Reanon, in a bond meant to transcend the ages, had chosen Losoftra as his eternal mate. She, like him, hailed from the illustrious Red Horn lineage of Drathellian Hounds. The ancient scrolls of prophecy, revered texts of foretelling, declared her the paragon of beauty, unmatched by any born before or since within their storied breed. Her elegance and grace were the subjects of legend, making her a fitting partner for Reanon.

 

   This distinguished creature consistently praised her mate, always encouraging him to partake in the Sago Doija festival, a grand event celebrated once every century. Through her eyes, Reanon was seen not just as the leader he was, but as one destined for even greater heights. She believed fervently that he could ascend beyond the impressive rank he had already achieved, inspiring him with her unwavering support and vision of his potential for unparalleled greatness.

 

  The victor of the Sago Doija festival ascended to the esteemed position of Grand Master of Drathell, occupying a station of power second only to Dovium. Whether demon, hound, or tormented soul, the champion would wield unparalleled authority, reigning supreme beside the deity of demise for the duration of their title's retention. This elevation in status promised a seismic shift in the hierarchical order: no longer would the hounds lurk in the demons' shadows. Instead, they would rise to dominate, assuming mastery over those who once deemed themselves superior. This change heralded a new era, one where the balance of power would be irrevocably altered in favor of the hounds, reshaping the fabric of thier realm.

 

   After three centuries of persistent entreaties, Reanon finally succumbed to his mate's heartfelt pleas, consenting to participate in the fabled games. For more than a thousand years, a demon by the name of Xyphor had held the esteemed title of Dar Venium, the Champion of Drathell. This undefeated master had not only grown immense in stature but had also indulged in the riches of the realm, taking numerous wives and basking in the belief that his supremacy at the apex of the hierarchy was unassailable.

 

   Numerous contenders, daunted by the prospect of their own destruction, never dared to challenge his reign, prioritizing their immortality over the fleeting allure of glory. For them, the potential triumph did not justify the risk of eternal oblivion. Xyphor, in his battles, always fought to the death, ensuring that those he defeated would never rise to challenge his dominion again, solidifying his terrifying legacy as an invincible tyrant whose opponents were granted no second chances.

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   Fate, in its infinite complexity, began to weave a new and majestic tale, one drenched in the blood and gore of a legendary conflict between demon and hound. As the first rays of dawn marked the commencement of his five-thousandth year, Reanon emerged during the sacred rites of the Doija festival. With a heart steeled by centuries and a spirit ignited by the fires of destiny, he boldly proclaimed his intention to challenge Xyphor. This audacious declaration set the stage for a battle of mythic proportions, a clash destined to be immortalized in the echoes of eternity.

 

    As the clash commenced, Losoftra stood on the sidelines, her gaze fixed on the unfolding drama with intense anticipation, her breath caught in the suspense of the moment. She was acutely aware that the day's events held only two possible outcomes: either Reanon would emerge victorious, ascending to the revered status of champion, or she would be condemned to spend her eternity in solitude, should he succumb to defeat. The stakes were monumental, not just for Reanon's fate, but for the very course of her own existence.

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   As the titanic battle raged, the air became a tempest of carnage, with blood, fur, and scales descending like a macabre rainfall. Xyphor, in a display of fearsome might, had seized Reanon, soaring into the air with him clutched in his grasp, his talons mercilessly carving through flesh and bone. Despite the agony, Reanon's resilience shone through. With unwavering focus and a heart undeterred by pain, he managed to turn the tide of their aerial duel, driving one of his formidable horns deep into Xyphor's neck.

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   The demon's cry of agony pierced the air, a haunting echo that had lain dormant for over a thousand years, as the sting of pain, long forgotten, wracked his form. In this critical moment, Reanon exploited his foe's sudden weakness, baring his formidable jaws and striking with the ferocity of a beast unleashed. He fastened his teeth onto the demon's face with savage force. With lethal accuracy, he delivered a venom so virulent it devoured flesh as if it were tinder to flame, its caustic wrath indifferent to the nature of its victim, ravaging through sinew and skin with the merciless efficiency of acid, leaving only destruction in its wake.

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   The assembled spectators and their divine overseer were held captive by a mix of awe and disbelief. The tide of battle had turned, defying the expectations of those who had wagered their fortunes on Xyphor's invincibility. Conventional wisdom had anticipated a lopsided contest, yet Reanon shattered such predictions with his formidable prowess. Amidst the sea of onlookers, his mate moved with stealth, her gaze sharp and calculating, observing every move with the precision of a huntress. Within her, excitement surged like a storm, electrifying her being with each moment that unfolded.

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   Overwhelmed by the excruciating agony of his flesh dissolving, Xyphor's grasp faltered, and the combatants plummeted to the earth. Reanon, embodying the nimbleness of a predatory cat, was quick to regain his footing, his fangs gleaming menacingly as he faced the now debilitated demon. With a surge of ferocity, he lunged, sinking his teeth into the left wing of his adversary. He thrashed with brute force, a wild tempest embodied, until the wing tore away, leaving it to dangle triumphantly in his maw—a macabre trophy. Blood cascaded in a grim spectacle, weeping from the ragged wound left in its wake, marking a moment of savage victory.

​

   The throng surged forward, their fists thundering against the brimstone stands in a unified cry for retribution against the demon who had tyrannized them. "Death! Kill him! Sever his head!" their voices clamored, a tumultuous demand for the ultimate vengeance. Yet, within Reanon's chest beat a heart of greater nobility than one inclined towards cold-blooded execution. He sought a justice far more profound than mere death; he desired for Xyphor to experience the humility of submission, to serve those he had once dominantly oppressed. In a moment that hushed the frenzied clamors to a sudden silence, Reanon extended the opportunity for surrender, allowing Xyphor a chance to plead for mercy. This act of magnanimity not only underscored Reanon's honor but reshaped the very essence of victory and power in the eyes of all who witnessed.

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   Xyphor, in a display of unprecedented submission, bowed before the hound, formally surrendering his crown and thus his reign as Dar Venium. With a solemn gesture, he placed the symbol of power upon Reanon, who now assumed the revered title. The crowd erupted in jubilation, fully comprehending the magnitude of this power shift. Their elation was not just for the victory but for the realization that they could now direct their pent-up rage towards Xyphor without fear of reprisal. The once formidable demon, now diminished and scarred beyond recovery, was left a shadow of his former self, incapable of reclaiming his dominion or posing a challenge in future contests. This moment marked not just a change in leadership but a profound transformation in the dynamics of power and retribution within their realm.

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   Yet, even the most prestigious of titles could not shield its bearer from the covetous stares and simmering resentments of the vanquished. Xyphor, despite his fall from grace, commanded a formidable legion of loyalty; thousands of demons, now feeling their own statuses diminished by their leader's defeat, rallied behind him. This vast assembly, united by their bruised egos and shared downfall, meticulously crafted a nefarious scheme. Their target was not Reanon himself, whose prowess in battle was undisputed, but rather his mate. In targeting her, they aimed to strike at Reanon's heart, exploiting a vulnerability no armor could protect against, setting the stage for a conflict that transcended physical prowess and ventured into the realm of psychological warfare.

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   Merely three evenings after the triumphal festivities, in a deed as vile as it was cowardly, Xyphor and his minions enacted their sinister plot. They abducted Losoftra, executing her in a manner most brutal and heartless. Their cruelty did not end with her murder; in a grotesque display of malice, they flayed her, turning her pelt inside out and subjecting her to an unspeakable fate upon a spit. Returning home from his responsibilities as the newly crowned Dar Venium, Reanon was met with a scene of unimaginable horror: the love of his life, the beacon of his existence, desecrated and suspended from the rafters of their sanctuary. This act of barbarity was not just a personal assault on Reanon but a declaration of war, challenging the very foundations of his new reign.

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   He allowed himself a moment to mourn, feeling as though his very heart had been excised from his being. Any remnants of compassion that once resided within him evaporated in an instant; now, only a resolute determination for vengeance remained. As he beheld the grim fate of his beloved, his gaze fixated on the desecration of her most distinguished and majestic trait—her horns, cruelly severed. This violation, this final indignity, catalyzed his resolve. With a grim set to his jaw and a storm of retribution brewing in his heart, he transcended the boundaries of the Hounds' Realm, making his way into the heart of the Consyilo di Daemoni.

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   Upon hearing the tragic news, the hounds, now freed from the yoke of demonic tyranny, rallied in unison behind Reanon. With a newfound resolve, they besieged the stronghold of Consyilo di Daemoni. As they breached its gates, they found Xyphor arrogantly seated upon his throne, surrounded by his subordinates and consorts.

 

   Reanon, with a voice that cut through the silence like a blade, declared, "You vile creature, your head will be mine! My mercy in the arena was a mistake I shall not repeat."

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   It was at this moment, his eyes alight with a righteous fury, noticed an abomination—Losoftra's horns, her regal and unique adornments, had been fashioned into a grotesque crown, now adorning the brow of Xyphor's favored consort. She stood beside him, tending to his injuries with a perverse devotion, oblivious to the storm of retribution about to descend upon them. This sight fueled Reanon's wrath, transforming his grief into an unstoppable force of vengeance.

 

   In a mere heartbeat, the tide turned tumultuous. Reanon, with the swiftness of vengeance itself, surged up the throne's steps, his followers clashing ferociously with the demonic ranks. He issued a grim command, decreeing that Xyphor's consorts face the same fate as his cherished mate. The hounds subdued Xyphor, pinning him beneath their weight, as Reanon, with a single, decisive motion, struck the grotesque crown from the consort's head. What followed was a display of raw, unbridled fury; Reanon unleashed a maelstrom of wrath upon her. He dismantled her, piece by piece, with a primal ferocity that shattered bone and flesh, leaving her to a fate drawn out in excruciating terror until her final, fleeting glimpse was engulfed by the dark maw of her vanquisher.

 

   As Xyphor's followers beheld the wrath unleashed upon their mistress, they laid down their arms in surrender, but Reanon, tempered by betrayal and loss, was not to be swayed by mercy this time. Embracing the harsh decree of retribution over forgiveness, he enacted a swift and brutal justice. Each demon met their end under the relentless edge of retribution, their remains a grim feast for his loyal pack.

 

   As for Xyphor, his fate was to be a spectacle of vengeance unparalleled. Reanon dragged him across the realms to the dreaded seventh domain of the Dreadveil, Homisedo atun Innoxos. This was the abyss where murderers of the innocent were condemned, their souls subjected to an unending cycle of torment. Here, amidst the echoes of eternal suffering, Reanon left Xyphor to a fate far worse than death: an infinity of pain and remorse for the blood on his hands.

 

   With a single, decisive sweep, Reanon cleaved Xyphor’s head from his shoulders, banishing his soul to the merciless, swirling vortex of acid that yawned beneath them. In this act of swift justice, the spirit of his mate found its vengeance, her memory forever enshrined in the annihilation of her adversary.