How much time had passed?
The thought slithered through his mind like a snake underfoot, quiet, sudden, dangerous.
Beyond oblivion. At the edge of thought. That place where even ghosts forget their names.
He fought there. Alone.
An endless loop, nothing but blackness, then flickers of awareness, then black again.
His mind clung to what little memory remained, like a drowning man gripping driftwood.
Who am I?
Why am I here?
What the hell am I resisting, and why?
Answers? None. Just questions gnawing at him like rats on a corpse.
He stood because he always had. Because something told him once, long ago, that this was his duty.
But that kind of stubbornness came with a price.
Like rust on steel. Like sand in a wound.
Piece by piece, he was losing himself.
Reincarnation, the divine cycle. Natural as the stars. As inevitable as the tides.
To fight it was like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands.
Still, he did.
Foolishly. Endlessly.
He scraped together what fragments of self remained. Held them tight. Forced them into shape.
And yet,
Even that was slipping.
Suddenly, a question cut through him again.
Who am I?
Alaric D'Solis.
The name hit like a curse.
Everyone wrestles with purpose. It's part of being alive. But for him, it was poison. A blade turned inward.
Another question followed.
Why am I standing here?
Why endure this pain?
Even stone breaks eventually. Worn down by water. Crushed by time.
His mind was fracturing. Memory after memory peeling away.
Regret seeped in.
If he couldn't remember why he was here, then what was the point?
Better to let go. Drift. Surrender.
So he did.
He opened his hands.
Let the current take him.
Then,
A flash.
Her face.
The woman he'd loved.
And the bastard who killed her.
Ah, right.
That son of a bitch had laughed while she bled out.
"...!"
Teeth clenched. Not metaphorically. Literally.
Because whatever he was now, soul, ghost, thought, it remembered.
It remembered everything.
And it burned.
He couldn't forgive.
Wouldn't.
For revenge, he'd do anything.
Anything.
He clawed his way back from the current, dragging every broken shard of identity behind him.
Slowly, he pieced himself together.
Ah.
Yes.
I am the Demon King.
Ruler of the demon tribes. Lord of the underworld.
Waiting. Always waiting.
For resurrection.
He steadied himself.
This time... that was too close.
One thread. One breath away from oblivion.
He checked his state.
No corruption. No foreign thoughts. Memories intact, mostly.
Good enough.
But next time?
There wouldn't be one.
He traced the thin thread of magic tethered to his soul.
Checked the spell's progress.
And sighed.
Not ready.
The circle sat beneath the ruins of his castle.
A relic of old magic. Forbidden. Powerful.
Designed to pull a soul from the ether, stitch it back into flesh.
Only a Demon King could command such power.
But power came with a cost.
Magic. More than any spell before.
And the gauge read eighty percent.
He stared at it.
Weighed options.
Endure. Wait for another awakening.
Or gamble. Try resurrection now.
Both paths led to risk.
Wait too long, he might come back wrong. A shell. A stranger.
Try now, his body might not hold. Might crumble. Might fail.
Either way, death waited at the end.
But vengeance?
Vengeance needed a vessel.
He chose the gamble.
Better broken than forgotten.
He sent the signal.
The circle stirred.
Buuuuum.
Reality groaned.
Ether and earth cracked open.
Light bent. Twisted.
He threw himself forward, caught in a storm of unraveling.
"Ugh!"
It felt like tearing. Like being flayed inside out.
Voice gone.
Limbs locking up.
Pain like fire under his skin.
He couldn't scream.
Couldn't move.
But he held on.
Just a little more.
Just a little longer.
He reached for the light.
And then,
Impact.
Darkness.
"...Ugh."
He pushed himself up. Weak. Shaking.
Blinked.
Recognized the ruins.
Castle. His castle.
Spell worked.
Mostly.
"Ugh!"
Pain lanced through him.
Body half-formed. Unstable.
The circle failed him. Or maybe he failed it.
No time to brood.
That spell lit a beacon across the world.
Humans would come sniffing soon enough.
He grabbed rags from the rubble, wrapped them around his trembling form.
And ran.
"Ha! Ha!"
Legs like jelly. Lungs like ash.
Didn't know how long. Didn't care.
No footsteps behind.
Lucky, or they were slow.
"Cough! Cough!"
Throat dry. Tongue like leather.
There was a spring nearby. Memory said so.
He staggered toward it.
Found it.
Drank like a dying man.
Water like nectar.
Cooled his throat.
Cleared his head.
Then,
He looked down.
And froze.
Reflection stared back.
Black hair.
Red eyes.
A boy.
"What the, "
He touched his face. The reflection mimicked him.
"Is this... all the magic I have left?"
He tore through his senses, searching for the familiar weight of black magic.
Nothing.
Before, he wore power like armor.
Now?
A whisper. A flicker.
Could barely cast a candlelight spell.
Damn it.
Worse, black magic didn't grow on trees. Couldn't just suck it from the air.
Use what little he had?
And he'd be empty. Done.
He gritted his teeth.
Situation couldn't be worse.
Weak body. Low magic. Time ticking.
Humans closing in.
"Stay calm."
He muttered it like a prayer.
Once, he ruled demons.
Once, he shattered kingdoms.
Now?
He was a child with no power and a vendetta too big for his bones.
He needed a plan.
Fast.
And if he couldn't find one?
Then he'd make one bleed.