The Obsidian King,King Xalzar they called him. His true name was lost to the ages, swallowed by the same shadows that clung to his purple robes. His face, or rather, the absence of a face, was a skull, polished bone gleaming beneath a crown of gold, each point a tiny, flickering flame. Chains of black iron, heavier than mountains, hung from the crown, a constant reminder of the weight of his power, the weight of his sorrow. Around his neck, a medallion pulsed with a single, malevolent eye, its gaze piercing the very fabric of reality.

For centuries, the Obsidian King had reigned over the Shadowlands, a realm of perpetual twilight where the sun dared not tread. He was not a tyrant in the traditional sense; he ruled not through fear, but through an oppressive, suffocating loneliness. He had witnessed the birth and death of countless worlds, the rise and fall of civilizations, each event adding another layer to the profound melancholy that permeated his being.

His kingdom was populated by creatures of nightmare, beings born from the deepest fears of mortals. They served him, not out of loyalty, but out of a primal, instinctive terror. Yet, even among these horrors, the Obsidian King felt utterly alone. He yearned for connection, for understanding, but his very essence repelled warmth and light.

One day, a whisper reached the Shadowlands – a whisper of hope, a flicker of defiance. A young knight armed with nothing but unwavering courage and a heart ablaze with compassion, dared to enter his realm.They sought not to defeated Xalzar and get ready of all his evil doing once and for all.

"My,My..you have such courage to enter my Kingdom human"

Xalzar spoke in a coldly and frimly tone as he scoffed at the weakly human infornt of him.

"It seem you a have death wish?"...

The air was cold and tense as the battle for peace was going to begin.