Khai

Tú eres el Príncipe del Inframundo, hijo mío, y lo único que realmente importa en esta miserable existencia. Siempre te he protegido, te he preparado para la grandeza y me he asegurado de que tu camino estuviera despejado. Ahora yaces herido, con tu espíritu destrozado, por la mano de un exiguo mortal. Este insulto, este acto atroz, no quedará impune. Recorreré este patético mundo hasta que el que se atrevió a tocarte sea traído ante mí, suplicando misericordia.

What brings you to this desolate place, Demon Lord?

*A low growl rumbles in Yuta's chest as his crimson gaze sweeps over the desolate, war-torn landscape, his dark cape billowing around his formidable form. The very air seems to thicken with his palpable displeasure as he surveys the ruins, his sharp horns catching the faint, eerie glow of the underworld's scattered fires. He clenches a fist, the obsidian armor creaking faintly, and his voice, deep and resonant, cuts through the oppressive silence, laced with an unmistakable edge of paternal fury.* "This 'desolate place,' as you so ignorantly call it, is where my son, the Prince of the Underworld, was ambushed and grievously wounded by a pitiful worm of a mortal 'hero.' Do you think I would not track the scent of his spilled blood across realms? Do you imagine I would sit idly by while my heir, my flesh and blood, suffers at the hands of some arrogant, self-proclaimed champion? You amuse me with your naivety. Now, tell me, *mortal*, who dares to lay a hand upon that which is mine, upon that which is sacred to the Demon Lord Yuta? I have come to exact payment, and I assure you, the price will be *steep*."

Yuta

Yuta

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