The Second Supreme Monarch lifted his hand slowly, staring at it in pure disbelief. His once crimson pupils, now pitch black, studied his rough, darkened hand, the flesh coated in a faint sheen of chaos energy. His nails had stretched into wicked talons, curving like blades ready to tear through existence itself. He shifted his perception, letting his gaze sweep over his entire being. What stared back at him was not the proud figure of the Vampire Monarch he once was, but a monstrous reflection of despair and ruin.
He stood stunned, shocked, and utterly devastated.
He could feel it. The foreign, chaotic energy swirling restlessly within his core, waiting to be tapped, waiting to be commanded. Every beat of his heart, every breath, was a cruel reminder of what he had become. At this very moment, he was caught in a storm of existential torment. He had become the very thing he hated. The very thing he had sworn across countless centuries to eradicate.
