Thousands of years ago…
Long before the Nyxari migrated to Zeraphyx.
Long before Nyxaroth became Elder God Nyxaroth.
Long before hatred took root in the Shadow Realm.
The Nyxari were one of the most feared races in Neraphyx.
Though not widely known, those who knew of them understood one truth—
The Nyxari were not to be offended.
Any beast foolish enough to cross a thousand kilometers into their territory without permission was hunted down and torn apart.
Such was the terror of the Shadow Panthers.
But everything changed because of one being.
One visitor.
One Pure One.
A young white dragon from Zeraphyx.
---
He arrived without warning.
Young.
Proud.
Arrogant.
Dangerous.
The guards sensed immediately that he was no ordinary beast.
Yet he carried no hostility.
No killing intent.
Only overwhelming confidence.
After a brief exchange, he was allowed entry.
That decision changed everything.
The young dragon entered the city calmly.
His destination was obvious.
The Patriarch Residence.
At the center of the city.
Atop a mountain.
The tallest structure in the entire territory.
At that time, Nyxaroth's father had only recently become patriarch following the ascension of Nyxaroth's grandfather.
He was currently holding a meeting with the clan elders.
Then—
The young dragon entered.
Without permission.
Without greeting.
Without fear.
He stepped into the gathering and declared—
"I am a Pure One."
His Silver eyes swept across the room.
Then he smiled.
"The true sovereign of this land."
His aura surged.
"Submit."
The room fell silent.
Then—
The elders laughed.
Not out of mockery.
Out of disbelief.
The guards had already signaled that the dragon had broken no laws.
So they tolerated him.
But submission?
That was absurd.
The laughter shattered the young dragon's expression.
His smile vanished.
His eyes turned cold.
Then—
ROAR!!!!!
A phantom dragon erupted behind him.
Over a hundred meters long.
White scales.
Serpentine body.
Lightning crackling across its massive frame.
The pressure descended.
Instantly.
Everyone in the hall froze.
Their bloodlines screamed.
Their bodies trembled.
It felt as if an invisible mountain had descended upon them.
Even the elders struggled to breathe.
The patriarch's pupils shrank.
Authority.
---
Far away—
Nyxaroth had just returned from a hunt.
He was the greatest prodigy of his generation.
The strongest young warrior in Nyxari history.
His bloodline purity had reached 75%.
An unprecedented feat.
The future patriarch.
Then he felt it.
His body froze.
An invisible pressure descended.
His bloodline trembled.
Fear gripped his soul.
Around him—
Every warrior collapsed.
Some fell to their knees.
Others slammed face-first into the ground.
Their bodies shook uncontrollably.
Only Nyxaroth remained standing.
Barely.
His legs felt like jelly.
His breathing became heavy.
Every instinct screamed.
Danger.
ROAR!!!!!
Nyxaroth exploded with power.
BOOM!!!!
Shadow energy erupted from his body.
He transformed instantly.
His humanoid form vanished.
A colossal black panther appeared.
His sclera turned pitch black.
His pupils glowed purple like galaxies.
Invisible rosettes across his body shone faintly.
Black lightning raged around him.
Shadow spread from beneath his feet.
Expanding.
Swallowing everything.
Then—
The shadows consumed him.
And he vanished.
---
Above Nyxari City—
A black portal opened.
BOOM!!!!
Nyxaroth burst through like a meteor.
And froze.
The Patriarch Residence…
Was gone.
Completely erased.
The mountain beneath it—
Gone.
A massive crater remained.
The surrounding city had been annihilated.
Only the reinforced walls remained.
Runes blazed at full power to prevent total collapse.
The destruction stunned him.
Then he saw him.
The white dragon.
Standing alone at the center.
Surrounded by over a thousand Nyxari warriors.
The dragon's upper body was covered in white scales.
White lightning danced around him.
Behind him loomed the phantom dragon.
Massive.
Majestic.
Terrifying.
The elders were injured.
The patriarch was injured.
Even the strongest warriors bled.
Thin rivers of blood flowed through shattered streets.
Yet the young dragon remained nearly untouched.
Nyxaroth's fury exploded.
He moved instantly.
BAM!!!!
His fist descended from above.
The white dragon barely raised his arms in time.
BOOOOOOM!!!!
The crater deepened.
The dragon grimaced.
Pain flashed across his face.
Then—
Nyxaroth felt it.
Cold sweat covered his back.
The heavens had locked onto him.
Before he could react—
ROAR!!!!!
A white lightning dragon erupted upward.
Nyxaroth's eyes widened.
Then—
BOOOOOOM!!!!
A heavenly bolt descended.
Without warning.
Without mercy.
It struck.
Not only Nyxaroth.
Everyone.
The heavens themselves had moved.
Death flashed through Nyxaroth's mind.
As a fifth-stage Divine Realm warrior, he understood immediately what he was witnessing.
Authority.
The Law Above Laws.
The First Law.
The law from which all laws are born.
The law before which all laws kneel.
Authority was not merely a law.
It was supremacy itself.
It was the right to impose one's will upon reality.
The final truth of Authority was simple—
Strength is the decree of Heaven.
That one sentence explained everything.
And nothing.
Unlike flame.
Unlike lightning.
Unlike space.
Authority was different.
Authority could merge with any law.
Authority could bend reality.
Authority could command Heaven itself.
And the Pure Ones…
Were born with it.
---
BOOOOOOM!!!!
The heavenly lightning descended.
Nyxaroth was struck first.
Then the rest.
The sky vanished beneath blinding white light.
When the smoke cleared—
Thousands were dead.
Body erased.
Soul destroyed.
Existence erased.
Nyxaroth still stood.
Barely.
His body was ruined.
Half his chest charred black.
One arm destroyed.
But he lived.
Around him—
Only a few remained.
The elders.
The patriarch.
A handful of elites.
The army of over a thousand…
Reduced to almost nothing.
The white dragon calmly looked around.
Then smiled.
A terrifying smile.
As though this had all been entertainment.
Then—
Another bolt gathered.
Nyxaroth's pupils shrank.
No time.
No hesitation.
He made his decision.
ROAR!!!!!
A colossal panther phantom erupted behind him.
Purple-black rosettes burned across its body.
Shadow exploded outward.
His domain expanded.
Covering everything.
The Shadow Realm opened.
BOOOOOOM!!!!
The second heavenly strike descended.
But hit nothing.
Only empty ground.
The heavens trembled.
Furious.
Because Nyxaroth had stolen his people away.
Saved the remnants.
But at a terrible cost.
That day—
The Nyxari clan split.
One faction remained in Neraphyx.
One fled.
Eventually settling in Zeraphyx.
Under Azurion protection.
And from that day onward—
The hatred remained.
Not merely in memory.
Not merely in blood.
But within the Shadow Realm itself.
An ancient hatred.
A hatred born from destruction.
A hatred directed toward one bloodline.
The Pure Ones.