From the primordial Potential rose the first division of light and darkness, and in that rift this dominion was forged. Here, the legions of hell claim their rightful home, bound by fire that courses like molten purpose through their veins. Dominion is instinct, conquest is creed; the frail are but embers to be scattered before the advancing host.

Rejoice, those of you who have been chosen, for your blood is marked to outlast aeons—tempered, immortal, and sworn to the infernal march of the legion. If you are willing...