AK : RISING MYTHIC

A violent storm brewed across the jagged, blood-red skies of the demon world. Lightning cracked like angry whips across the abyss, lighting the stone citadel of the Demon Lords that floated above a lava-churned canyon. Thunder rumbled deep beneath the crust of the damned world, as if the planet itself were growling with fury.

Inside the throne chamber of the Demon Lords, darkness reigned.

The chamber itself was immense — obsidian walls laced with skeletal structures of fallen enemies, high arches glowing with crimson etchings of ancient runes. Five thrones stood in a semicircle, each carved from darkstone, each glowing faintly with infernal energy.

Seated in those thrones were the Demon Lords — towering figures, wrapped in smoke, shadow, and might. Their eyes burned like miniature suns of hatred.

One of them — Lord Shadrak, horned and cloaked in a cloak made of screams — slammed his fist into the arm of his throne.

> "ZARELLE IS DEAD!?"

The echo of his voice shattered a stone gargoyle hanging from above.

> "He was a Mid-Level Demon, a brute with skills that could have wiped out a dozen cities… who dares kill one of our own?" snarled Lord Grelvhar, scales slithering under his molten armor.

> "It reeks of Kar'Thæl, doesn't it?" whispered Lord Nyzora, her voice like poisoned honey, her fingers playing with threads of black silk that danced of their own accord. "Only he could turn a vessel into something capable of defeating ZARELLE…"

There was silence. Dense. Suffocating.

Then Lord Valgorr, the eldest among them, his form barely contained in a tangle of horns and bone-plated wings, leaned forward.

> "No matter who struck the final blow… ZARELLE has fallen. The world will think they've won. But now… we play our wild card."

He didn't elaborate.

The other lords exchanged cold, knowing glances.

> "The Vessel must be stronger than we assumed. The Prototype… finally works." Grelvhar growled.

> "Yes. But now they will learn the cost of crossing us."

Their eyes burned brighter. But none of them dared speak the wild card's name. It was unwritten, unspoken — a shadow yet unseen.

The Vault remains still... until distant footsteps echo. Clink. Clink. Clink.

An old demon, aged and scarred — neither a Demon Lord nor a follower — walks through the burning corridors with a staff made of spine bones. His presence isn't powerful... but it's ancient.

He stops in front of Jarco's cell.

> Old Demon (gravelly voice):

"Jarco... so the rumors are true."

Jarco lifts his head lazily. His hair scorched, eyes glowing dull red.

> Jarco:

"Ah... I was wondering when one of you relics would slither in."

> Old Demon:

"ZARELLE has fallen. You wouldn't know anything about that... would you?"

> Jarco (grinning):

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. But I do know this — if my boy was involved..." (he laughs) "... then ZARELLE had it coming."

> Old Demon:

"So it's true… Kar'Thæl's vessel defeated him."

> Jarco:

"Of course. My son doesn't need to scream to make a statement. He lets others kneel for him."

The old demon walks slowly, now standing before the second cell — where a calm, deep voice speaks before even being addressed.

> Saeed (without looking):

"You tracked Kar'Thæl's vessel... all the way to me."

> Old Demon (smirking):

"Didn't take long. Your boy isn't exactly subtle these days."

Saeed finally turns. His eyes — deep, human, and tired — still hold a soldier's resolve.

> Saeed:

"These demons… they still think they can win?"

> Old Demon (seriously):

"Do you think they can't?"

> Saeed (cold):

"I know they won't."

> Old Demon (sighing):

"I hope so."

Jarco chuckles again, his voice echoing between the burning stone walls.

> Jarco:

"You always cared too much, old one. You never fit in with them."

> Saeed (mocking):

"Yeah... Why is that? Why do you keep visiting two prisoners no one else remembers?"

The old demon stares at them both.

A silence.

Then, finally:

> Old Demon:

"Because of the Demon Lords. Because I know what they're planning... and I know who can stop it."

> Jarco (raising a brow):

"You still believe in us?"

> Old Demon:

"I believe... in what you've created."

Then, without another word, he turns and begins walking out of the vault — his bony staff echoing in the flames.

He disappears into the smoke.

Saeed and Jarco sit in the glow of the burning vault — silent for a long time. Then, slowly… Saeed speaks.

> Saeed (low voice):

"They think our sons are alone."

> Jarco (nods):

"They don't know... about the other inside Arslan."

> Saeed (calmly):

"Not yet. But the moment they try to crush him... they'll awaken it."

> Jarco (gazes upward):

"Do you really think... it'll work?"

> Saeed (after a pause):

"If it does… no entity — not gods, demons, or fate — will be able to stand before them."

> Jarco:

"But can he bear it?"

Saeed falls silent again. Memories flash across his mind — his wife, his battles, Arslan as a child... the boy growing in his shadow.

> Saeed:

"I don't know..."

> Jarco (quietly):

"If he can't — it will break him."

> Saeed (eyes burning):

"And if he can... it will break the world."

Jarco replied" I believe, he will do it ... As he has Arcana's blood"

The vault fades to silence once again.

Outside, in the demon realm, the ground trembles. Storms crack. Somewhere, high in the floating citadel of the Demon Lords, the wild card begins to stir.

But the demons still don't know...

What lives inside Arslan is more than a vessel.

It's more than Kar'Thæl.

And far more than they can imagine.

A real threat for demons waits.

And when it awakens…

Hell will kneel.