(Alifer to Oliver) I changed it
The stench of mold and dampness was the first thing he felt as consciousness returned to him. Crumbling stone walls surrounded him on all sides, and a faint beam of light filtered through a small crack in the ceiling. His breath caught in his chest.He knew this place…A cell.
Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes widening bit by bit, then he whispered in a hoarse, disbelieving voice:
"What in the hell… is happening?"
Before he could gather his thoughts, a voice echoed inside his head:
(Oliver? You've finally awakened...)
He turned sharply, searching for the source. A child no older than ten sat on the ground, dressed in black, with curved black horns sprouting from his head. But Oliver didn't seem surprised—as though he had long since stopped being shocked by strange things.
A faint, wry smile crossed his lips as he replied in thought:
(Drogo? ...Heh... heheheh...)
The boy's face froze, his expression darkening. His voice dripped pure killing intent:
(Laugh if you dare...)
Oliver couldn't help himself—he burst into laughter. Drogo lunged forward to punch him, but his fist passed straight through the man's body, as if Oliver were a ghost. The boy recoiled, furious, muttering:
(Just wait... Once I regain my physical form, I'll beat you senseless!)
After a moment, Oliver wiped his face tiredly and began to study his surroundings. This wasn't an illusion. It was the same cell where he had once lived as a slave. And his body—the body of a fifteen-year-old boy.
He turned his gaze to Drogo and asked in a raspy voice,
"Is this an illusion? Or... did we go back in time?"
The child tilted his head, thinking, then answered firmly:
(After your fall, your body began to glow with a strange yellow light. The source was the pocket watch you carried—the one you couldn't store in your dimensional ring. Remember it?)
Oliver nodded slowly as memories flashed through his mind.
(Ah... yes. We found it in the Forgotten Kingdom, during the Age of Chaos. It reacted with my Death Shard... Go on.)
(When your body began to shine, the Demon Kings stepped back in fear of an explosion...)
Oliver chuckled lightly.
(Cowards.)
Drogo ignored the comment.
(Call them what you like—but after that, I found myself in this ridiculous form, while you were lying there like some sleeping princess. Then a mark appeared on your chest—shaped exactly like that watch. I hid it, just in case unwanted guests came snooping.)
Oliver gaze darted to his chest. Indeed, there it was—a golden mark etched on the right side, in the shape of a clock. Then he noticed a dark sigil on his right arm—a coiled dragon, pulsing faintly, as if alive.
He looked back at Drogo. That child was not human at all, but the spirit of his sword—the gluttonous dragon, once one of the Demon Kings of the Age of Chaos, defeated by the heroes of that era and sealed within an unbreakable black blade.
The sword had slowly corrupted every wielder before him—but Oliver, bearer of the Death Shard, was not so easily broken. He had neither fallen nor succumbed. In time, the blade had become his servant instead.
Drogo's eyes glimmered as he asked flatly,
(Oliver, would you care to explain this place?)
Alifer sighed softly.
(Ah, right. I got lost in thought. This place... is where my story began.)
Drogo raised an eyebrow mockingly.
(Oh, yes. You told me your family abandoned you because they thought you were blind—because of those white eyes... hahahaha!)
He broke into wild laughter, tears of mirth shining in his eyes. Oliver stared at him coolly.
(Does my tragedy amuse you?)
(No, no... I'm laughing at your family. Those eyes they despised were the greatest gift anyone could be born with.)
Oliver lifted his head, speaking with quiet confidence:
(The Sword Eye... allows its bearer to master any sword style with a single glance.)
While others spent years mastering a single technique, one look was all he needed. Drogo smirked bitterly.
(The boy they cast away became the man who made kings bleed. If they knew, they'd kill themselves out of shame. Did you ever seek them out?)
Silence fell for a moment. Then Oliver replied in a low, detached tone:
(Why would I?)
Drogo studied his face, then said,
(Maybe they had their reasons...)
Oliver shook his head.
(When I was in the orphanage, I thought they'd return one day. I waited five years... but no one came. Then a demonic cult attacked the city. They killed everyone and took the surviving children as slaves—to be trained as vessels for demons. Those who awakened were forced into contracts. I was one of them.)
(I remember... when I turned nineteen, I killed the demon you'd been bound to and broke my slave contract.)
Drogo froze, his mouth hanging open.
(You... broke two demonic contracts and lived?!)
(My soul was torn nearly to shreds—it left me with recurring fits of madness... but yes, I survived.)
(Survived? That's not survival—that's insanity...) Drogo muttered.
Oliver smiled faintly.
(Madness was my oldest companion.)
Drogo fell silent for a moment, then asked:
(What was the name of this cult?)
Oliver thought for a moment before answering.
(Ouroboros. They weren't just a cult—they were the shadow of demons within the world of men. But I wiped them all out... before I met you.)
Drogo went quiet, then said in a cryptic tone:
(By the way... haven't you noticed something strange about yourself?)
Oliver frowned, checking his body. Then his eyes widened.
(My soul... it's whole. There's no trace of demonic corruption... no pain...)
His voice trembled.
(No more pain... no more madness...)
Drogo watched him silently. He had seen how much torment this man endured. And now... it was as though fate had offered him a new beginning.
A faint, crooked smile curved Drogo's lips.
"Monster..." he muttered.
Oliver looked up at him, puzzled.
(What?)
(Check your status.)
Oliver whispered the word under his breath:
"Status."
A shimmering blue light appeared before him. Then the letters began to flicker and distort:
=== STATUS WINDOW ===
== ××××× ERROR ×××× ==
= Recalibrating... =
== 1% ==
== 25% ==
== 77% ==
== 99% ==
== 100% ==
==== INITIALIZATION COMPLETE ====
Silence.
Then Drogo said dryly:
(Monster.)
Oliver smirked faintly.
(Bloody hell...)
The blue light dimmed slowly, leaving behind a low hum that echoed through the cell, as if the walls themselves were breathing. Oliver stepped back, trying to comprehend what he was seeing—but before he could speak, the ground trembled softly beneath his feet.
A pulse of energy burst from the mark on his chest. He looked down at his trembling hand and saw the golden sigil—the clock—beginning to pulse.
Tick... tick... tick...
The sound reverberated through the air, deep and ancient, as if coming from the heart of the world itself. Oliver stood frozen, while Drogo's eyes widened in shock.
(The clock... it's moving again...) Drogo whispered, his voice tight.
Then, the wall before them split open—like a mirror shattering—and from the cracks seeped tendrils of black light, twisting like serpents, whispering in voices no human could understand.
Oliver lifted his gaze toward the fissure, his white eyes gleaming faintly. A slow, cold smile curved his lips.
"It seems the Abyss... isn't done with me yet."
And darkness swallowed all.