Damian felt empty.
Surrounded by pure darkness, he floated aimlessly, a lone blue flickering flame his only companion. He reached within himself, searching for something—ambition, instinct, even the faintest whisper of his own identity—but found nothing. It was as though he were drifting in an eternal void, stripped of everything that made him who he was.
Why am I here? What did I do to deserve this? His mind clawed for answers, but all he found was silence.
Then, a surge of emotion broke through the emptiness.
"DAMN YOU, FALCO!" The thought echoed through his mind like a thunderclap, and with it, hatred began to bloom in his heart. Falco—his closest friend, his brother in all but blood—had betrayed him in the most unforgivable way. He had trusted him, confided in him. And yet, Falco had thrown him aside like he was nothing.
How could he? Was our bond so meaningless to him?
As the fire flickered in the darkness, Damian's thoughts spiraled back to his past, to the chain of events that led him to this desolate place.
June 2nd 1172, 8:40AM
"Wake up, Damian!"
A sharp voice cut through the fog of his dreams. Damian's eyes shot open just as a gust of wind made his curtain billow, allowing a harsh beam of sunlight to pierce his small, modest room. The familiar, pungent scent of cow manure hung in the air, making him instinctively pinch his nose.
Ugh, another day of this.
Grumbling, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and trudged toward the cramped wooden closet beside his door. He changed into a pair of worn jean overalls and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he made his way downstairs.
Before he could fully process the morning, a small figure launched itself at him.
"Hi, Damian!!" his little sister, Julia, chirped, wrapping her tiny arms around his waist.
Damian chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Good morning, Julia."
Before he could take another step, a firm grip seized the back of his overalls and yanked him backward.
"THERE'S NO TIME TO BE FROLICKING! GET OUT ON THE FIELD!"
The booming voice belonged to Damian's father. Not his biological father, but the man who had raised him as best he could—though with a rather harsh hand. He stood tall, towering over the boy at an intimidating 212 cm, his broad, muscular frame making him seem even larger. Many in the village called him a giant.
Does he have to be so loud every morning?
"Y-Yes, sir!" Damian stammered, quickly shoving his feet into his boots before sprinting out the front door.
His memories snapped away, and Damian found himself back in the void.
The blue flame had grown massive, its light illuminating the vast darkness. Suddenly, small red orbs burst forth, swirling around him in rapid, chaotic spirals. His breath caught in his throat.
"T-these… these are souls," he whispered, his gaze locking onto the eerie, glowing spheres. Each one pulsed with energy, stories of lives once lived condensed into tiny, floating fragments. As he peered deeper into their glow, a violent tremor shook the space around him.
What is this place? What have I gotten myself into?
The flame erupted, exploding in a brilliant display of blue energy.
Then, the air turned ice-cold.
A dark presence slithered into the void, sending a bone-chilling sensation down Damian's spine. From the dying embers of the explosion, a towering, bony figure emerged. Its face was an enigma—visible yet impossible to decipher, shifting like a mirage. In its skeletal grip, it held a closed book, its pages radiating an ominous aura.
A deep, raspy voice rumbled through the darkness.
"Well... looks like I've found the souls that Cerberus tried to steal from me. And it seems they've taken a liking to you."
Damian stood frozen as the figure's piercing presence wrapped around him like a vice.
Why me? Why do these souls follow me?
"I'm sorry, but I'll be taking them—and you as well."
Damian's breath hitched. "H-hold on a minute, surely we could strike a deal or something?"
A slow, hollow chuckle resonated through the void—though it sounded more like a long exhale, accompanied by the clicking of bones.
"HAH! That's laughable. What could you possibly offer me? What position are you in to think you could bargain with me?"
Damian clenched his fists. The figure was right; he had nothing. Even if he did, what use would it be to something so powerful that it could enter this world freely?
I need to think. There has to be something I can do.
Yet, the figure paused, scrutinizing him for a moment before speaking again.
"However… I like your spirit. It has been a long time since someone dared to speak up to me. And you… you are different. It is not normal for souls to gather around one unless they have the spirit of a king."
"Spirit of a king?" Damian scoffed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, but I'm not some noble ruler. I lived my life as a peasant on a farm."
The skeletal being let out another unsettling chuckle, the sound of its bones clicking together filling the void.
"Listen well, mortal," it continued. "I will offer you a contract. I shall send your soul into the body of a newborn human somewhere in the world. In return, after the age of ten, you will bring me one soul every year. And upon your true death, your soul will belong to me. Do you accept these terms?"
Damian swallowed hard. He had no leverage, no other options. The choice had already been made for him.
So this is it? My only path forward?
"I mean… I don't really have much of a choice, do I? So, yes. I accept."
The figure seemed pleased.
"Heh… Good luck, mortal. Make better choices this time."
A chilling wind rushed through the void, and in the next instant, everything went black.
[SYSTEM AWAKENED]
His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he remained still, his mind sluggish as he registered his surroundings. Darkness enveloped him, but he exhaled a breath of relief—he had made it out alive. The last thing he remembered was… well, dying. Yet, here he was, breathing, thinking.
As his vision gradually adjusted, his heart pounded with disbelief. He was in a massive chamber—easily five times the size of his old bedroom. The air carried a faint scent of aged parchment and polished stone. He stood in a small wooden crib, the smooth surface cool beneath his tiny fingers. The walls, grand and imposing, were carved from pristine white marble, adorned with golden accents that gleamed faintly in the dim lighting. Towering pillars stretched toward an unseen ceiling, their bases lined with intricate patterns, and along the far end of the room, enormous shelves brimmed with leather-bound tomes, their spines worn from years of use.
Yet, none of this commanded Damian's attention as much as the strange, glowing screen hovering in front of him.
A deep purple hue pulsed across its translucent surface, lines of text flickering before his eyes:
What the hell is this? Looks like a square magic shield, but it has writing on it?
Name: Lance Gilthunder Title: None Archetype: None
Strength: 1 Speed: 1 Intelligence: 5
Vitality: 1 Mana: 1 Dexterity: 1
Lance Gilthunder? So that must be the name of this body… but why is my intelligence only 5? I'm not that dumb, am I?
He frowned—or at least, he tried to. His small, infant muscles barely responded. The weight of his situation settled in. He was a baby. Again.
Before he could process further, a low creak echoed through the chamber. The massive wooden doors at the far end slowly swung open, allowing a shaft of golden light to pierce the dimness. A figure stepped into view—a bald, elderly man dressed in an immaculate suit, his posture straight, his expression warm yet formal.
"Good morning, Master Lance," the man said, his voice rich with practiced elegance. "I hope you're excited to start the day fresh."