"Hand over the Emperor of Death."
In the skies, four distinct groups soared and landed on different cliffs. Their members were all donned in black robes, each group bearing a unique insignia that represented who they belonged to.
"What if I said… no?"
In the northern direction, standing at the forefront of the group, was Young Master Deathseeker. He had his hands behind his back, appearing nonchalant.
Behind him stood a group of five people, their emblem carrying a striking purple teardrop that descends from an intricately detailed eye. The teardrop glistened ever so lightly, giving off a vibrant contrast to the darkness of their robes as well as a sense of sorrow, its gaze both sorrowful and vigilant.
"Younglings should shut up."