Prologue
Dreaming of Refuge
Crioone surveyed the barren landscape which was now littered with fallen trees, crumbled rocks, and the many dead bodies of the weaker deamons. From the cliff upon which she stood, Crioone was able to survey the land for miles, but it didn't change. The whole of the planet's crust outside of the villages and polis' was the same. A wasted ground.
Her wings, which were still spread out, caught the wind, pulling Crioone up into the air where she was able to escape the land of the dead and coming death. The air was the only place to think to yourself, talk to yourself, or dream for yourself - and the rest of the freeliving deamons...
Three years ago... King Forna, ruler of the deamons, fell hard against the rocky ground of Inchara, his castle grounds. Axerion laughed, leeping back and swinging the large ax down towards Forna.
"Your end is near, king," spat Axerion, "And my beginning is even nearer!"
The ax connected with Forna's upper left arm, causing the king to fall back once more. He was weakening. He knew it, Axerion knew it, Crioone knew, and so did everyone else. Forna stood once more, looking at his adversary with hatred. Axerion gave the same look back to Forna, and began to charge. Forna dodged the initial attack, but had missed the true purpose of Axerion's rush. The ax was swung back as the future king passed by Forna, and made contact with the king's back. Forna fell face first into the rocks, and the crowd gathered at Inchara booed and hissed. Axerion moved in for the final blow, lifting the ax high above his head. Forna's head turned, and he was able to catch a glimpse of the ax swinging down. With all of the energy that remained inside the king, Forna's wings lifted, and the crowd went silent, the world seemingly coming to a slow down. It seemed to take a whole minute for the ax to reach its destination, but in reality, only half a second went by.
King Forna's wings pushed down, and the ax sliced through the middle of Forna, causing the king to be carried in two directions by the power of his wings. Axerion left the ax where it had come to its final rest, in the middle of Inchara, and leapt into the air. His arms flew out beside him, his clawed hands grabbing hold of the two halves of Forna. Descending back into the crowd, Axerion dropped both halves of Forna into the pit, where they forever remained.
No sooner had the new king landed, Crioone had left the stadium, returning to his polis. Seven powerful looking deamons leapt forth towards the new king, greeting their king with cruel smiles. Axerion's seven warlords carried him into the skies, each one looking down hungrily to the land that they now owned...
Present Day Crioone stared down at the very place that the seven Deamon Lords -as they were now called- had surveyed three years ago. Three years ago, though, the scene would have looked much different,. Forna's castle, along with Inchara, had long since been torn down, replaced by a massive castle further to the south, with a much bigger stadium. Seven towers had also been built, one for each Deamon Lord, and the polis' and villages had been reconstructed.
After Forna's death, other deamons had begun to perish to an unknown source. Many deamons had ventured forth to try to discover the deamon killers, but not one had returned. The deamon hunters were responsible for the death of the dead deamons lying over the planet, and any deamon in their right mind would have suspected the king or one of his seven warlords, but no deamon in their right mind would have dared oppose the eight rulers of the deamon world. It was because of this power that the deamon rulers had, and the fear that they gave to all other deamons that protected them.
As long as you were in your polis or village before the light faded, you were safe. And that was how it had been for three years, and how -the deamon king hoped- it would be for many years to come...
