Dionel burst out with power, losing control. Julius was sent flying into the wall, coughing up blood.
"You little...!"
Frightened by what he had done, the child immediately ran to the door for the first time in his life.
"Come back here, you bastard!"
Julius shouted, struggling to get up.
Dionel just kept running, breaking down doors and anything that blocked his way. People collapsed to the ground just from the pressure of his magic as he passed by.
He escaped the temple grounds but didn't stop running. He ducked into dark alleys, trying to hide from the Church members chasing him. In those shadowed corners, the overwhelming pressure of his power began to calm a little.
That day marked the start of another kind of hell.
Every passing moment, he fought to suppress the power inside him. It left him in constant pain and confusion. He lived like a stray animal, digging through trash for leftovers and stealing bread when he could. Whenever he got caught, people would beat him without mercy. Street thugs and cruel children bullied him endlessly.
He survived like this for three years, learning firsthand how much of a stain he was to his parents. His powers were something no one could accept, and he knew better than to return to the church. The look in Julius's eyes that day, after he accidentally hurt him, made it clear. If Julius ever got his hands on him again, he would kill him without hesitation.
Even as Dionel met others in the streets, no one's hatred and disgust compared to the resentment in his father's eyes. Those eyes haunted his nightmares.
One day, while wandering through the streets, a group of mercenaries appeared, hunting for dark mages. The Church rewarded those who caught them, so they grabbed anyone who looked suspicious and forced them to take a test using a crystal orb.
"Hey, look at that kid. Isn't he giving off weird vibes?"
"Leave him alone, he's just a child,"
one woman in the group protested.
"Bullshit. Even kids can be dark mages. Let's check him."
They approached Dionel, and one of the bulky men grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand onto the crystal ball.
The crystal immediately turned black, displaying the words: Magician (Dark Magic).
"Jackpot,"
the mercenary sneered.
Dionel stared at the orb, frozen. He was shaking. He knew what would happen next.
This is the end. I'm going to die. Even though I tried so hard to survive...
As his thoughts spiraled, the magic he had fought to suppress for years burst out again. Black miasma spilled from his body.
"What the hell is happening to him? What is this?"
"It feels... heavy," another muttered.
The man gripping Dionel collapsed, unable to move under the crushing pressure.
The mercenaries hesitated in terror.
"Monster! It's a monster!"
one of them screamed, and panic broke out. People ran in every direction.
A group of mysterious robed figures watched from a distance.
"Kill it! We have to kill it before it's too late!"
one of the mercenaries shouted, and they charged at Dionel.
But before they reached him, the robed figures stepped in, using black magic to cut down the attackers.
"Magnificent. I've never seen such powerful dark magic,"
an old man said, pulling back his hood to reveal ginger hair and a beard.
"You... you're Merlin!"
one injured mercenary gasped in horror.
Merlin Salazar, the current leader of the Cathars, and soon to be Dionel's mentor, smiled.
"Is my face really that famous?"
Merlin replied, then finished the man off without hesitation.
He turned his gaze to Dionel, who was still trembling and unable to control his power.
"Leader, the boy's mana is in a frenzy. It might be dangerous,"
one of the robed mages warned.
But Merlin ignored the caution and stepped closer.
"Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you. We're dark magicians too, just like you."
Dionel's eyes were filled with fear as he stared at the stranger.
Merlin slowly reached out a hand and spoke gentle words to calm the boy.
"It's alright now. Come with us. We'll protect you. Away from the people who want you dead. You'll be safe with us."
His hand crept closer to Dionel's head.
Somewhat comforted by the old man's tone, Dionel flinched when Merlin's fingers brushed his hair. More magic burst out in reaction to his fear.
The dark mages behind Merlin felt the crushing pressure and bowed their heads under it.
Merlin felt it too, but ignored it and kept speaking softly.
Frightened, Dionel tried to swipe away Merlin's hand, not realizing dark flames had formed around his own fingers. Merlin's hand was slightly burned, and he quickly withdrew it.
Seeing that he had hurt someone again, just like he had hurt his father, Dionel felt sick with guilt.
Merlin looked down at him with a patient smile.
"I'm alright. It barely stings,"
Merlin assured him.
"So, do you want to come with us?"
He extended his hand once more.
Dionel hesitated. He knew he couldn't survive alone much longer. If he kept running, his father's men would eventually catch him, or the world would finish him off for being what he was.
Slowly, he reached out and took Merlin's hand.
"By the way,"
Merlin said with a grin,
"what's your name, kiddo?"
"My name... my name is Dion."
From that day, Dionel became part of the Cathars.
Merlin took him as a disciple, teaching him everything he knew about controlling his powers. Dionel rose quickly through the ranks, his strength astonishing those around him. Dark magicians hailed him as a one-in-a-thousand-years prodigy who could achieve the impossible.
In the eyes of the empire, he became the most terrifying opponent they had ever faced. His name made citizens tremble. Priests, paladins, knights, and mercenaries fell like leaves before him, and bodies piled wherever he walked.
At eighteen, Dionel took Merlin's place as the leader of the Cathars after the old man was killed in a great battle against the Church, where the saint artifact had been used against him.
That was the beginning of Dionel transforming the Cathars into a force strong enough to rival the Church's influence.