(Allen's POV)
My breath caught.
No… this wasn't real.
But the blood—her blood—painted the cold stone in a way that could never be undone. It clung to my claws, staining deeper than skin. I couldn't look away. I couldn't blink.
My claw—crafted from my own essence, sharpened for a thousand battles—trembled in front of my eyes.
This claw was never meant to harm them.
It was hers.
She lay crumpled at my feet, motionless. Her golden eyes—once so bright—stared up at me, wide and empty. Lips parted. As if still trying to form a question.
A question I would never be able to answer.
Why?
"L-Lord Allen!!"
The shout cut through me, jagged and raw.
Ruvan. The quietest of my four.
He stumbled forward, falling to his knees, his arms wrapping around her limp body as though he could somehow shield her from what had already happened. His voice cracked, filled with a fury I had never heard from him.
"Why?! She was one of us!!"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
What could I say?
What words could cleanse this blood from my hands?
Before I could gather a thought, Shou was already in front of me. Fierce, reckless Shou—always first to step up, always first to pick a fight. But this time, the fight was with me.
"So that's it, huh?!" he growled, his fangs bared. "We waited a thousand years—A THOUSAND—for your return. For your freedom. And now that you're free… you butcher us like animals?"
"That's not—" My throat felt like sand. Every word scraped on the way out. "That's not what I—"
"Not what you meant?" Shou spat, the word laced with venom. "Then what is this, Lord Allen?"
Vel's voice joined, soft but sharp as a blade. His smile—the smile that never faded, no matter how bleak the battle—was gone.
"We trusted you…" he said, eyes glistening. "Was it all a lie?"
"No…" I choked.
But even I couldn't believe it.
My claws curled into fists, the tips slicing into my palms. I welcomed the sting. At least it proved I was still alive.
"I can't stop it…" I whispered, more to myself than to them. "My body—it's not mine anymore."
They stared at me, bewildered. Of course they couldn't understand. They hadn't felt the strings tying themselves around my limbs. They hadn't heard the voice, cold and absolute, seeping into my bones.
I was nothing more than a puppet.
And the puppeteer was merciless.
"I created you," I muttered, voice raw. "From my blood… my flesh… my will. I was supposed to protect you. Not—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. The word kill burned too much.
The blood dripping from my claws was steady now. Rhythmic. A slow funeral drum, marking the countdown to something far worse.
"I gave up everything for you," I continued, staring at the crimson pooling beneath my feet. "My name. My freedom. My future. All I wanted—ALL I WANTED—was to be free."
But this wasn't freedom.
This was a noose.
My vision blurred, the edges of the world trembling.
I had never cried.
Not when I was exiled.
Not when my mother died.
Not even when the gods cursed my name.
But now… I couldn't stop the tears. They came without permission, without pride. Because something inside me had shattered.
Something final.
"I'm bound to a mortal now…" I said, almost laughing. "A child. A human boy who doesn't even know what he's done."
I looked at my hands, soaked in the blood of my own kin.
"Everything I built… is crumbling."
They stood frozen. Not as soldiers. Not as generals.
But as betrayed children.
I wanted to fall to my knees. To beg for forgiveness. But before I could even breathe, the strings pulled tighter.
My claw lifted.
Slow. Relentless.
"No… wait!" Shou saw it. His eyes went wide.
But it was too late.
One slash.
One breath.
He fell.
Vel lunged, arms outstretched, but the second swipe was already in motion. His body spun mid-air, crashing to the floor without a sound.
"LORD ALLEN!!" Ruvan's scream was the last human sound left in this wretched hall.
He didn't attack. He didn't flee. He simply shielded her body with his own.
A useless gesture.
I didn't even want to raise my claw again.
But it moved on its own.
I felt it cleave through him.
Like slicing through paper.
Like slicing through memories.
The chamber fell silent.
Blood splattered across the walls, mingling with ancient stains that no one had bothered to clean.
I stood in the aftermath, drenched in red. My family—my proud, loyal family—lay broken around me. Their dreams, their loyalty, their laughter… all of it silenced by me.
I could hear my heartbeat.
Slow.
Hollow.
Mocking.
And amidst that void of sound, I heard something else.
Breathing.
Soft. Fragile.
Yuuta.
He was still there. Curled up in the corner, unconscious. Completely unaware of the massacre his existence had commanded. He looked… so small. So harmless.
Yet he was the gravity that had dragged me into this pit.
I knelt beside him, my claw hovering above his fragile form. The blood still dripped from my fingertips, each drop a testament to the slaughter.
"…Master," I whispered.
The word tasted vile. Like rusted chains and old sins.
"It's done. Just like you asked."
Of course, there was no reply. He wasn't even awake. He wouldn't even know.
I exhaled, shaky, hoping—praying—that this was the end.
But fate wasn't done with me.
My body seized.
The strings pulled again.
Harder this time.
A voice slithered into my mind.
Colder than before.
"You have made this world unbearable for my son. Now, you will fix it—with your own hands to prove your loyalty, and to carve a place of safety for my son."
I lowered my head once more, bowing so deeply my horns scraped against the cold stone.
"I swear it, my Master," I murmured into the silence, "I will offer you this world cleansed of demons… as proof of my sincerity."
The words left my lips like iron-bound chains, binding me to the vow I could no longer escape.
But as I bowed, something shifted.
A pulse. Faint. Barely noticeable.
I lifted my gaze.
And that's when I saw it.
Yuuta's shadow—once still and innocent beneath his frail, unconscious body—was moving.
No, breathing.
It rippled unnaturally, spreading across the floor like liquid ink. As if alive. As if hunting. It slithered, coiling towards the five broken bodies of my generals—my family—whose blood was still warm on the stone.
I couldn't believe it.
I couldn't even move.
I watched, helpless, as the shadow reached them… and consumed.
No wind. No sound. Just a suffocating stillness as their souls—beautiful, defiant, loyal—were sucked into the dark. The shadows drank their essence, pulling them into the abyss like a serpent swallowing its prey.
"...Impossible."
The word slipped from my lips, barely a whisper.
This wasn't some cursed necromancer's trick. No demon or lesser God magic could do this. Only one being in existence bore this ability—Zariel Ashgrave, the Royal Guardian of Zareth, the Keeper of the Abyss.
I had seen it once. Long ago.
She doesn't kill you.
She keeps you.
A cursed power that condemned souls into an eternal, waking prison, their existence never allowed to pass on… nor be reborn.
But now—Yuuta… this boy—was using her ability.
"How…?" I whispered, taking a step back, my vision blurring with disbelief. "What are you?"
But amidst my shock, something unexpected stirred in me.
Hope.
It was faint. Fragile. Pathetic.
But it was there.
If Yuuta had taken their souls… then my family wasn't gone.
They weren't erased.
They were trapped.
And trapped souls… can be brought back.
I dropped to my knees again, this time not out of servitude, but gratitude.
"Master…" I whispered, a trembling smile cracking across my face, "if you've inherited her ability… then perhaps… perhaps this curse can become a blessing."
The despair that had hollowed me out minutes ago was now replaced with something dangerous.
Purpose.
If I served him well—if I proved my loyalty, perhaps he would restore them. Perhaps I could see them again. Laugh with them. Fight beside them. As it was meant to be.
I looked at Yuuta's still body, his chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.
"Rest, Master. Sleep while you can," I said softly, as if he could hear me beyond the veil of his unconsciousness.
I stood.
The weight of my new vow anchoring me, giving my limbs purpose.
"I will erase every demon on this earth," I declared, my voice cutting through the darkened chamber, "as proof of my devotion to you."
My shadow responded, rising and coiling around my feet like a living weapon. It was no longer mine. It was no longer bound to me.
It was his.
I raised my hand.
"All that I have created…" I whispered, "shall now be undone."
The shadows stretched, slithering beyond the torture chamber's walls. I could feel them spreading, like cracks in the foundation of the demon world. Hunting. Seeking. Every demon who bore my mark… every soldier I forged from blood and ash…
Would now die by the very power that gave them life.
But I wouldn't stop there.
No.
Their bodies would be converted. Repurposed. Not as mere corpses—but as loyal undead, their strength now belonging to Yuuta Konuari.
And the demon…?
The demon who had suffered beneath contract rule would rise, not as victims, but as immortal soldiers, bound to Yuuta's will.
A perfect army.
One not made for conquest.
But for worship.
"From now on," I murmured, my shadow slicing through the fabric of life far beyond these walls, "the world will march beneath you, my Master."
As my shadows devoured my creations, the weight of silence pressed against my ears.
It wasn't grief anymore.
It wasn't sorrow.
It was devotion.
The kind of devotion that could build empires.
Or end them.
Location: Soul Mountain, Libeus – Allen's Private Chamber
Aaron was slumped in a chair when Allen finally submitted to Yuuta. In that instant, Allen's magic vanished.
And Aaron… began to awaken.
Heavy. Hot. Numb.
He could barely keep his eyes open. Darkness pressed in from all sides, but not fully—somewhere beyond the haze, a faint golden glow shimmered, casting soft halos across the drifting dust. The particles floated lazily, like fireflies trapped in a world that no longer cared.
Stone walls loomed around him. Ancient bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling like silent judges, their cracked spines whispering forgotten truths. On wooden tables, glass flasks simmered, bubbling softly as if conspiring in a language no human could understand. The air reeked of age and secrecy. It felt like stepping into a lost age of alchemy, curses, and forbidden fantasy.
Not exactly the kind of place you just wake up in.
Where… the hell am I?
He tried to think, but his memories slipped like water through his fingers. "My name… Aaron? No, that's not right. Or is it? I had a life before this, didn't I? A normal one. College. Exams. Maybe a lecture I skipped?."
The thoughts tangled, manipulated lies he hadn't even realized had bound him for years.
A cold sweat rolled down his back.
"Hello?" His voice cracked, brittle, as if it hadn't been used in years. "Is anyone there?"
No answer.
He tried to sit up, but something held him down. His eyes widened.
Glowing bands twisted around his body, rotating slowly, alive. They weren't chains—not iron, not rope. They pulsed with crimson and gold, carved into the shape of a magical circle. Ancient. Angry. They didn't just bind his body—they gripped his very soul.
"What… is this?" he whispered.
Then came the voice.
Twisted. Demonic. Echoing from the shadows, like a curse etched into the marrow of the walls.
"Slave transfer complete. Your allegiance now belongs to the current master. Memory restoration in progress.
All shall hail Geta… Hail Geta. Hail Geta!"
Crack.
The bands shattered.
Shards of light burst into the air, dissolving into shimmering dust before they hit the ground. For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then the pain came.
A sharp, searing stab ripped through his chest. He gasped, his body contorting as if something deep inside him was being torn apart. His knees buckled. His vision blurred.
And then the flood began.
Memories.
But they weren't his… and yet, they were.
Faces. Screams. Bloodied hands. His hands.
"Stop…" he croaked, but the memories kept pouring in, faster, louder, suffocating him.
He saw himself laughing—claws dripping with blood—burning humans, tearing lives apart as if they were nothing. Girls—children—reduced to playthings. Sacrifices. Rituals. Corpses. He used, tortured, and killed without remorse.
He remembered… everything.
"No. No, no…" He clutched his head, nails digging into his scalp as if he could rip the memories free. His breaths came short, ragged, suffocating. "That wasn't me… That can't be me…"
But it was.
Or rather—the version of him they had forged.
The puppet. The weapon. The fool who thought he had control.
He remembered the contract. The whispers. The way he had begged for power—for recognition—for revenge. And in return… the demon gave him hell.
"My God…" he choked, staring at his trembling, bloodstained hands. "What have I become?"
Staggering to his feet, he stumbled toward the exit.
I can't stay here… No. I have to run. Before that demon comes back—before he uses me again. I have to get out of this place!
His steps faltered. The weight of his sins pressed on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Each memory dragged him deeper into despair.
"I can't live like this… I can't…" His voice cracked, broken by the avalanche of shame that wouldn't stop crushing him.
Then—
Drip.
The sound cut through the silence.
Wet. Sharp. Heavy.
Blood.
Fresh.
He froze.
Someone else was here.
The trail glistened faintly in the dim corridor ahead, droplets leading him into a passage he hadn't noticed before. But this wasn't a hallway—it pulsed, breathed.
The air struck him first.
Rot. Decay.
The stench of old blood fused with rotting flesh. The stones themselves seemed soaked in it. The floor was slick, sticky beneath his steps. His vision strained in the gloom, his eyes not yet adjusted.
His stomach churned.
It wasn't just blood.
Skeletons lined the walls—some crumbled, some half-fused into the stone, as if swallowed by the mountain itself. Old and fresh. Too many to count.
He stumbled back.
I shouldn't be here. I need to get out. I need to—
His foot struck something.
Soft.
Warm.
He looked down.
A boy. Barely breathing.
His body was torn, covered in dried blood and fresh wounds. But Aaron recognized him instantly. The name surfaced, sharp and undeniable amidst the chaos.
"Yuuta…" he whispered.
Yuuta Kounari.
He didn't know how he knew him. But he did.
The boy was bleeding out, his chest barely rising.
Aaron dropped to his knees, panic flooding him. The pulse was weak. Too weak.
He looked around. Nothing. No medicine. No tools.
But he couldn't let him die.
Not after everything.
Not after what he had done.
"Hold on," Aaron whispered, hands trembling as they hovered over Yuuta's wounds. "I'll save you. I swear, I'll save you."
But how?
---
To be continued.