Chapter 2: The Rise of Xytrax Velkor

Xytrax Velkor stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, overlooking the ruined expanse below. His obsidian eyes gleamed with a cold fire as he surveyed the scorched landscape—a kingdom he had once ruled, now reduced to ash and ruin. The wind howled through the broken towers, carrying with it the scent of charred earth and decay. To anyone else, the scene would have been one of despair. To Xytrax, it was nothing more than a minor setback.

The skies above churned with dark clouds, lightning flickering ominously, casting brief flashes of light across his towering figure. His armor—black as the void and forged in the fires of forgotten realms—clung to his body like a second skin, humming with dark energy. Every piece of it, every jagged edge, told the story of countless battles fought and won, victories carved out of the bones of his enemies.

Xytrax’s lips curled into a smile, though there was no warmth behind it—only a cold, calculating satisfaction. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, an ancient weapon forged from the very heart of the Voidborne Dominion. It pulsed faintly with a life of its own, feeding off the darkness around him, always hungry for more.

“Is this what it has come to?” he muttered, his voice deep and resonant, echoing in the silence. “A world undone by its own weakness?”

The memory of his conquest still burned bright in his mind. Once, this world had bent to his will—its people trembling at the mere mention of his name. Xytrax Velkor, Lord of the Voidborne Dominion, conqueror of dimensions, master of the arcane and the brutal. His rule had been absolute, his power unmatched. But the rifts… the rifts had changed everything.

The rifts had once been the answer—a desperate solution to a world drained of its resources, where the skies bled and the earth lay barren. The war had taken everything from the present, forcing Xytrax and the Dominion to seek out alternative means of survival. His sorcerers, under his command, had torn open the fabric of reality itself, using the rifts to reach into the past and seize what they needed: raw materials, energy, life itself. At first, it worked. The rifts provided them with food, water, minerals—everything their war-ravaged world lacked.

But the rifts came with a price. The tear in reality could not be sustained without constant power, and that was when Xytrax had discovered the creatures—small, elusive, and brimming with energy: the SnapCats. They were more than simple animals; they were beings of immense untapped potential, linked to the very fabric of the dimensions themselves. By capturing them and draining their power, Xytrax could keep the rifts open indefinitely.

A faint sound caught his attention. At his feet, a SnapCat, sleek and dark-furred, lay twitching, its once-bright eyes now dull as the last of its energy was siphoned into the device attached to its tiny body. Tubes ran from the creature into the blackened ground, feeding directly into the swirling vortex of the nearest rift. The rift glowed with malevolent energy, its mouth widening as more power was drawn from the helpless SnapCat.

Xytrax glanced down at the creature, its body limp and lifeless now, a mere husk of what it once was. He felt no pity—only satisfaction. The SnapCats were tools, nothing more. Tools to keep the rifts open, to give him access to the infinite resources that lay waiting in the past.

He knelt down and removed the device from the SnapCat’s body, standing as the rift pulsed brighter. Another SnapCat, already caged, would soon take its place.

“How many more?” Xytrax asked, his voice a growl that blended with the rumbling of the rift.

Behind him, Seldar emerged from the shadows, his head bowed low. “There are only a few left in this region, Lord Velkor. We are sending scouts to locate more.”

Xytrax grunted. “Find them quickly. Without their energy, the rifts will collapse. I have no interest in returning to the broken world we once inhabited.”

Seldar hesitated, his voice wavering slightly. “There are… rumors, my lord. Whispers of a man—a warrior—who has emerged from the rifts. They say he’s searching for something, or someone.”

Xytrax’s brow furrowed, and he finally turned to face his lieutenant. “A warrior?” His voice was laced with interest, though his tone remained measured. “What kind of fool enters the rifts and survives?”

Seldar bowed his head lower. “He is said to be relentless, my lord. His name is Kaelan Voss.”

At the mention of the name, Xytrax’s smile returned, though it was sharper now, more dangerous. Kaelan Voss. The name sounded familiar, though insignificant. A man wandering the wastelands, searching for something lost. Xytrax had seen men like him before—broken, desperate, clinging to hope where none existed.

“He seeks the impossible,” Xytrax said, his voice a low growl. “The rifts do not return what they take.”

“But he survives,” Seldar added carefully, “and each time, he emerges stronger.”

Xytrax tilted his head, considering this. “Interesting.” His eyes flickered with dark amusement. “Perhaps I should meet this Kaelan Voss. See if his strength is worthy of mention… or if he’s just another fool doomed to die.”

The air crackled around him as Xytrax turned back to the horizon, where another rift had begun to form, its swirling vortex of energy casting long shadows across the land. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

“Let him come,” Xytrax whispered, his voice full of dark promise. “I welcome the challenge.”

The storm raged on, and in the distance, the rifts continued to open, tearing apart reality itself. Xytrax Velkor stood tall, his gaze fixed on the chaos he would soon command, the power that would soon be his. The world may have broken, but from its ruins, he would rise again—stronger, darker, and more dangerous than ever before.

And anyone who stood in his way—whether they came from this world or beyond—would meet the same fate.