Somewhere in the Forest Near Ravenshade Duchy
Two men dragged a heavy sack through the underbrush, grunting under the weight.
"Move faster," one of them snapped. "Let's get this over with."
"I'm trying, damn it. We're almost there," the other replied.
After a while, they reached a desolate clearing strewn with ancient bones and decayed remains—an old battlefield, long forgotten.
"This place is cursed," one of them muttered, looking around nervously. "There are skeletons everywhere."
"Forget them. Let's finish the job. This place gives me the creeps," the other answered.
They dropped the sack and opened it. Inside was a young man in his early twenties—handsome, with noble features and jet-black hair.
"Wake up," one of them barked, shaking him roughly.
Groaning, the young man stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "Ugh… what's happening…?"
"Time to wake up, Young Master," one of the kidnappers sneered.
As Alaric fully came to, panic set in. "Where am I?! Who are you?!"
One of the men crouched beside him. "Young Master Alaric… don't blame us. We were ordered to cripple you. We're just following instructions."
"You know who I am and still dared to kidnap me?!" Alaric shouted, enraged. "I'm the heir of House Ravenshade! I'll have you both executed!"
"Sorry, but you don't get it," the other replied coldly. "You're a disgrace—no one wants you as heir. And someone important is making sure we get well compensated."
He drew a short sword and approached. "Let's get this over with. We just have to stab his knees and thighs so he can't walk. Then leave him to die."
One man held Alaric down as the other raised the blade. Alaric screamed, pleading for mercy. The sword came down hard, piercing his knee.
A monstrous cry of pain tore from Alaric's throat. Again and again, the blade struck—his thigh, his other knee—until he was reduced to a bloody, broken mess.
"Please… stop…" Alaric sobbed. "I'll do anything… just let me live…"
"We're done here," one of the kidnappers said, standing. "Let's go."
They disappeared into the woods, leaving Alaric alone—helpless, bleeding, and fading into unconsciousness.
---
As the darkness crept in, a chilling voice echoed through Alaric's mind.
"Hey, kid… do you want to change your fate?"
"Who…?" Alaric whispered weakly.
"Do you want revenge? To destroy those who cast you aside?"
"Please… help me…" he begged.
"Then crawl… crawl to the power of blood and darkness. This is your only chance."
Alaric forced his blurred eyes open and saw an eerie sight—a withered skeleton sitting upright, arms crossed as if guarding something. In front of it lay a tattered, ancient book.
"Touch the tome. Offer your blood. Walk the path I once did."
With what little strength he had left, Alaric dragged himself forward, inch by inch, until he reached the book. He pressed his bloodied palm onto its cover.
In an instant, the torn pages regenerated. The book shrank, glowing with crimson light—and then it vanished, absorbed into Alaric's body.
"You are now the bearer of the Demonic God's Tome, the heir to Demon God Zarvayne," the skeleton's voice spoke once more.
"Who… are you?" Alaric asked, dazed.
"I once served the Great Zarvayne. Now, before my soul fades, I'll teach you how to wield his power."
Before Alaric could respond, a beam of light shot from the skeleton's eyes into his own. Agony surged through his body—far worse than the wounds in his legs—as strange words etched themselves into his mind.
He fell into a trance, guided into a meditative state. Hours passed as he endured the torment, following the soul's instructions. Energy coursed through his nerves and heart, restoring his ruined body.
When he opened his eyes, the pain was gone. He was healed—stronger than ever. Power surged within him, overwhelming and unfamiliar, yet exhilarating.
"This is my final gift," the skeleton said, its voice fading. "When you focus your will, you can access the Tome. You've learned only the first chapter—fifteen remain. When you master them all, you may meet the last remnant of the Demonic God's soul. Until then… survive. Fight. Grow stronger, heir of Zarvayne."
With that, the skeleton crumbled to dust.
Alaric sat in silence, stunned. His heart still beat rapidly, but something had changed. He was no longer the same broken boy who was dragged here.
Hope flickered in his eyes—hope for vengeance, for strength, for reclaiming everything he had lost.
After hours of confusion and drowning in a rush of unfamiliar power, Alaric no longer looked like the broken boy who had been left for dead.
His steps were steady as he walked through the forest, each movement more composed than the last. Though dirt still clung to his torn clothes, his presence had sharpened—refined. The once lifeless eyes now held something different… something darker.
In his mind, the skeleton's words echoed, clashing and overlapping, forming a chaotic storm of thoughts. He glanced at his hand—and there it was again. A faint, dark aura swirled around his fingers like smoke, as if the power within him was aching to be unleashed.
Eventually, he reached the towering gates of the Ravenshade estate.
Two guards stood at the entrance. At first, they stepped forward to stop him, mistaking him for a filthy wanderer. But as he stepped into the light, their eyes widened in shock.
"Y-Young Master Alaric?! We thought you were… an outsider," one of them stammered.
"I'm fine. Just a small incident," Alaric replied coldly, his voice flat, emotionless.
The guards exchanged glances. The aura around him sent a chill down their spines. Silently, they stepped aside, making way for him.
As Alaric entered the mansion grounds, heads turned. Servants and guards whispered among themselves. He was covered in dirt, his clothes torn and stained with dried blood—yet the way he walked, the way he felt… it was like seeing a stranger in the young master's body.
"Is that really him?"
"What happened to him?"
"Why does he look so... different?"
The whispers didn't matter. Alaric ignored them all. He walked straight through the courtyard toward the main hall.
High above, behind the window of a second-floor room, two men watched him enter. Their faces turned pale.
They were the same men who had dragged him into the forest.
"It can't be... he's supposed to be—"
"How is he even alive?"
Their fear was justified. Alaric looked up and met their eyes. His gaze twisted into a slow, cold smile—sharp, almost inhuman. The look alone sent shivers down their spines.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
Just his presence was enough to crush the calm in their hearts. Alaric had returned. He was alive, stronger, and something about him was no longer the same.