Thousands of Centuries Ago…
There was a time when the heavens and the abyss waged war, a battle that left the skies scorched and the underworld in turmoil. Among the demons that rose from the depths, one was feared above all—Kael'Tharun, The Death That Was Sealed, The Ruin That Waits. His hunger for destruction was insatiable, his power unmatched. He did not merely kill—he unmade.
Cassiel, an angel with enough power to challenge the worst of the abyss, fought Kael'Tharun in a battle that shook creation itself. The fight was brutal, relentless, and nearly endless, but in the end, Cassiel prevailed. Unable to destroy Kael completely, he did the only thing he could—he sealed him away, binding him in celestial chains and locking him in a prison beyond mortal perception. A seal so absolute, only Cassiel himself could ensure it remained shut.
But time is cruel.
When Cassiel was cast from heaven and imprisoned, the seal weakened. Cracks formed. And through those cracks, whispers bled into the world.
Few of Kael's devoted followers had survived the war, but they had not forgotten. They crept into the human world like vermin, infiltrating villages, whispering into the ears of men and women in their sleep. "A great god lies waiting," they murmured. "A god who can give you endless prosperity. No sickness. No famine. No death."
The village listened. And then, they worshipped.
The cult of Kael'Tharun was born.
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Modern Timeline
The night was thick with the scent of candle wax, sweat, and something more foul—anticipation.
It was April 30th, Walpurgis Night. The Witches' Night. A night when the veil between worlds thinned, when the supernatural stirred, when things long buried could rise again.
In a massive abandoned cathedral, a staggering 20,000 people stood in silence. Hooded figures filled every pew, every corner, every inch of the towering, decrepit structure. Once, it had been a place of worship for the divine. Now, it was a breeding ground for the damned.
Each of them bore a mark—a serpent, twisted into a cross, engraved into their flesh.
The Nape of the Neck – Marking them as owned.
Over the Heart – Binding their soul to Kael.
On the Palm – Their hands now instruments of his will.
Between the Shoulder Blades – A mockery of divine wings.
On the Tongue – So that every word they spoke belonged to him.
The air was thick with the weight of unseen forces. Every candle burned an eerie black flame, twisting unnaturally. Shadows stretched along the walls, growing and curling like living things.
At the center, standing on an altar of black stone, the high priest raised his hands. His voice slithered through the hall, a whisper that crawled into the bones of those who listened.
"Oh great Kael, Death That Was Sealed, Ruin That Waits, hear our voices in the dark. From the abyss, rise once more. We offer blood, we offer soul, we offer devotion. The world shall kneel, and your reign shall begin again."
The congregation echoed the words, a chorus of fanatics trembling with excitement.
Then came the sacrifice.
The priest lifted a serrated dagger, its blade soaked in the blood of past offerings. He extended his palm, where the serpent sigil had been carved, and slashed it open. Dark, thick blood dripped into a massive obsidian bowl at his feet.
The entire congregation followed.
One by one, 20,000 people cut their palms open, letting their blood pool into smaller basins. The air sizzled, a sickening hiss filling the cathedral as the blood blackened, turning into rising smoke.
And then… they spoke in the language of the abyss.
"O Magnus Kael, Mors Obsignata, Ruina Quae Expectat, audi vocem nostram in tenebris. Ex abyssum, resurge iterum. Sanguinem offerimus, animam offerimus, devotionem offerimus. Mundus flectetur, et regnum tuum iterum incipiet."
The words twisted in the air like living things. The smoke shivered. Groaned. Then, suddenly, it ignited—a wall of fire erupted, stretching across the cathedral.
And then… he came.
The flames contorted, writhing like screaming souls. The ground shook beneath their feet. A low, guttural rumble—not sound, but something deeper, something felt in the marrow of their bones—reverberated through the hall.
And then, from the heart of the fire, a figure emerged.
Tall. Unfathomable. Wrong.
Horns like twisted obsidian jutted from his skull. Red skin, slick with something that steamed and dripped. His pupils burned like endless pits, reflecting the torment of every soul he had ever claimed. Black hair streaked with white, hanging in a tangled mess around his face. A suit, pristine and untouched, a sharp contrast to the horror he exuded.
Kael'Tharun had returned.
The high priest trembled. A grin stretched across his face as he fell to his knees. "Hail, he is here!"
"Ave, ipse adest!"
The congregation erupted—cheering, laughing, crying in manic devotion.
Kael'Tharun merely glared.
And then—the priest's head rolled to the floor.
The body stood for a moment longer before collapsing in a heap, blood pooling at the altar. The woman next to him screamed, clutching her two young children, but she had no time to react before Kael moved again.
He relished it.
The screams. The terror. The way blood pooled at his feet, the way their bones cracked like brittle twigs beneath his hands.
They had called him forth.
Now, he would take his payment.
The woman standing nearest—the one who had come with her young son and daughter—stood frozen, her gaze locked onto the demon, onto the smile that now carved his face.
A smile of unfiltered joy.
Then the slaughter began.
Kael moved like a wraith, a blur of carnage and laughter. Hands plunged through ribcages, tearing out still-beating hearts and crushing them to pulp. Fingernails like razors shredded throats, leaving mouths gurgling on their own blood.
He grabbed a man by the jaw, ripping it from his face in a shower of bone and viscera. Another he impaled upon his own rib, plucked free like a butcher dismantling livestock.
Screams filled the hall, but there was nowhere to run.
The doors were barred, bolted shut by their own kind. The faithful, too drunk on their beliefs, refused to open them, their eyes wide with fervent madness, believing in salvation that would never come.
They wept and prayed as Kael reached them.
His laughter rattled the bones of the building.
He found children hiding behind pews. He found men curled in corners. He found mothers shielding infants.
None were spared.
He plunged his hand into a child's chest, ripping the ribcage open like the peeling of fruit. A woman's skull caved beneath his grip, her brain matter slick against his fingers. The floor drowned in gore, a lake of ruined flesh sloshing beneath their feet.
Kael sighed, a shuddering sound of euphoria.
"Pathetic."
The carnage raged until no voice remained, until the grand hall was nothing more than a mausoleum of bodies, the air heavy with death and despair.
Kael licked his fingers, his grin stretching ever wider.
His hunger, once whetted, had only just begun.
And the world would feel it soon.