The priest's chanting intensified.
The cries of the children echoed endlessly through the hollow belly of the mine—day after day, night after night. But no soul came to save them.
Eran had long stopped hoping. He now understood with bitter clarity: everyone in this world was driven by personal interest. Compassion was just a story people told when it suited them.
In the midst of their torment, the priest's sacred chant carried on—rhythmic, unbroken. The red book never closed. The fire at the center of the ritual pit never died. The scent of burnt herbs, blood, and suffering had fused into the very air they breathed.
A month passed. Then another. Each time, Uncle returned with a fresh pot—Jagroth's blood, dripping steadily into the bonfire as though it were sacred nectar. The children's cries would rise at the sight of him, not in hope but in horror. Yet Uncle's eyes remained empty. Unshaken. Dead inside.
Slowly, pain gave way to numbness.
The screams faded into silence.
Their voices had worn thin, their throats raw. Even their tears had dried. They no longer resisted the men with the knives. The ritual had broken them in body and spirit.
Eran's once sharp thoughts had dulled into fog. He stopped thinking of escape. Stopped hoping for someone to come. Even death no longer frightened him—he welcomed it. He saw life as nothing more than an endless punishment. A curse. An accident.
Now, nearly eighteen months had passed. The children were shadows of what they once were—skeletal, pale, barely breathing. Their bodies trembled from hunger and blood loss, their skin sagging like loose fabric on a frame too thin to hold.
Some of the priests whispered among themselves: "They won't last the final day."
Others placed bets: "Will they die before the ritual ends?"
Finally
Today was the final day of the ritual.
The priest's voice still echoed through the cavern, tirelessly reciting the same sacred mantras for eighteen months. But now, the ritual's center had begun to rot with death.
In the cold, cruel morning light, Kael and Leela breathed their last—right before Eran's hollow eyes.
No screams. No resistance. Just silence... and then, stillness.
Their blood, unnaturally, continued to ooze into the runes carved into the stone floor, feeding the flames at the center of the ritual.
Eran could only watch. His body was no longer his own—it was nothing more than skin stretched over bones, a breathing corpse. His voice had long since faded. Even grief struggled to find space inside his numb, dying heart.
Then came the scream.
A shriek tore through the mine like a blade of despair. From the entrance of the cavern came Eran's aunt, stumbling, her eyes wide with horror.
"He's dead!" she cried. "Jagroth is dead! The entire village… Shadowfen is a graveyard now!"
Her wails bounced off the stone walls. "The demons have come… they've slaughtered everyone. The Origami clan betrayed us—left us to burn!"
The priest gasped mid-chant, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Jagroth… dead?" he muttered.
In that instant, the sacred rhythm of his mantra shattered.
And so did the world.
A violent explosion rocked the cavern. Light burst from the ritual circle—dark, red, blinding.
The container holding Eran cracked with a sound like bones snapping, then shattered completely. His body—frail, broken—was flung from the stone coffin into the heart of the bonfire.
Smoke and blood flooded the chamber. The sacred flames turned black.
The priest stumbled back, shielding his face. The others shouted. Chaos erupted.
Aunt fell to her knees. "Why…? Why did everything fall apart…?"
But before anyone could react—before even grief could settle—an even darker shadow fell upon the mine.
From the ruins above, they came—howling, growling, blood-soaked creatures with claws like scythes and eyes glowing like dying embers.
Demons.
They stormed the entrance, one after another, their snarls echoing off the stone. The priest turned to run, but it was too late. A demon's claw tore through his back, ripping his chest open in one swipe. His lifeless body collapsed over the ritual book, blood splattering across its crimson pages.
The demons moved forward, teeth bared, eyes now set on the weeping aunt.
She couldn't run. She didn't even scream.
But then… everything stopped.
The fire flared again—higher, darker. The smoke twisted like a cyclone, and from its very heart… something rose.
It wasn't human.
Half skeleton, half muscle—bones glinting through translucent flesh. A skull with burning eyes and a jaw clenched in rage. The creature stood silently for a moment, its body twitching… remembering pain… betrayal… death.
Then it moved.
In an instant, the beast blurred. Where demons once stood, now there were only falling pieces—limbs, heads, blood in the air. The monster tore through them like they were made of paper, no mercy, no hesitation. Their screams were snuffed out before they could echo.
Within seconds, it was over. A dozen demons lay in broken heaps.
The monster stood tall, smoke rising from its raw, blood-soaked form. Then slowly… impossibly… its body began to change.
Muscles wrapped tighter, bones aligned, skin sealed itself. Eyes returned, glowing faintly. Hair sprouted from a bare skull.
And standing at the center of the ruined ritual… was a boy.
Thin. Silent. Eyes hollow. Yet filled with something ancient… something terrifying.
"Eran…" the aunt whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.
She staggered forward, her mouth trembling. "No… this… this can't be you…"
But Eran did not blink.
He did not speak.
A single hand rose—sharp, swift—and pierced through her chest.
Aunt gasped.
Blood gushed. Her eyes widened in frozen shock.
Then Eran's hand ripped across her body, slicing her clean in two.
She fell. The ground drank her blood.
Still, Eran's eyes burned crimson—wild, unrelenting, and thirsty for blood. In that moment, he felt nothing human. Like a monster, he was numb to pain, to fear, to mercy. His body felt lighter, his veins on the verge of bursting with raw power. Everything had changed. All that remained was a single, savage desire: to kill, to avenge Kael and Lila.
he dashed out of the ruins, with a force of vengeance
When Eran stepped out of the ruins, he found the entire city engulfed in war. Demons and humans clashed amidst the wreckage of what had once been a proud stronghold. Buildings lay in crumbled heaps, flames devoured the sky, and the air was thick with the cries of dying men and screaming children.
Eran stopped, his bare feet sinking into the blood-soaked ground. For a moment, confusion clouded his face, his crimson eyes flickering. But then, slowly, a twisted smile spread across his lips.
A demon lunged at him, sword flashing. Eran moved without thinking—disarming the creature with a brutal strike and seizing its weapon.
He gripped the sword tightly, his fingers white around the hilt. A manic laugh tore from his throat.
"I like this," he whispered—then shouted—"I like this very much!"
The blade in his hand began to glow, a sinister red light seeping from it, as if it were bleeding. Without hesitation, Eran charged into the chaos, the sword blazing.
He cut down everyone in his path—demon or human—it no longer mattered. Their faces blurred before his bloodstained vision. To Eran, there was no difference anymore. Everything had shattered. Everyone was the enemy.
Only blood, only death.
But then—
A piercing child's scream cut through the madness.
Eran froze mid-swing.
His heart skipped a beat as he turned, just in time to see a demon's claw tear through the fragile body of a boy—no older than Kael.
The memory of Kael and Lila flashed vividly before his eyes—their laughter, their warmth, and their brutal deaths.
Pain flooded back into Eran's heart, shattering the numbness.
The crimson glow in his eyes burned brighter, consumed by a rage beyond reason.
The demon who had slain the child melted into the chaos, but Eran no longer cared.
He became a beast , hunting anything that dared move.
Humans, demons—it didn't matter.
In his mind, they were all guilty.
All fighting for their own selfish reasons, all feeding the endless cycle of death.
The ground grew slick with blood.
Bodies stacked higher.
But the hollow ache inside him remained.
Through the swirling smoke, Eran spotted the demon—the one who had killed the child.
Fury roared in his veins.
He hurled his sword with all his strength.
It tore through the air and struck the demon's gut, ripping it open.
The creature crumpled to the ground, twitching in its death throes.
But Eran's triumph turned to horror.
The blade had not stopped with the demon.
Behind it—unseen—a child had been standing.
The blade had gone straight through his small chest.
Eran staggered back, his breath catching in his throat.
The battlefield noise faded into a sickening, hollow silence.
He stared, rattled, unable to believe what he had done.
His mind went blank.
His sword dropped from his fingers, clattering against the blood-soaked ground.
For what felt like an eternity, he stood frozen, watching the child fall.
"I... I killed him," Eran whispered, his voice broken.
He dropped to his knees, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
"Still, he struggled to justify himself.
No, I haven't done anything wrong, he thought. I've been treated cruelly... I have the right to kill them all.
But then, a flicker of fear gripped him.
No... I'm becoming just like them—a monster."
Surrounded by the corpses of demons, humans, and innocents alike, Eran slipped into a trance.
I've become just like my uncle and aunt.
This power... this curse... it must have been bought with the lives of Kael and Lila.
I'm not worthy of them.
I should kill myself.
All of this... it's my fault.
The silence around him shattered.
From the hollow ruins ahead, the harsh clash of swords echoed, growing louder and louder—until it stopped.
Through the smoke, Eran saw them:
Three towering demons, monstrous and radiating raw power.
Opposing them stood two wounded men—one barely able to stand, the other collapsed, gasping his final breaths.
The kneeling man clutched his sword in trembling hands.
A roar, primal and furious, tore from his throat.
"Aaaaah!!"
Yellow blood oozed from every pore of his body, his rage pouring into the broken earth.
Eran could only watch, numb.
Then, in an instant, a terrifying battle exploded between the man and the three demons.
The force of their clash shattered the air.
Eran could barely follow—the flashes of swordlight, the shockwaves rattling the crumbling ruins.
Every roar from the man made the ground quake harder.
Every slash of his sword ripped through the battlefield like thunder.
Eran just stood there, hollow.
Maybe I should just die here too.
And then—
A flash.
A tearing pain.
Before Eran could even react, his body was ripped apart.
His arm severed.
His legs giving out.
It happened so fast he barely understood.
He collapsed into the blood-soaked ground, broken, bleeding, and fading.