In the eerie twilight of Lake Vhar'Zul, where the blood-red sky cast warped reflections on the black waters, Daimon and his newfound party stood over a battlefield littered with the corpses of the monstrous Dreadlurks. The battle had been brutal. Though victorious, each of them bore deep wounds, their bodies battered and burned.
Daimon, however, stood with fire in his eyes and hunger in his heart. As the others slumped to rest near the makeshift camp, he wandered off toward the twisted corpse of a Dreadlurk. He didn't hesitate. With sharp claws and sheer force, he tore open the creature's torso and yanked out its heart, steam and violet mist rising from the still-warm organ.
"I need that power," Daimon whispered to himself. "Illusion magic... water breathing... underwater combat. I need all of it."
Maya stirred and gasped, her crimson eyes widening in disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing?!" she shouted, standing up.
Byakuya and Hephestus were immediately alert, gripping their weapons, eyes sharp. But it was too late to stop him. Daimon devoured the heart, his body convulsing as violet energy burst forth from his chest, his eyes glowing with overwhelming power. He fell to the ground, writhing, screaming as his body adapted to the foreign magic.
"Is that what I think it is?" Maya asked, stunned.
"There's no way... That can't be real..." Hephestus murmured.
Byakuya stepped forward, his voice grim. "Devourer... I've only heard of it in forbidden tomes. The power to absorb the abilities of anything you eat."
Daimon, regaining his breath, slowly stood up, a cocky grin forming on his blood-stained lips. "Guess I should've told you earlier... I can learn the skills of whatever I devour."
"How many have you... consumed?" Maya asked cautiously.
He laughed, brushing off the dust. "I lost count."
The three stood frozen, realizing what Daimon truly was. This wasn't just some unusually skilled demon. No, he was on the path to becoming something beyond comprehension. They don't even know that Daimon is a Devourer infused with the spirit of a Supreme Dragon Lord, an entity capable of rivaling even the Demon Lords.
And then, something unexpected happened. All three of them dropped to their knees, heads bowed.
"Demon Prince Daimon," Maya said solemnly. "Please, let us serve you as your loyal warriors. We are honored to walk this path with you."
From within Daimon's mind, Malzahar's voice echoed, calm and resolute. "This is the beginning, Daimon. A kingdom starts with followers. Power must be built. Glory must be earned. Rule the underworld. Let your name be etched in history."
Daimon looked down at his kneeling comrades. A swirl of emotion coursed through him. Doubt. Pride. Pain. Purpose.
"An old man once told me about a town on the other side of this lake," Daimon said. "I want it. If someone rules it, we take it. We build a fortress. A bastion of strength. Any objections?"
"None, my prince," they said in unison.
They continued their journey, crossing the lake with determination. Midway, a behemoth Dreadlurk rose from the waters, a final guardian. Daimon didn't flinch. He led the charge, cutting through the beast like wind through leaves, backed by his three powerful allies. Together, they brought the monster down.
When they reached the shore, they found devastation. A town once known as Kur'Thaal lay in ruins, overrun by Dreadlurks. The demon chief, a weathered elder with sorrowful eyes, greeted them.
"We've been hunted for years... Please help us. We have no more warriors... only survivors. Less than two thousand remain."
Daimon crossed his arms. "You better prepare a large sum of coin. I'm fixing your problem."
Maya pulled him aside. "Are you serious? You can't exterminate the Dreadlurks. There are too many."
Daimon smirked. "I don't have to."
He returned to the corpse of the behemoth Dreadlurk and stabbed its massive heart. He tore it out and devoured it, his body shaking violently. His eyes glowed once again as new power surged through him. Then he stood tall and raised his hand.
The ground rumbled.
From the forests, the waters, and the hills, a horde of Dreadlurks emerged, fast and deadly. Maya, Byakuya, and Hephestus immediately readied their weapons.
"Stand down!" Daimon roared, and the monsters obeyed. They bowed.
"What... how...?!" Hephestus muttered.
"They obey the Behemoth. And now, that power flows through me," Daimon said, his voice steady. "They will not attack. They will serve."
In the days that followed, Daimon blessed the Dreadlurks with magic he inherited through the Devourer skill. Slowly, they evolved first gaining sentience, then humanoid forms. Two months passed. The ruins of Kur'Thaal transformed into a bustling city. The Dreadlurks worked, built, learned. Six months later, Dreadlurk Town was born an industrial city of monstrous warriors, guided by Daimon.
With three elite warriors and an ever-growing army, Daimon now turned his eyes to expansion.
He stood atop a newly built tower in Dreadlurk Town, overlooking the bustling city below.
"This is just the beginning," he said. "I will take the underworld, and then... the world above."
Malzahar whispered in agreement.
"You are no longer just Daimon. You are the heir of dragons, the Devourer King. Let your legend begin."
And with that, the Demon Prince took his first step toward destiny.