The Demon Realm.
A place only habitable by the denizens of chaos and darkness.
The patch of land where they currently dwelled was once a prosperous nation in the Northern Continent. However, it had become a haven for the malevolent creatures of evil.
Miasma wafted through the distorted air, and an atmosphere of tension covered the land.
Why?
Because the Demon King had been succeeded by his son, Prince—correction, King—Abellion.
And, not long after, he declared war on the other races of the world.
Demons were long-lived, so many of them knew the horrors of battle. They had witnessed the events of the previous war, and many of them—while they resented the other races—did not want to go through something like that again.
But, as was the law of the Demon Society, only the strong could determine the outcome of anything—even their very lives.
And the strong in the Demon Realm were the Six Demon Lords, and the Demon King who presided over them.
Over the past few years, the Demon Lords had been replaced—bested in combat by those of the younger generation.
Before anyone knew it, or could piece the puzzle together, all six leaders were now completely different from the ones that were known for centuries.
Since might made right, the losers could not object to their loss. They could only swear allegiance to the new Lord—or die!
The weak and the strong all bowed when faced with the might of the supreme.
And so, despite their reservations, the Demons began mobilizing for war!
*********
The Demon Castle was surrounded by six towering pillars and a monolith at the center.
It rang ominously, but this was the height of power in the corrupt society of despondency.
Within the monolith—the Demon King's Palace was highly revered.
Also known as the Grand Hall, the Throne-Room was designed in such a way that the Absolute Seat of the Supreme Demon was elevated on a high pedestal, and the subjects could only lay eyes on its glory from their inferior estate.
Yes, this was the very definition of Demonic hierarchy.
And, it was no different today.
Six Demons were kneeling before the Throne—reverently bowing their heads.
They each had different colors, and their unique traits made it clear that they belonged to the different tribes within the Demon Race.
Other than the Royal Demons, there were six sub-races among these beings.
The Whites. The Blacks. The Reds. The Green. The Blue. The Yellow.
These tribes were represented by the most powerful members of their respective groups—The Demon Lords!
Blanc
Noir
Rouge
Vert
Bleu
Jaune
Only the strong could claim these titles, and even among the Demon Lords, there were ranks.
In a strictly hierarchical society, this was only natural.
Each Demon Lord had their territory and maintained autonomy in them—subject only to the Demon King.
Of course, higher-ranked Demon Lords could utilize their superiority to influence the weaker ones, but… ultimately, the Demon King was the supreme being they all bowed to without question.
It wasn't simply because of the title. No… it was due to the fact that Royal Demons were on another level entirely.
Even the current Demon King—Abellion—who sat grandly on his majestic Throne—had once fought each Demon Lord and achieved flawless victory.
There were rumors that he had even surpassed the Demon Kings that came before him. He was the very definition of the height of Demons—which was why the Lords could revere him so much.
They were all older than him—with the exception of Rouge—but age was meaningless before strength.
Just as how they were able to defeat their predecessors and usurped their positions despite the age gap, the Demon King did not need such a petty factor to easily beat any opposition.
The strong was strong.
The weak were weak.
"ALL HAIL THE DEMON KING!" The Demon Lords declared in the presence of their absolute leader.
King Abellion—despite his youthful face that did not seem to fit the title of 'King'—simply smiled at the grand praise.
"You may raise your heads."
In response to his words, the Demons swiftly did as they were told.
It wasn't that they were impatient or found the act of bowing to be annoying. It was the exact opposite, actually.
A delay in obeying the words of their superior was unacceptable. That was why they acted so quickly. This was yet another display of their loyalty.
"You have done well to gather before me today…" Abellion began, placing both elbows on the armrest of the throne while interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them.
Silence.
They dared not speak unless granted permission to do so.
"As you are well aware, we've launched our first strike at the Eastern and Western Continents simultaneously."
By attacking the two Continents at the borders that directly connected them to each other, it prevented any hope of an immediate alliance. At least, that was the primary goal.
"The Southern Continent is currently beyond our means, and spreading our military forces too thin will be detrimental in the battle to come." Abellion continued.
Of course, everyone understood this—well, perhaps for a single exception.
Maybe the King was stating the obvious especially because of this individual in their midst.
"The South houses the Thieranthropes and Dwarves. They are the most formidable among our enemies—especially the former…"
Each Race had its specialty, and it was known to everyone in the room who had the greatest combat ability and skill.
"If they were closer, perhaps dealing with them first would have been the wisest choice, but…"
The Geographical position of the Southern Continent made it mandatory that the West and East had to be conquered first. Taking on three of them at once would be difficult, but by focusing their forces on both the East and West, they could secure victory.
After absorbing those two, they would gain greater leverage and then launch a three-pronged offensive on the South.
Of course, only one problem existed in this plan.
"The Eastern and Western Kingdoms may decide to seek aid from the South."
The human kingdom was closer to the Beastfolk Society while the Western Continent—which consisted of both Fairies and Elves—were closer to the Dwarves.
This was only a geographical statement, not based on relations. After all… neither of the respective Races had much dealings with one another outside their continent.
"Ultimately, they shall fail in their endeavors… and victory will be ours!"
