CHAPTER TWO: The Body of a Forgotten Son
Liam opened his eyes to darkness and the faint metallic tang of blood. Pain coursed through him, but it was not the searing agony of fire that had ended him. This was slower, unfamiliar, like a body struggling to remember how to exist.
He moved his fingers. Small, weak, clumsy. They were not his hands. Soft, pale, untrained, the hands of a child, or a noble boy too sheltered to ever fight. Panic surged for a fraction of a second, but he suppressed it immediately. Panic was a luxury he could not afford.
The room was small, windowless, and suffused with the damp smell of mildew. Stone walls pressed inward, but there was comfort in its confinement. In this quiet prison, no one could betray him again — yet.
He tested his body, flexed his legs. Weak. Frail. A coughing fit tore from his chest, and he realized the body belonged to a boy no older than sixteen, barely able to lift a sword heavier than a dagger.
His lips curled. This was not weakness to despair him. This was leverage. Every enemy in Azeroth had assumed he was gone. Every betrayer believed his bloodline erased. And now, he had time. Time to study, plan, and return.
He remembered the moment his old body was reduced to ash, the white fire, the broken screams that never left the square. The heat that should have killed him had instead awakened something buried deep within. He closed his eyes and focused inward.
He felt it.
The blood.
Not human.
It surged like molten iron, crawling through his veins with a deliberate patience. It pulsed, hungry, waiting for his command. It was not warmth. It was pressure, intent, life. It recognized him, and it would obey him.
The first test came unexpectedly. He flexed his fingers again, expecting nothing. A faint glow emanated from the back of his hand. Red, barely visible, but enough to make his heart beat faster. The devil blood in his veins was not dormant. It remembered. It had survived centuries of secrecy and ritual, and now it responded to its rightful master.
His lips parted in a slow, deliberate smile. Weak as this body was, he already held a weapon no one in Azeroth could comprehend.
He rose slowly, testing his legs. Pain lanced through his joints, but he gritted his teeth. Strength would come. Patience would come. Control would come.
A voice whispered in the darkness, a mental vibration, deep and cold.
Do you remember.
Liam's eyes snapped open. The voice was not foreign. It was his own, layered with something older, something eternal.
I remember, he replied internally. Every betrayal, every execution, every lie.
The voice hummed, approving, ancient.
Good. Then rise.
And so he did.
The room held a single candle on a low table. Its flame flickered as Liam walked past, and in its light, he examined himself. His hair was shorter, darker, still unruly. His eyes were pale green now, human enough to fool the untrained. His features softened by youth, but the shape of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, betrayed the mind behind them.
The faint red glow on his palms pulsed again. He flexed, controlled, summoned. A line of fire, barely more than a spark, danced along his fingers. Not strong yet, but visible. Enough. Enough to test.
He approached the mirror on the far wall. The reflection was that of a weak noble child, a forgotten son of a minor house, easy to underestimate, easy to manipulate.
Perfect.
Perfect for deception.
Liam smiled again, this time with purpose. Azeroth believed him dead. The nobles, the king, the priests, the assassins — every last one had miscalculated. And miscalculation was what Liam thrived on. Weak bodies hid strong minds. Misjudged men broke the world when the time came.
He took a deep breath and focused on the blood again. Concentration sharpened, and the glow on his hands grew brighter. Flames licked the edges of his palms, warm, controlled, obedient. Each flicker of light was a promise. Every pulse in his veins was a reminder.
He would not rise quickly. Not yet. Impatience was a risk. Instead, he cataloged every memory, every skill, every technique he had once mastered. Every movement, every combat principle, every hidden art of strategy returned to him in fragments. Memory and devil blood intertwined, creating a dangerous synthesis.
A sound echoed outside the room. Footsteps, deliberate, cautious. Liam froze. For the first time, he felt the fragility of this body, the vulnerability that had been stripped from him before. He did not move hastily. He let the door open slowly. A familiar face appeared.
Servant, he thought. Or spy.
The boy who had lived here had been under surveillance. Every action recorded. Now, that surveillance had a new target him. Liam's green eyes met the intruder's, calm, unreadable. No fear, no panic. Only patience.
The intruder stepped in, bowing slightly. A man in his twenties, flustered, unaware of the storm he had entered. Liam's mind worked quickly, calculating outcomes, risks, and opportunities.
You are too late, Liam thought. Too late to stop me, too late to betray me, too late to erase me.
The man spoke, his voice cautious. The words stumbled out, polite, deferential. The bloodline must not awaken. You have orders. Do not engage him.
Liam's smile widened, slow and cold. His hands ignited faintly, a quiet glow reflecting in the man's wide eyes.
Orders cannot contain me, he thought. I am not the boy you expect. I am not the man you executed. I am Liam Vaelor, the Devil Heir of Azeroth.
The servant stepped back, realization dawning too late. Liam's voice, soft and deadly, cut through the room before the words left his lips.
I remember everything. And now, so does my blood.
The glow on his palms flared brighter. A line of red fire shot toward the ceiling. The room vibrated with power it had never held. The weak body no longer mattered. His presence, intelligence, and blood made him lethal.
The man stumbled back, fear overtaking decorum. Liam allowed the glow to fade, letting his newfound restraint serve as a warning.
Tomorrow, the world would learn that the child they believed weak was stronger than any army they could muster.
Tonight, Liam would study, plan, and grow.
He would rise.
And when he did, Azeroth would burn.