Within the Abyss, where everything was either black or red, each hue representing the endless darkness and the ceaseless blood that flowed throughout this separate plane, a massive, colossal castle could be seen stretching endlessly toward the sky, as though attempting to pierce the heavens themselves.
Everyone already knew whom the castle belonged to. It was the stronghold of the Demon King, the ruler of the Abyss, the strongest Demon in existence, the oldest Demon known to all Demons, and the absolute sovereign whose name alone carried immeasurable weight.
Within the depths of the castle, the Demon King sat upon his throne with a calm, unreadable expression upon his face. His figure was seated with perfect posture upon a black throne carved from an unknown abyssal material, its surface faintly reflecting a crimson glow. His eyes were closed, as though he were deep in thought, or perhaps patiently waiting.
