On the highest platform of Sky Peak, a lone figure stood with an air of defiance and majesty.
Dressed in flowing black robes that shimmered like liquid obsidian, the man's silhouette cut an imposing figure against the backdrop of a surreal sky.
Above him, the sun and the moon hung side by side, a rare celestial phenomenon that bathed the world in a discordant mix of warm radiance and icy pallor.
Kael'tar, the Demon Emperor, raised his arms skyward. His long black hair billowed in the foul wind that carried with it the tortured cries of countless spirits.
The pale glow of the sun and moon dimmed as their essence flowed into him, converging in his palms. The surrounding landscape plunged into twilight, and an oppressive aura began to spread from his form.
Dark energy coiled around him like living shadows, growing thicker with each passing moment.
His crimson eyes glinted with a malevolent light, the twin horns on his forehead gleaming faintly under the eerie glow.
Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth as he coughed, staining his ashen lips. Yet his wicked smile remained, unshaken by the agony of the power he wielded.
The earth itself seemed to rebel against his presence. The four mountains surrounding Sky Peak erupted in violent tremors, sending boulders tumbling and clouds of ash into the air.
Even Sky Peak, the sacred ground of the demonic cultivators, shuddered under the strain of the dark ritual.
As the tremors subsided, the air grew heavy with tension.
Kael'tar opened his eyes, their blood-red hue a blazing testament to his dark ascension.
Surrounding him on all sides was a horde of cultivators, their weapons gleaming under the now-blood-red sky.
At their head stood General Azarion, Kael'tar's most trusted lieutenant.
Azarion's golden hair caught the dying light as his dark eyes stared at his former master with a mix of regret and determination.
He raised an ornate blade, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed with holy energy.
"How could you, Azarion?" Kael'tar's voice cut through the cacophony like a blade.
Kael'tar chuckled dryly, his voice heavy with disdain. "You, Azarion? Betraying me after all I've done for you? Saved your miserable life, raised you to power, and this is how you repay me?" His gaze swept across the gathered traitors, each one flinching under the weight of his presence.
"You were a tyrant, Kael'tar," Azarion spat, gripping the hilt of the enchanted blade that shimmered in his hand. "Your reign of terror ends today, even if it means betraying the one who saved my life."
Despite being a demon and a demonic cultivator, Kael'tar normally did not kill without reason. If he did, he was just acting out on his nature. Else, those righteous cultivators would've come to end him much sooner.
But who would've thought that he wouldn't die at the hands of those hypocritical righteous cultivators but at the hands of the one he fed?
Kael'tar let out a dry, bitter laugh. "You call me a tyrant, yet you raise your blade for what? Salvation? Redemption? You delude yourself if you think the 12 Emperor will accept you. They despise what you are, Azarion—a half-demon. And when the ancient ones rise again, they will destroy all you hold dear."
"Enough!" Azarion's voice was sharp, but his eyes flickered with hesitation. "Hand over the Twelve Demonic Records, Kael. You've brought nothing but suffering to this world"
Kael'tar's laughter rang out, mocking and unrestrained. "So that's it. You pretend to stand for justice, yet it's the records you covet. Fools, all of you!"
The Twelve Demonic Records. An ancient manuscript said to hold techniques of unparalleled power.
Kael'tar had spent centuries seeking it, and now it was his greatest weapon—and his greatest curse. The techniques were as dangerous as they were potent, capable of driving the weak-minded into madness.
Kael'tar raised his hand, and the dark energy surrounding him surged. "If I am to fall, then I will not fall alone."
"And if that's not enough, then..." Kael'tar's body erupted into a storm of shadows, his laughter echoing like thunder.
"If I die, I'll take this world with me!" he bellowed, his form disintegrating into a wave of dark energy. The shockwave that followed flattened everything in its path.
A wave of power erupted from him, sending many of the traitors sprawling.
Azarion alone held his ground, his enchanted blade glowing with holy light as he charged forward.
"Stop!" Azarion shouted, his voice filled with desperation.
But it was too late. With a flick of his fingers, Kael'tar crushed the jade slip containing the manuscript into dust. The fragments scattered in the wind as Azarion's face twisted in rage and despair.
Kael'tar smiled one last time, his voice echoing ominously. "This world will regret your treachery."
As the dark energy within him reached its peak, his body disintegrated into a storm of shadows. The resulting shockwave leveled the entire Sky Peak, leaving nothing but ruins in its wake.
As the dust settled, Sky Peak lay in ruins. The once-majestic platform was now a desolate wasteland, the earth scorched and blackened. Azarion stood in the center, his clothes tattered and his face etched with rage and despair.
Azarion stood amidst the devastation, his clothes torn and his face shadowed by anger.
A young man stepped forward—Ron, one of Kael'tar's disciples, though Kael'tar had never acknowledged him. "General Azarion, please wait! If Kael possessed someone, he could still return. The Twelve Demonic Records—"
"Silence!" Azarion snapped, his voice colder than the wind howling through the ruins. "Kael'tar's soul is gone. His self-destruction was absolute."
With General Azarion present, an Emperor Saint Stage expert would find it impossible to escape with their soul even if they self-destructed. It was a pity for the loss of the ancient Demon King's legacy, the Twelve Demonic Records.
He turned and vanished, leaving the remnants of Kael'tar's forces in disarray.
The survivors gazed upon the ruins, each lost in their own thoughts. Some felt relief at the fall of the Demon Emperor. Others mourned the loss of the Twelve Demonic Records, a legacy now consigned to oblivion.
But in the shadows of the ruined peak, a faint trace of dark energy lingered, twisting and coiling like a serpent waiting to strike.