Netherworld.
In a barren dark patch of land, there was a huge crack that seemed to be sliced apart by blade energy. An enormous palace made up of pitch black metal stood towering into the sky.
The protrusions on the palace were malevolent. Strips of ice-cold metal pillars were like sharp killing blades that were rising toward the heavens. On each edge, there was a chill, and between each blade there were pitch black and ice-cold chains all connected. When the chains collided, jingling sounds rang out.
This was the Nether Palace. It was the palace of the Nether King. It was different from the imagined luxury, as this palace was cold and remote.
There were only a few figures in the huge palace.
In the main hall of the Nether King palace, on the highest seat, a man wearing an ice-cold pitch-black armor leaned against the chair with a bored look. In his hand was a mysterious spirit fruit, and he was stuffing it into his mouth at times.
