In the depths of the underworld, Daimon stood at the entrance of a dungeon, panting, his blade dripping with blood. It had taken him days to clear this particular labyrinth far longer than any dungeon he'd conquered before. Each step was a test of endurance, every corridor filled with traps, beasts, and remnants of ancient magic meant to drive any intruder insane.
"I'm tired... I can't do this anymore," Daimon sighed, falling to his knees.
"You can't rule the underworld if you give up that easily!" Malzahar's voice echoed in his mind, stern and unwavering.
"Ugh, alright! But the dungeons keep getting harder every day," Daimon groaned, forcing himself back to his feet.
"Exactly. That's why this won't work anymore. You need a team."
Daimon's eyes lit up. "A team? That... that sounds good to me!"
He charged toward the final boss chamber with renewed vigor, determination surging through his veins.
Three years had passed since Daimon awakened his gift the Devourer. In that time, he had reached peak physicality, mastering a variety of skills and magic through countless battles and experiences. Yet the underworld remained unforgiving.
He stepped into the capital a city of obsidian towers and rivers of molten light. In the guildhall, a place where adventurers gathered under blood-red chandeliers and the ever-burning torches of cursed souls, Daimon searched for allies. But no one would give him a second glance.
"Isn't that the guy who used to get chased by hellhounds?"
"I heard he got dumped in a graveyard... twice."
"A walking corpse trying to be an adventurer. Pathetic."
Their laughter echoed in his ears.
No one knew Daimon's strength. No one knew what he had endured. The underworld remembered weakness more vividly than it honored strength.
Outside the Demon Lord's castle, the land was lawless. Chaos ruled. Demons battled one another for glory, power, and survival. Some became mercenaries. Others assassins. In this place, power was the only currency.
Far to the east, near the black rivers of Vhar'Zul, a titanic serpent crept through the underbrush a creature older than memory itself. Daimon tracked it with a sword in one hand and a smirk on his face.
"Finally," he whispered. "Something worth fighting."
But just as he was about to strike, a flash of fire exploded against the serpent's side.
"Fire magic? That's rare..."
He turned to see a trio emerge from the shadows. A woman wielding a flaming staff, a tall man with a bow already mid-draw, and another cloaked in armor, his sword crackling with lightning.
"Direct hit! Engage!" shouted the woman Maya.
The swordsman dashed forward, his blade striking cleanly. The archer let loose a volley, piercing the serpent's eyes. Then, with a final flash of magic, Maya sent a fireball surging into the beast's heart. The serpent screeched and collapsed.
"They fight like one body," Daimon said, stunned.
"Hey! That was my kill! You just stole it!"
They didn't even look at him. The trio walked past without a word. Frustrated, Daimon reached for Maya's shoulder.
Before he could react, the swordsman Byakuya was in front of him, blade at Daimon's neck.
"One move, and you're dead."
Daimon froze. They were fast. Too fast.
"Better be careful, rookie," Maya said, finally turning to face him. "You might get yourself killed."
"I'm Daimon."
"Maya," she said. "That's Byakuya. And the archer is Hephestus."
"A party of three?"
"Yes," she replied. "And we're better off that way."
Still, Daimon was persistent.
"You're headed west, right?" he asked.
They paused. "Yeah," Maya said cautiously.
"I'm going too. Mind if I tag along?"
"You traveled alone all this time?" Byakuya raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Problem?"
Hephestus stepped forward, eyes curious. "You're lucky to be alive. You've come a long way. You might be interesting. Maya, he's coming with us."
The journey to the cursed lake, Vhar'Zul, began.
A black, glassy lake stretching endlessly under a sky of roiling blood clouds. No ripples. No waves. Just silence. The Dreadlurks dwelled here beasts of ancient origin, monstrous creatures with eyes like moons and fangs that dripped venom. It was said that anyone who fell into the lake was never seen again, only heard in nightmares.
They made camp on the shore. As Maya prepared the magic barrier, Daimon gazed at the lake's surface.
"Feels like it's staring back at us," he murmured.
Night came. Exhausted, Daimon fell asleep.
A noise woke him.
Voices. Moans.
He peeked through the tent and saw something he didn't expect. Maya was in the arms of both her companions. Byakuya stood tall, Maya kneeling in front of him while Hephestus took her from behind.
They saw him.
Maya smiled with mischief. "Ever had sex before, Daimon? Come here."
Byakuya and Hephestus backed off, leaving the tent.
Daimon entered, heart racing. Maya approached him slowly, eyes gleaming. She pushed him to the floor, kissing him deeply, her hands roaming.
"Nasty little boy," she whispered.
She climbed atop him, moving with practiced rhythm.
Daimon's eyes suddenly glowed violet. An aura surged out of him. The tent shook.
Weapons drawn, Byakuya and Hephestus rushed in.
"What the hell?" Maya jumped to her feet.
Daimon stood, aura still swirling.
"What are you?" she asked.
"I'm just a demon," Daimon said, confused.
"That energy... it felt like the Demon Lord's."
"If I meant you harm, you'd all be dead in your sleep."
Silence. Then Byakuya lowered his blade.
"He's not lying. Let's get some rest."
The next morning, the forest changed.
They kept walking... and walking.
"Everyone stop!" Maya shouted.
"What is it?" Byakuya asked.
"We're walking in circles. It's a magical loop. Dreadlurks are close."
Daimon looked around. "How do we break it?"
"Fire up," Byakuya commanded.
Maya launched a massive fireball into the sky. The illusion shattered.
They were surrounded.
Thousands of Dreadlurks.
Byakuya had already summoned a barrier. Monsters crashed against it, screeching.
And Daimon, for the first time, stood among true comrades and his real journey was just beginning.