In the distant past...
The race of Lightbearers had long been a beacon steering the other races through the ages. Whenever the darkness swelled, their lighthouse cut a path through it. Of all the wars etched into history, none was more relentless than the eternal clash between Lightbearers and demons—two natures born to oppose one another. For beings such as these, war was inevitable.
The Lightbearers fielded the Vessels as their premier fighting force, while on the demon side the Hell Dukedom stood foremost—names like Gael, the Father of the Abyss, or Manus, the First Demon. The Dukedom’s fiends were dreadful, and their atrocities beyond counting.
Even so, the Lightbearers and the allied races had thus far managed to hold them at bay; champions rose on either side, and the scales stayed level—no lasting advantage for either camp.
That balance shattered when the unthinkable happened—when a phenomenon changed everything.
In Duskreach, the Lightbearers’ cradle, a majestic citadel hung high above the clouds—a marvel of architecture that defied belief. There, upon a throne, an old man traced over a stack of reports streaming in one after another. Before him stood two men whose mere presence loosed a terrifying pressure, an aura that seemed able to shake time and space.
The old man remained unmoved by their power; all his focus was pinned to the pages in his hands.
"So the demons, a race scattered by nature, have at last united under a king?" he said, scowling, and tossed a report aside. "It’s so absurd it’s nearly laughable."
His eyes flared with a deep violet as he finally looked up at the men. This was the oldest among the Lightbearers, a being who had lived for millennia and been crowned to lead his people—
The Luminous King, one of the greatest Lightbearers in recorded history.
"How credible are these damned tidings you bring me?" he asked. One of the two answered:
"Almost certain. A strange demon unlike any we’ve seen has subdued the Hell Dukedom alone, proclaimed himself King of Demons, and formed a new order they call the Organization of the Seventy-Two High Demons."
Demons had always been fractured—unity lay against their nature. For the first time since history began, a single fiend had broken that rule and drawn the entire vile race beneath one banner. And if the demons were perhaps the strongest race of all, their unification was a true catastrophe.
"This so-called king you speak of—how strong is he?" the Luminous King asked, curiosity edged with steel. Silence dragged between the Vessels. They were the strongest serving him, and they had already crossed blades with this new king; they had seen with their own eyes what he could do.
Their reply came heavy.
"If I had to name it with one word—calamity. A base monster that must not be allowed to live, no matter the cost," said the first.
"I have fought demons for thousands of years," the second added, "but I have never seen one butcher our troops like that. Even when the two of us tried to stop him, surviving him—that was the best we managed."
Each word deepened the Luminous King’s grimness. A strange demon whose power swelled the longer the battle raged; one even the mightiest Vessels failed to halt—escaping with their lives was their greatest feat. A Demon King who had appeared from nowhere and conquered Helmund in short order, bending it beneath his heel...
All the omens of a disaster were upon them—one whose scope they could not yet grasp.
"My king, I beg you—rally all Vessels and put an end to this fiend, before his strength grows any further," urged one of them—Manifest Vessel, the foremost of the knights at that time. He saw further than most; a single clash had convinced him that the king had to die before he became something none of them could comprehend.
Listening, the Luminous King sank back into his throne, thinking deeply.
"This supposed king ..what is his name?" he asked at last. The answer came as one:
"The Demon King—Agaroth."
"Agaroth, is it..." The Luminous King exhaled. "If only that accursed Legendary Vessel had not fled us... we could have dealt with this wretch in his cradle."
Just the thought of that selfish woman frayed his temper. She had once been their brightest hope—but she had run, refusing to heed the Luminous King, declaring she would do only as she pleased.
Worse, she hadn’t even bothered to hide. When he tried to drag her back by force, she crushed him and his strongest retainers, becoming an ungovernable force. They had been left with no choice but to leave her be, lest she turn and become their enemy.
The Legendary Vessel was their greatest regret—a stain upon their annals.
But recently, a new Vessel had been born—one purer than all before, a spark to rekindle the Luminous King’s hope of mending past mistakes.
"What news of the Pure Vessel?"
The old king asked his retainers, hoping for a sliver of good news amid the flood of grim reports.
At the mention of Pure, the knights’ eyes brightened on instinct.
"He’s phenomenal. The Pure Vessel has mastered everything we’ve tried to teach him—on the first attempt, no less. He’s still training in Fellwyn, and we intend to add him to the order as soon as he reaches his peak potential."
"Excellent," the king nodded, satisfied.
"Make sure he’s ready before our next clash with the Demon King. The Pure Vessel may become our greatest weapon in this war."
Perhaps Pure’s birth had been meant to counterbalance the rise of that so-called Demon King—as if nature itself had offered a gift to keep the scales even.
Agaroth was still at the dawn of his reign then, and the world had yet to grasp the scope of the catastrophe gathering over it. The Luminous King heeded his followers’ counsel; the Lightbearers began immediate preparations, determined to marshal the stars themselves and bring Agaroth down before he could take root.
Rumors of Agaroth multiplied. Battle after battle without pause—and each fight made him stronger. A true monster, a vile thing clawing upward at a speed that defied sense.
All of it gnawed at the Luminous King, an ancient who knew the secrets buried in the elder annals.
"A beast that grows with every battle... a calamity no one has ever vanquished..."
The thought felt ill-omened—too much like something from a cursed age he tried not to remember. Just recalling it kept him from sleep.
"By the light... are we standing at the brink of another Odin?"
A chill premonition took root. All the more reason to destroy this new king at once—and a great share of that hope, he pinned upon the "perfect" vessel fate had granted them.
He could not know that, much like the Legendary Vessel before him, the Pure Vessel was about to attempt the forbidden—an escape from Fellwyn that would only deepen the coming storms.