A billion years ago, the heavens and the earth were in discord. A great disturbance erupted, tearing apart the delicate equilibrium that held the myriad realms in harmony. The primordial laws of existence faltered, and from the void between the realms, chaos surged forth, consuming everything in its path. This chaos disaster was unlike anything recorded before. It was not merely a clash of power but a fundamental unraveling of the realms' essence.
In the upper realms, where celestial beings wielded unmatched authority, entire dominions collapsed as the skies burned with iridescent fire, and rivers of divine essence dried up. Sacred mountains cracked, their foundations unable to withstand the storm of energy. Ancient deities, beings thought eternal, were obliterated, leaving behind only fragments of their divine essence to drift in the ruined ether.
In the lower realms, mortals faced calamities that defied reason. Earthquakes shattered vast continents, tsunamis swallowed entire civilizations, and the laws of nature warped. Time itself twisted—days could last centuries, while some realms were locked in eternal night. Cultivation paths, the foundation of mortal existence, shattered; spiritual energy became a storm, both corrupting and destroying.
Amid the chaos, in a forgotten corner of the shattered lower realms, an event of great mystery occurred. The confluence of chaos energy gave birth to something—or someone. Beneath a sky streaked with blood-red lightning and amidst a land where the ground pulsed with unstable power, a human child was born. No parents, no lineage, no origin—this child emerged from the very heart of the chaos itself.
The child's first cries seemed to echo through the damaged realms, a sound that reverberated across the void. Though fragile in appearance, their existence was anything but ordinary. From the moment of birth, the chaos energy swirled around them like a protective cocoon, yet it did not harm them. Instead, the energy fused with their being, making them a living embodiment of the disaster—a child of chaos.
This human, born amidst destruction, carried an aura that was neither of the mortal realm nor the divine. Their eyes reflected the turbulent storms, their breath seemed to carry the weight of fractured laws, and their existence was a riddle that no sage or deity could comprehend. Unbeknownst to all, this child's destiny would one day decide whether the shattered realms would heal or fall into eternal ruin.
The child, born of chaos, was taken in by the gods, who saw him as a mystery and an opportunity. For five years, they nurtured him, studying his strange existence from afar. He neither laughed nor cried, and his presence seemed to ripple through the divine realm, an unsettling reminder of the chaos that birthed him. The gods showered him with gifts and care, hoping to uncover his secrets through observation.
But when the child turned five, their curiosity darkened into suspicion. His body did not age, and his gaze seemed to pierce even the divine. Whispers spread among the gods, tales of his unnatural aura and the strange phenomena that occurred around him. Desperate for answers, they began to conduct experiments—horrible experiments. They tore into his flesh, attempted to extract his essence, and probed his being for clues to his origin. Yet no matter what they did, the child endured, his body regenerating as if the damage had never occurred.
Frightened by what they could not understand, the gods turned to the God of Sight, the only being who could peer into the future. They brought the child before him and demanded he unveil the boy's destiny. The God of Sight hesitated, his all-seeing eye flickering as if reluctant to look. But under the gods' pressure, he relented. He gazed into the threads of the child's fate—and recoiled.
For a fleeting moment, he glimpsed a future shrouded in shadows and chaos. He saw a world consumed by destruction, with the person standing at its center, neither smiling nor weeping, yet commanding the forces of ruin with terrifying ease. His vision faltered, and his divine eye began to bleed. Staggering back, the God of Sight uttered in a trembling voice: "Kill him. He must not live."
But even the God of Sight had only seen a fragment of what lay ahead. The child's fate was a tapestry too vast and chaotic for any being to fully comprehend.
The gods hesitated, but their fear only grew. They prepared to carry out the God of Sight's command, but when they struck, the child did not die. The gods discovered his terrible truth: he was immortal. Unlike their immortality, which stemmed from divine essence and faith, his was something unnatural. He had no soul, no spark of life, yet he lived, breathing as any mortal would. His existence was a contradiction, a blasphemy to the natural order, as if he were a creature birthed from the remnants of chaos itself.
As they delved deeper, they found something even more horrifying within him—a heart unlike any other. This heart, formed from the chaos that birthed him, was called the Depravity Heart. It was not made of flesh but of pure, condensed chaos energy, pulsating with a sinister power that could consume the very essence of divinity. This heart was not merely a source of life for him—it was a weapon, one that could grow stronger the more it was tampered with.
Panicked, the gods united their power to seal the Depravity Heart. They summoned all their might, creating a seal forged from divine laws themselves. It took the combined efforts of the greatest gods, and even then, they could only succeed once. The seal bound the heart, suppressing its monstrous potential. But they discovered a terrible truth too late: if they tried to seal it again, it would backfire, strengthening the heart instead of containing it.
Thus, the gods chose to cast the child away, hiding him in the deepest, most forgotten corners of existence. They dared not kill him, dared not touch him again, for fear of unleashing a force they could not contain. But the child, though sealed, was still a child of chaos. His immortality, his Depravity Heart, and his very nature ensured that one day, he would return—and when he did, he would not be the same.
The gods, unable to destroy the child and too fearful to allow him to remain in their midst, decided to strip him of any identity that could tie him to divinity. They gave him the name Azrael, a name more akin to a devil than a god—a reminder of his cursed existence. To them, he was no longer a child of mystery but a creature of chaos, a harbinger of ruin whose very existence was a threat to the balance of creation.
Deeming him unworthy of the heavens, they cast Azrael into the lowest depths of hell, a prison where chaos and torment reigned supreme. From the moment his small form fell into the infernal abyss, his suffering began. Hell's denizens, bound by malice and cruelty, saw him as nothing more than a plaything—a toy to amuse themselves and vent their endless frustrations.
Lucifer, the King of Hell, took a particular interest in Azrael. Amused by the gods' cowardice and intrigued by the child's resilience, he made it his personal mission to break him. Day after day, year after year, Lucifer subjected Azrael to tortures that defied mortal comprehension. He ripped Azrael's jaw clean off at times, only to mockingly claim it was a mistake as he watched the boy's body regenerate. He burned him with hellfire so hot it melted even the sturdiest of infernal metals, only to laugh when Azrael endured in silence. He shredded Azrael's flesh, crushed his bones, and drowned him in pools of corrupted souls. No method was too cruel, no act too vile.
And yet, Azrael never screamed, never cried. His body would break, but it would mend. His flesh would burn, but it would heal. The more they tortured him, the stronger his Depravity Heart pulsed, though the seal placed by the gods but now that seal was broken and the demon azrael roamed free in the world.