Pitch black. No sound, no light, no sensation.
Morthoth had lost all connection to time and space; it felt as though his very essence had dissolved into the void.
In that final, fleeting flicker of consciousness, his voice tore through the nothingness—a stifled, defiant roar:
"Is this... truly death?"
Suddenly, without warning, the darkness shattered in a strange, jarring tremor. Morthoth blinked, adjusting to a reality that defied comprehension.
He stood in a realm of absolute purity—an endless, shimmering white expanse.
Before him sat a gargantuan, ornate throne, occupied by a mysterious figure draped in a heavy, suffocating silence.
There was no aura, no crushing pressure, yet Morthoth’s primal instincts screamed in terror.
This entity was far more dangerous than the nine Sovereigns combined.
"Who are you?" Morthoth asked, his voice echoing in the infinite white.
The figure watched him with an unsettling calm, answering in a tone that ground against his mind like the friction of ancient gears:
"An expected and boring question. But before I answer... is there anything you regret?"
Morthoth did not hesitate. His eyes burned with an eternal, buried hatred.
"I do."
"And what is it that you regret?"
"I failed to eradicate them—those cowards and their world. And I failed to protect Elina."
The figure offered a faint, enigmatic smile.
"Very well. I shall grant you a chance to return... and to claim your vengeance."
Morthoth stiffened, staring at the throne in disbelief.
"And why would you make me return?"
"Because you seek vengeance. And because Elina still lives."
The blood in Morthoth’s veins froze. His eyes widened, his heart hammering against his chest.
"What? How is that possible?"
The figure raised a single finger, pointing into the empty space before him.
"You will discover everything in time. Grow. Become stronger.
Regain your former peak and become the strongest.
Only then will my gift be fully realized, and the truth unveiled."
With a mere flick of that finger, a thick, suffocating darkness surged forth, swallowing Morthoth whole.
After the shadows had consumed him, the mysterious figure murmured:
"Every end is merely a beginning for another vessel."
Morthoth felt his consciousness fragmenting, his existence being torn apart and forcibly reshaped in a crucible of pure, unrelenting agony.
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He gasped, jerking awake on a crude wooden bed in a modest room.
"Argh... what is this?"
He gripped his head as a violent, torrential wave of memories crashed into his mind—
memories that were not his own, yet now belonged to him.
This vessel was named Ray, heir to the most powerful Dukedom in the Kingdom.
Ray was infamous for his reckless behavior, faults his family had long overlooked.
But everything had shattered at the Grand
Royal Banquet, when Ray had insulted the First Princess of the Kingdom with unforgivable vitriol.
The memories burned through his consciousness:
his mother’s desperate pleas for him to kneel and apologize; his own defiance, his scream of contempt:
"If you want to lick their boots, do it yourselves!"
He had stormed out, pride intact, only for his father, Duke Don Vainus, to cast him out and strip him of all inheritance.
The elders had used the situation to pressure the Duke, threatening his rule and standing if he protected his son;
thus, he decided to banish Ray and name his younger brother as the heir.
Ray had been spared the executioner's blade only due to his father’s immens
influence and his mother’s secret bond with the Queen, as insulting the Royal Family was a capital offense.
Ray hadn't cared.
Before departing, he had siphoned enough gold to sustain himself, setting his sights on the "Entrance Trial"—the gateway to Antares Academy, where the strongest
talents from across the Kingdom competed for supremacy.
Despite his flaws, Ray had always dreamed of entering Antares and proving himself.
Morthoth pulled himself from the abyss of these memories. Ray's ambitions meant nothing to him.
Yet, one question burned in his mind: Who was that being on the throne?
And what did he mean by saying Elina still lives?
"To find the truth, I need power. This body is wretchedly weak."
He looked at the sun peeking through the shutters.
"Four days until the Entrance Trial. More than enough time to rebuild."
He stood up, his eyes hardening.
"From this moment on, I shall live as you, Ray.
I will fulfill your desire for glory and status by my name, not your family’s."
"Ray is dead," Morthoth whispered, closing his eyes. "But his name shall remain.
From this day onward... I am Ray."
He dove into the depths of his past life, scavenging for a method to temper this fragile vessel. Among the countless
techniques he had collected throughout his endless life, one stood above the rest for rebuilding a broken foundation: "Body Refinement."
It was a path designed to bolster the physical frame, enhancing endurance and purging all impurities from within.
Ray closed his eyes, centering his spirit.
The moment the technique ignited, his room transformed into a private purgatory.
He felt his bones pulverized by phantom hammers, then reforged in the fires of an icy hell.
The pain was beyond language. Ray knew that losing focus for even a moment could
cripple the refinement process and leave his body permanently damaged.
He bit his lip until the crimson flow was steady, his willpower as a Tyrant holding firm against the onslaught of agony.
Hours dragged on like centuries.
Sweat, mixed with dark, foul-smelling toxins forced from his pores, drenched his sheets.
As the dawn of the fourth day broke, the transformation reached its zenith.
His body felt lighter, cleaner, and more responsive than before.
The impurities that had plagued the young noble for years had finally been purged.
When the ritual finally ceased, Ray collapsed from the bed.
But he was no longer the flaccid, pampered noble.
He felt power pulsing through every artery.
He clenched his fist; a sharp, rhythmic cracking sound echoed through the room.
"This body..." Ray whispered, his voice raspy, cold, and triumphant. "At last, it is a decent vessel, unlike before."
He stepped toward the window, watching the sun ascend.
The Entrance Trial was the first stepping stone on his path to vengeance.
As he walked through the crowded streets toward the Academy gates, the atmosphere shifted.
The air grew heavy with the presence of hundreds of young hopefuls, all radiating the pride of their respective clans.
Some were sons of merchants seeking status,others were heirs to fallen houses, but all of them were trembling with anticipation.
Ray moved through them like a ghost, his presence muted, yet his gaze carved through their vanity.
He saw a girl shivering in fear, and a man boasting of his physical might to a hulking beast-man.
They were all playing a game of status, unaware that a truly dominating force had just stepped onto the board.
The gates of Antares Academy loomed before him, vast and monolithic, carved
from black obsidian that seemed to swallow the light. It was more than an ordinary school;
it was like a nightmare, devouring the weak and bestowing opportunity upon the strong and the cunning to become the masters of the future.
Ray didn't feel intimidated. He felt a familiar, cold thrill.
He turned to the mirror.
The reflection that stared back was a handsome youth with jet-black hair and intense, pitch-black eyes, his features
carved with cold elegance and striking sharpness. In the distance, beyond the morning mist, a colossal structure pierced the heavens: Antares Academy.
Ray narrowed his eyes, a grin forming on his face.
"Entrance Trial..." he whispered. "Let us see what it contains.”