name became synonymous with victory and destruction.
The war ultimately divided the Beast Continent into three provinces, each ruled by a powerful house.
Valtor's House Astarot controlled the Province of Claire, a bastion of strength and honor.
The other provinces, Vermillion and Sable, were ruled by House Ignis and House Umbra, respectively. A tenuous peace treaty was established, though tensions always simmered beneath the surface.
Valtor's rule was absolute. His strength and wisdom earned him the reverence of his people and the fear of his enemies.
He was a cultivator of immense power, his mastery over the elements and the essence of life itself unparalleled.
He had turned Claire into a beacon of prosperity and strength, a province that stood as a testament to his indomitable will.
Yet, Valtor's life was not without its shadows. The betrayals he faced in his youth had left deep scars, fueling his relentless pursuit of power.
His rise to the top was paved with the bones of those who underestimated him, a fact that was never forgotten by those who served under him or opposed him.
As Diaval looked up at his father now, he couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and trepidation.
This was the man who had shaped the course of history, whose very presence could crush the spirit of the mightiest warriors.
Diaval's respect for his father was immense, but so was his fear.
Valtor landed gracefully, his wings folding behind him.
The pressure eased slightly, allowing the guards and Diaval to catch their breaths.
Adrian, still in his partial draconic transformation, struggled to rise but managed to stand, his eyes never leaving Valtor.
"Father," Diaval began, his voice trembling slightly.
Valtor's gaze swept over the kneeling guards and the unconscious Betty.
His gaze then darted across the now ruined training grounds with holes and cracks, equipment ruined and mountains of piled up Undead skeletons.
Even so he noticed the undead still swarming in like a hive of bees.
His eyes softened slightly as they fell on his son, but his demeanor remained stern. "Diaval, explain."