"Is this...how it ends...?"
Lucian's consciousness wavered, battered relentlessly by the freezing wind.
Each jolt of the prison cart felt like a sledgehammer striking his fragile chest, bringing up the metallic taste of blood in his throat.
His once-proud royal garments were now nothing more than shredded rags, soaked in mud, thin as paper, useless against the brutal chill of the eternal tundra.
Outside the cart, knights escorting him laughed carelessly.
"A hundred gold soul coins. A generous reward from the crown prince, just to escort this worthless fool to his final resting place."
"A grave? This cursed land of ice and snow is grave enough. Won't even need to dig a pit."
Their voices pierced the cage, dripping with contempt and greed, as if Lucian was no prince of the empire but merely a sack of coins.
Curling up in a corner, Lucian felt the biting cold and impending death unlock the chains binding his shattered memories.
He wasn't Lucian.
He was Azrael.
The Supreme Abyss Lord, ruler of the Twelve Demon Realms.
He remembered vividly leading his legion of demon gods on a campaign against Celestia, that arrogant realm suspended high above the heavens.
And then came betrayal.
His most trusted Demon Lord struck from the shadows, dealing a fatal blow. In the end, he was defeated by Seraphael, the sixteen-winged incarnation of radiant light.
His soul shattered, divinity stripped away, he was cast into reincarnation and thrust into this mortal body.
"Hah... another betrayal. Familiar, isn't it?"
Lucian coughed, spitting blood. It instantly froze upon hitting the floor.
The cart abruptly halted.
With a screech, the cage door swung open violently, blocked by a grotesque face. The knight captain drew his sword, glowing faintly with blessed holy light from the Church—weak, yet deadly to mortals.
"Your Highness," he mocked, giving a pretentious bow filled with cruelty.
"Your journey ends here."
The sword's chilling blade pointed directly at Lucian's heart. Death cast its shadow once again.
But this time, Lucian's eyes held no despair—only an abyssal chill.
Azrael's soul fully awakened at this critical moment, provoked by the killing intent.
An ancient, majestic voice echoed in his mind.
[My Lord, will you accept defeat so easily?]
In an instant, a roaring blaze of pure black flame exploded within Lucian's sea of consciousness. This was his authority, his brand—the [Abyssal Dominion Core]!
[Host in critical condition...]
[Authority awakened, vanguard summoning unlocked...]
Two names formed of abyssal runes blazed with overwhelming demonic might, searing themselves into his mind.
[Mephistor – Demon Lord of Wisdom and Deceit]
[Azagor – Demon Lord of War and Dominion]
The knight captain grinned wickedly, savoring his victory, slowly plunging his sword forward to savor the prince's final look of fear.
But what greeted him instead was a chilling smile.
Lucian's pale face twisted into a sinister, ruthless smirk.
Vanguard?
With his final ounce of strength, Lucian whispered, a voice only audible to himself—a whisper like the wind from the deepest abyss.
"No."
"I need a massacre."