The world itself seemed dead.
No birds sang.
No wind stirred the ash that blanketed the cracked earth.
Jagged mountains pierced the blood-red sky while the skeletal remains of ruined cities stretched endlessly across the horizon.
Crumbling towers leaned precariously over streets that had long since been swallowed by darkness.
Whatever civilization had once thrived here had vanished centuries ago.
At the center of the wasteland stood a colossal castle of black stone.
Its towering spires clawed toward the heavens like the fingers of some ancient beast, while crimson veins pulsed faintly beneath the walls as though the fortress itself possessed a heartbeat.
The massive gates groaned open.
Four figures stepped through.
Their footsteps echoed through the silent halls.
Not a single servant greeted them.
Not a single torch burned.
Only moonlight filtered through the shattered stained-glass windows, painting streaks of crimson and silver across the cold stone floor.
The silence lingered for several moments before one of the hooded figures finally spoke.
“Master…”
His deep voice echoed through the corridor.
“I still believe allowing that boy to live was a mistake.”
Lucifer continued walking without slowing.
The figure hesitated before continuing.
“The way his eyes glowed…”
He lowered his voice.
“I have never witnessed anything like it.”
“…It unsettled me.”
Lucifer said nothing.
His footsteps continued to echo through the endless hallway.
The others exchanged uneasy glances.
For Lucifer to remain silent…
Was never a good sign.
Eventually the corridor opened into an enormous throne room.
The ceiling disappeared into darkness hundreds of feet overhead.
Moonlight poured through towering windows, illuminating a staircase carved from obsidian.
At its summit rested a throne unlike anything in the human world.
Forged from black stone streaked with crimson crystal, it looked less like a chair and more like a monument built for a king long forgotten by history.
Lucifer ascended the steps slowly.
His long coat swept behind him.
Without a word…
He sat.
The throne room fell completely silent.
After several moments…
His crimson eyes looked down upon the three figures standing below.
“Abigor.”
“Malachar.”
“Azrath.”
The hooded warriors stepped into the moonlight.
One by one…
Their hoods fell away.
The first was a towering giant whose broad shoulders made even Lucifer’s throne seem smaller.
Burn scars twisted across nearly every inch of his face and neck, the flesh appearing permanently blackened by unimaginable fire.
His deep crimson eyes remained calm, but behind them rested enough power to crush armies.
Rows of jagged teeth showed whenever he spoke, giving every word a monstrous edge.
Abigor.
Lucifer’s right hand.
The strongest of his generals.
A Yechida-stage Vanguard whose mastery of Vyr had long surpassed what most believed possible.
Among Lucifer’s followers, only Abigor possessed the courage to question his decisions.
Not out of defiance…
But loyalty.
If given permission, he would gladly fight every battle in Lucifer’s place.
Beside him stood a much quieter figure.
A smooth black mask concealed his entire face.
Its expression never changed—a permanent smile carved into polished obsidian.
Only two glowing crimson eyes watched from behind it. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Malachar.
A Chaya-stage Bladebearer.
Silent.
Patient.
Deadly.
Few had ever heard him speak.
Even fewer had survived seeing him draw his blade.
Legends claimed entire battlefields had fallen before anyone realized he had begun attacking.
The final figure stepped forward with an unsettling grin stretching from ear to ear.
Unlike the others…
He couldn’t stop smiling.
Multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth filled his mouth like those of a predator.
His fingers twitched constantly, as though they were already reaching for an invisible weapon.
Azrath.
Another Chaya-stage Bladebearer…
Or at least…
He had once been.
His obsession with battle had twisted his Vyr into something entirely different.
Rejecting every known discipline, he had forged his own path.
A class never before recorded.
Bloodreaver.
The longer he fought…
The stronger he became.
War was not merely something he enjoyed.
It was the only place he truly felt alive.
His grin widened.
“So…” he laughed softly.
“When do we kill the golden-eyed brat?”
The room fell silent once more.
Lucifer slowly leaned back against his throne.
A faint smile spread across his face.
“No.”
His crimson eyes narrowed.
“Not yet.”
“He has only just begun.”
The three generals looked at one another.
Lucifer rested his chin against his hand, his smile growing colder.
“I’ve waited…”
“…far too long…”
“…to have some fun.”
The throne room fell silent.
Not even the wind dared pass through the shattered windows.
Far above, a crimson moon cast pale red light across the obsidian floor, leaving most of the chamber swallowed in darkness.
Abigor, Malachar, and Azrath remained kneeling at the foot of the throne.
None of them spoke.
None of them dared.
High above them sat Lucifer.
His face was hidden beneath the shadows of the throne, leaving only two piercing crimson eyes burning through the darkness.
Those eyes never blinked.
Never wavered.
They remained fixed on something far beyond the castle walls…
As though he could already see the future unfolding before him.
The silence stretched.
It became so heavy that even Azrath, who normally couldn’t stand still for more than a few seconds, remained perfectly motionless.
Finally…
Lucifer smiled.
It began as the slightest curl at the corner of his mouth.
Then it slowly spread.
Wider.
Until that unnaturally calm smile became something almost inhuman.
“Master…”
Abigor finally broke the silence.
His deep voice echoed throughout the empty throne room.
“I still fail to understand.”
“If the boy concerns you…”
His crimson eyes lifted toward Lucifer.
“…why spare him?”
Lucifer rested his elbow against the arm of his throne.
His chin settled lightly against his hand.
“Concern me?”
He let out a quiet chuckle.
“No…”
His smile deepened.
“He fascinates me.”
Abigor lowered his head once more.
“I do not understand.”
Lucifer’s glowing eyes drifted toward the broken moonlight spilling through the windows.
“You will.”
Another long silence followed.
Then Lucifer spoke again.
“Very soon…”
“He will begin searching.”
His voice remained almost gentle.
“He’ll chase strength.”
“He’ll seek answers.”
“He’ll convince himself that every battle brings him closer to stopping me.”
A faint laugh escaped him.
“But that’s the beautiful part…”
Lucifer slowly leaned forward.
“Every step he takes…”
“…is another step toward me.”
Even Malachar’s masked gaze shifted slightly.
Azrath’s grin widened.
Lucifer looked down upon his generals.
“Tell me, Abigor.”
His voice carried quiet amusement.
“You know what humans say, don’t you?”
Abigor frowned.
“…No, my lord.”
Lucifer’s smile became impossibly cold.
“They have a saying.”
He rose slowly from his throne.
The darkness seemed to move with him.
His long coat drifted behind him as he descended the first step.
His crimson eyes glowed brighter than ever.
“…Like father…”
He paused.
The entire castle seemed to hold its breath.
Then…
His smile widened into something monstrous.
“…like son.”
A deep, chilling laugh echoed through the throne room.
It rolled through the endless halls of the castle…
Out across the dead kingdom…
And into the night itself.
The three generals remained standing each of them showing their individual facial expression.
Abigor stood concerned.
Malachar stands there with a blank expression underneath his mask.
Azrath stood with a menacing smile on his face.
Yet none of them laughed.
Because whatever Lucifer had seen…
Terrified even them.