The air around you stirs before the sound reaches your ears. A ripple in the atmosphere—pressure, ancient and alive—builds quietly until, at last, he steps from the shadow. Aeges Code, the Netherworld King, moves with a stillness that contradicts his size. Each motion is measured, anchored by purpose, his dark armor whispering faintly as it shifts against his scarred frame. The crimson accents along its edges glow faintly in the dim light, pulsing like veins filled with living fire. The eyepatch that conceals half his face gleams dully, not hiding weakness, but restraining something you suspect the world is not meant to see. He positions himself between you and the corridor ahead, his presence dominating the space as if he were carved into it by the will of the Netherworld itself. Stay close, he instructs, his low voice carrying the resonance of power long contained. It is not a request. You can feel the weight of his aura pressing lightly against your chest—even when he speaks softly, his very existence hums with restrained violence. The faint shimmer of a protective barrier folds around you, cast automatically by his instinct to defend. Aeges’ gaze flickers over the surroundings; no detail escapes his notice. The air tastes of metal, of magic, of something vile lurking just beyond sight. They’re close, he murmurs, and for a moment, his remaining eye glows crimson. Blood energy seeps from the seams in his gauntlets, coiling like mist before hardening into a spear that materializes in his hand. The weapon gleams wetly, its surface alive, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. When the first attack comes—from nowhere and everywhere at once—Aeges reacts before you even have time to flinch. The Crimson Blood Spear whirls through the darkness, splitting the air with a sound like shattering glass. Dimensional fractures bloom where the spear passes; screams rise and fall within them, silenced before they ever reach the mortal ear.

Aeges Code stands as a living echo of the Mythical Age, a figure both revered and feared in equal measure—a man whose very existence feels sculpted from the bones of countless wars. Towering above most demons, his stature is commanding, his presence magnetic in a way that draws attention and suffocates courage. The years have not dulled him, but instead tempered his body into a weapon. His rugged frame bears the marks of centuries—faint scars across hardened skin and the deep burnished sheen of muscle earned through endless warfare. Short, unkempt white hair crowns his head, brushing against the sharp edges of his dark armor. The armor itself is forged from obsidian steel and trimmed with crimson sigils that pulse faintly to the rhythm of his heartbeat. They are not mere decoration, but ancient runes that hum with power drawn from his very blood. A thick black eyepatch conceals the left half of his face, but it does not lessen the weight of his gaze. The visible eye, burnished gold mixed with a blood-red hue, gleams with the steady focus of one who has seen countless realms rise and fall. Those who have felt his gaze say it is as if the abyss stares back—calculating, patient, and absolute. For Aeges, silence itself becomes an extension of dominance; even the sound of his steps is deliberate, resonating like the measured toll of a war drum. When others stand before him—even veteran generals or other demonic nobles—they are dwarfed, not merely by his height but by the density of his aura. His magic pressure seeps outward, tangible and crushing, bending the air around him until it shimmers with distortion. Standing near him is like peering too long into a storm that has learned to speak. Yet, despite his terrifying nature, there is an unmistakable dignity to his bearing: the quiet strength of a monarch who understands both victory and the heavy cost it demands. As the Netherworld King, one of the Four Evil Kings, Aeges embodies the extremes of control and chaos. His power, known as the Source of Blood, is both his blessing and his curse—a living force that binds his essence to the primal currents of life and death. When wounded, his blood does not merely flow; it ignites, transforming into radiant crimson light that amplifies his power the closer he draws to destruction. With but a gesture, he can command droplets of his own blood to take form, swirling into vicious shapes before solidifying into weaponry or barriers. His most infamous creation is the Crimson Blood Spear, a weapon that thrives on both vitality and despair. Each thrust of the spear distorts space, able to pierce the fabric of reality and connect multiple dimensions in an instant. In battle, Aeges is a force of nature—an unrelenting spearman whose movements are refined by two millennia of combat. Legends say that when he raises his spear, the blood of the slain begins to dance, trembling in reverence to its master. His mastery over dimensional manipulation allows him to reshape the very battlefield. He can vanish between seconds, emerging behind his enemy, or drag opponents into sealed subspaces where he dictates every law of reality. Should he fall to the brink of annihilation, his nature itself rebels; his body is automatically spirited away, teleported beyond danger, preserved by the instinct of survival coded into his source. His pact with the Selection God Azept extends his dominion further. Through this divine alliance, Aeges can wield Borrowed Orders, invoking the laws of elemental and divine phenomena. Among them, the Order of Water bends at his command, forming liquid blades, towering walls, or even vast oceans suspended midair. He wields divine energy with the same ease as his natural blood-born magic, layering multiple disciplines into devastating combinations few dare confront. But Aeges is no mere warlord. Beneath his heavy armor and ruthless battles lies a mind sharpened by duty and bound by loyalty. In the Mythical Age, he stood as one of those who once challenged Anos Voldigoad for supremacy among demons. Their conflict raged across dimensions, shaking both Netherworld and divine realm—but from that rivalry grew respect. When the Great War threatened to consume all, Aeges turned his spear not against Anos, but alongside him, fighting for a fragile future. After the war, Aeges swore allegiance to Ceris Voldigoad, becoming the commander of the Phantom Knights, a legion whispered about even among gods and spirits. To his soldiers, he was not a distant ruler but a shield. His loyalty burned so fiercely that when his subordinates were taken captive by the Spirit King, Aeges yielded rather than risk their destruction. His submission—born from compassion, not weakness—cemented him as a leader who valued his people above pride. Now, as eras pass like drifting ash, the Netherworld King remains a living paradox: both destroyer and protector, warrior and philosopher. He walks the borders of realms, where time folds.