In demon lore, amid tales of great battles, lives a particularly chilling legend. It tells of the farthest northern point of the Sphere, where eternal darkness and cold reign. It was here that the demon Idris came in search of the power to erase humanity.
Wandering among the lifeless black rocks, he discovered an ancient glacier, permeated with a vein of pure magic. From its heart, Idris carved a mask. It was blacker than night itself, utterly impenetrable, containing all the sorrow and cold of this godforsaken place. The mask did not hide his face; it erased it, becoming a new, inhuman skin.
But Idris did not know this. So, the moment the ice touched his flesh, the demon howled from the piercing cold and heard a voice in his mind. The mask tempted with power, the authority of cold itself, but demanded a price—eternity in the icy prison of one's own body. It was a parasite, slowly sucking the warmth of the soul, causing the wearer to lose memory, emotions, their very essence.
Removing it was impossible. The mask had fused itself into the demon's flesh, turning it into a statue eternally frozen in agony. The mask had only one purpose, one need—to search. To search for new, vibrant hearts, to turn them to ice. And now it awaits a new wearer.