In the vast emptiness of space, where light and time dared not reach, there was a place that even the stars forgot—a realm outside of existence itself. Deep within this void, voices whispered. They slithered through the darkness, slipping through the cracks of nothingness, like a secret shared only between shadows. These were not just voices of any creatures—they belonged to the Primordial Demons.
Here, where silence was absolute, they hid. Even in this forsaken corner of the universe, they concealed themselves, not just from the world, but from each other.
The Demon of Greed, a mass of molten gold and obsidian, hunched over, clutching at his side where a deep wound festered. His form was swollen, grotesque, hoarding not just wealth but the very energy around him. His eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light, but they darted nervously, for he knew that his insatiable hunger had led him to ruin. He whispered in a low, hissing voice, "I feel him. He's near."