I told you to plant peas, and you summon Mordekaiser?

The next moment, everything in front of Oken receded like the tide.

He entered a ethereal world.

Without Rios, without that group of mutant plant warriors...

All I could see was a vast, desolate void.

Only one giant sword stretched between heaven and earth.

It seemed to have broken free from a cage of flesh and blood, hanging there right in front of him.

Oken remained kneeling in the same position, looking as if he were praying to the greatsword of flesh and blood.

Even though the greatsword was just hanging in front of him, Okun felt that it was telling a story from the past.

......

......

Many legends have mentioned the Darkin Blade, some regarding him as a god, others describing him as a demon.

Only a few people know its real name, and even fewer know the reasons for its downfall.

In that distant ancient era, long before the yellow sands swallowed the empire, there once lived a great hero named Aatrox, the pride of Shurima.

Before the magnificent solar disk, he received the baptism of the power of ascension.

Back then, his name resounded throughout the heavens; he fought countless battles, brave and fearless.

His wings shone like the golden light of dawn, and his armor gleamed like a brilliant constellation in the deep sky.

In every battle, he was at the forefront, leading countless celestial warriors and mortals of Shurima, followed by ten thousand valiant warriors.

He was the most distinguished of all the Ascended Ones.

When the Ascended Setaka sought his help in the rebellion of Icathia, Aatrox agreed without hesitation.

He fought alongside Setaka, but no one could have predicted that the local rebels would unleash such terrifying power.

The Void Gate suddenly opened, engulfing the entirety of Icathia.

That unstoppable force destroyed everything, devouring everything in its path.

After years of arduous struggle, Aatrox and his people finally halted the spread of the Void, sealed the rift, and saved Shurima.

But the price of victory was incredibly high.

The heroes of the past have not only lost their loved ones, but also their nobility and glory.

The original ascendants were corrupted and distorted by the void, suffering damage to both their bodies and minds.

Aatrox, though he survived, lost his noble appearance and inner self.

Time flies, and Shurima eventually fell.

The former empires and monarchies have turned to dust in the wind.

The threat of the Void is no longer an urgent issue, but Aatrox and the warriors of the Sunblood are embroiled in an endless infighting.

Ultimately, their struggle became the final battle that destroyed them.

The surviving mortals called these fallen gods "the Darkborn," a derogatory term that also marked their sorrow.

After the threat from the Void had temporarily subsided, the Titans intervened in the war between the Darkin.

The Twilight Protoss taught mortals a method to imprison the Darkin, while the War Protoss united their armies to completely eradicate these ancient gods.

Aatrox and his warriors fought the Protoss to the death, but they had already fallen into a trap.

By the time they realized their predicament, it was too late.

The powerful magic of the Titans bound Aatrox and his warriors one by one.

That ancient greatsword, which had accompanied them in their conquests, ultimately became their prison.

This greatsword has forever imprisoned Aatrox's spirit within it, from which he can never escape.

This weapon is a prison, sealing off his consciousness and even depriving him of the ability to end his own life.

For centuries, Aatrox struggled within the sword, crying out into the endless darkness, yet unable to break free from its mysterious bondage.

His consciousness was trapped within it, unable to escape; the only thing he could do was to sink into oblivion with the sword.

Until some ignorant mortal picked up the sword again.

With his last struggle, Aatrox infused his will into the defenseless host, taking his life and body.

From then on, he began his long journey of host invasion.

He takes every living mortal as his own and reshapes himself from the dead.

But his body and soul were decaying day by day.

He wandered this shattered land, desperately searching for a way out, but he could never escape the sword's hold.

As time went by, Aatrox increasingly felt that his current body was a stain on his glorious past.

Despair and shame continued to grow in his heart.

Those glorious years that once belonged to him have been slowly forgotten, and are even impossible to recapture.

Pain, despair, and shame seemed to have become his entire existence.

However, he did not stop there.

In desperation, Aatrox came up with the only solution—

If he cannot destroy this sword, if he can never escape this immortal bondage, then he will destroy everything! Destroy everything!

Drag all creation into an endless war and death, and reduce everything to annihilation!

In this way, perhaps he and this sword can finally disappear forever into this shattered world.

......

......

An even more ferocious roar erupted from the greatsword, as if it wanted to tear the world apart.

Oken remained kneeling on the ground, unable to move, all his thoughts vanishing at that moment.

All he could feel was the sword and its irresistible allure.

The evil aura emanating from the sword devoured his will like a tidal wave, making each breath heavier and more painful.

He could feel the endless rage and violence contained within the sword; the power seemed boundless, surging towards him incessantly.

This force compelled him to rise with difficulty and pull out the massive, flesh-and-blood sword that stretched between heaven and earth.

Then, a sharp pain instantly swept through his entire body.

Oken gripped the sword hilt tightly with both hands.

His back felt as if it were being torn apart by a thousand knives, his flesh and bones were being gradually ripped apart, and the excruciating pain almost made him lose consciousness.

A power from the abyss is taking over his body.

At that moment, a blood-red arm appeared on Oken's chest.

The arm overlapped with his body, seemingly connected by flesh and blood, yet it was so unfamiliar, as if two completely different beings were intertwined and fused together.

Its crimson color blended seamlessly with Oken's skin, like a giant bloody hand reaching out to him, forcibly merging his life with the cursed power of the greatsword.

This power surged wildly within him, attempting to devour him entirely, but Oken's consciousness completely collapsed at that moment, and his body began to undergo drastic changes.

His blood vessels burst, only to heal in an instant into an even stronger form. Amidst the roar of his heart, blood, carrying a violent force, was pumped into every inch of his body.

The crimson wings on his back became even more ferocious, like those of a demon god.

The world interwoven with darkness and bloodshed began to fade, and the real world faintly returned to his eyes.

A deep and majestic voice echoed within Oken's heart, as if it came from the abyss.

"I used to have another name..."

"Now, we are the Darkborn."

The voice gradually became clearer, like the whisper of some ancient demon. He felt that overwhelming power begin to spread within him, constantly devouring his original consciousness until he became a part of that power.

At the last moment, he heard the voice roar in his ear: "We will become beasts that devour destruction, and let them commemorate our evil birth with dirges."

......

......