The once-peaceful Ravenwood was now a battleground, torn apart by the ambitions of two powerful creatures—brothers, once united, now divided by greed and hunger for power.

Apophis sensed the shift in the air, a creeping dread that clawed at his instincts. He glanced at Cyrus and Finn, searching for answers. “What’s happening here? Why is Ravenwood in such turmoil?”

Cyrus rumbled lowly, his massive form tense. “It’s Rakar. He’s not just a threat anymore—he’s become a terror. Once, he was like his brother Kael—strong, noble, a protector. But now... he’s something far worse.”

Finn's eyes darted nervously around the darkening woods. “Rakar used to defend this forest, but now it’s as if he’s hunting it. He kills for sport, not out of need. His thirst for blood is unquenchable, and he revels in the violence. The creatures of Ravenwood... they don’t stand a chance.”

Cyrus's voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. “He’s no longer a king; he’s a beast. His eyes burn with a hunger for battle, and wherever he goes, blood follows. Entire packs of creatures have been torn apart, their bodies left to rot as warnings. Rakar enjoys it. He thrives on the fear he spreads.”

Apophis frowned, disturbed by the description. “How did he become this... monster?”

Finn glanced at Cyrus before speaking, his voice hushed. “It’s the power he gained from the Swamp Sovereign of Miregrove. Rakar ventured into the depths of that cursed forest and returned with a strength no one had seen before—along with a madness that seemed to have taken over his mind. Now, all he wants is to fight, to conquer. He seeks to make Ravenwood his own personal hunting ground.”

Cyrus nodded grimly. “He’s obsessed. His claws, once sharp enough to fell only the most dangerous of prey, are now stained with the blood of the innocent. Even his brother Kael can’t stop him—Rakar’s strength grows with every kill, feeding on the fear and chaos he sows.”

Finn added, “He’s not just after Ravenwood anymore. His ambitions stretch beyond this forest. His eyes are set on the entire realm. But what makes him truly terrifying isn’t just his strength or his thirst for blood—it’s the fact that he enjoys the suffering. He craves it.”

Apophis could feel the weight of their words sinking in. The Rakar they spoke of wasn’t just a ruler turned dark; he was a force of pure destruction, driven by a twisted desire for violence. “And Kael?” Apophis asked. “What is he doing about this?”

Cyrus shook his head. “Kael’s still trying to find a way to stop his brother without destroying him. But the more Rakar fights, the stronger and more ruthless he becomes. Kael’s hesitation might cost him everything.”

Finn’s voice was strained. “Rakar doesn’t just fight to win. He fights to destroy. To him, bloodshed is the only path to victory, and he won’t stop until every creature that opposes him is dead or kneels in fear.”

Apophis's mind whirled. He could almost see Rakar in his mind's eye—a hulking, bloodstained figure standing over the mangled bodies of those who dared cross his path. His roar would shake the trees, his claws tearing through flesh with savage glee. This wasn’t just a fight for territory; it was a war for dominance, a war Rakar was determined to win, no matter the cost.

Apophis felt the weight of the situation settle over him. The forest was on the brink of a full-scale war, and Rakar’s insidious power was spreading chaos. “Then we have no choice,” he said, his voice firm. “If we want to survive, we need to stop Rakar before it’s too late.”