Before the towers fell,
the world was whole.

The skies were blue.
The seas were calm.
The lands were untouched by flame and shadow.

No one believed the ancient warnings.

No one believed that another realm existed beyond the veil of reality.

Until the night the stars began to die.

It started with a tremor in the heavens.

The moon flickered.

The constellations twisted.

And then—
the sky cracked.

Not with thunder.
Not with lightning.

But with light.

A wound tore open across the firmament, stretching from horizon to horizon, glowing with infernal fire. From within it poured heat, darkness, and something far worse—

A presence.

The first tower appeared as a distant spark.

High above the clouds, it burned like a newborn star, wrapped in crimson flames. It grew larger by the second, roaring through the air like a falling comet.

People pointed.

People prayed.

People screamed.

Then it struck.

Mountains shattered.

Oceans recoiled.

The earth split open as a colossal black spire slammed into the land, embedding itself deep into the world's heart. Lava burst from its base, and runes ignited along its surface like veins of living fire.

Before the dust could settle, another light fell.

And another.

And another.

Across the world, six blazing comets descended from the heavens, each carrying a tower forged in hellfire and shadow.

Ash burned in the west.

Ice screamed in the north.

Tides boiled in the south.

Iron screamed in the east.

Embers consumed the plains.

Veils of mist swallowed the forests.

Where each tower landed, the land was rewritten.

Reality bent.

Time faltered.

And the air itself learned fear.

Then—

They came.

From the gates that opened beneath the towers, shadows poured forth.

Clawed warriors wreathed in flame.

Winged beasts with eyes of molten gold.

Sorcerers wrapped in living darkness.

Kings crowned with horns and blood.

The Demon Race stepped into the world.

Not as invaders.

Not as refugees.

But as conquerors.

Their voices shook the skies.

Their magic poisoned the land.

Their banners burned with forbidden sigils.

Cities fell in days.

Kingdoms in weeks.

Empires in months.

Wherever the towers stood, demons ruled.

And at the center of them all, rising from the greatest rift of fire, stood the final spire—

The Castle of the Demon Emperor.

From its throne of obsidian and flame, he watched a newborn battlefield.

This world was no longer theirs alone.

It had been claimed.

And the age of demons had begun.