Alric screamed.
But no sound came—only the howl of wind through the ruins of an empire, and the gaze of unseen eyes bearing witness to a great betrayal.
He stood in the heart of a great city, cradle of civilization, capital of the Kingdom of Chaos. The columns were ivory, the palaces gold, and the sky prayed to fire.
The people gathered like ants, their faces dull but their eyes sharp as blades. They hadn't come to mourn. They came to watch an execution.
Alric looked at his hands—but they weren't his own. He wore a cracked crown, and on his right hand, a ring: the Ring of Chaos.
He was Salomon—the First King.
The King of Chaos. Bearer of the first Will.
And he was bound in chains.
"Salomon, King of Ruin—your time has ended."
The words came from the High Priest, echoing across the square like a curse.
The blade behind him gleamed, cold and sharp as death.
And still… Salomon smiled.
A smile without regret.
A smile of a king who knew his death was not the end, but the beginning of a flood.
"You betrayed me.""I gave you chaos so you could rebuild yourselves free—and you begged for chains again.""Someone will remind you of what you have forsaken."
When the blade fell—it did not fall alone.
With it fell order, mercy, and fear.
For from Salomon's blood, from his shadow, from his final curse—something was born.
Dafros.
The sky turned red.
The ground split open.
And from beneath the altar rose the most loyal servant of chaos, Dafros—a being without flesh, made of pure hatred, a will forged for one purpose: vengeance in the name of his master.
He was agony given voice. A whisper spoken in a thousand tongues.
"You who betrayed the Sovereign..."
"Pay the price."
The sword came first.
Then the massacres.
That night, everyone died—nobles, soldiers, infants, priests, servants, even the dogs.
No street remained unstained with blood. No statue left unbroken. No scream left unanswered.
Dafros didn't just kill them—he desecrated them. He tore their souls. He scattered their ashes to the wind.
And when the next dawn broke, there was no kingdom.
Only ruins.
Shattered walls, burning corpses, a throne made of ash.
And on the remains of the once-great city stood Dafros, a shadow that would not die, awaiting orders that would never come.
Because his master was dead...
But his will was not finished.
Alric awoke gasping, the air heavy, the ring on his finger pulsing like the heart of something not human.
In the shadows around him, he heard the whispers:
"Chaos does not die."
"Dafros does not forget."
"You are next."