In a nearly destroyed world... filled with an endless expanse of blood and death, where the thick, choking ashes of disaster blanketed the desolate skies, stood a brutally wounded man at the very epicentre of the ruin...
With a pulsing rune sword pierced deep through his chest, the man reached out with his right hand, his bloodied fingers fiercely grabbing the collar of his killer.
The dying man, using his last remaining fragments of willpower before his soul vanished completely into nothingness, spoke through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with a chilling finality...
The Emperor has three shadows...
One summoned from the depth of the abyss...
Destined to be the strongest... %^%^$^
One forged from a mountain of gold...
Bound to sit on the throne of pride... %^%^$^
And one born of his own flesh...
Fated to be the greatest betrayer in all of history... %^%^$^
