"The last thing I saw before the bullet hit my chest... was my little brother screaming my name."
The air reeked of rust and gunpowder.
Somewhere in the distance, tires screeched. Sirens howled like wolves at the edge of a blood-red forest. My knees hit the wet concrete as warmth spread across my shirt — sticky, metallic, and terrifyingly familiar.
My hands trembled. Not from the pain. But from the sound I never wanted to hear again.
"Kael!"
Eli's voice broke through the chaos — high, cracking, full of something that hurt worse than the hole in my chest.
I tried to turn my head toward him. Everything moved in slow motion.
He was crawling toward me, blood on his palms, face pale with horror. His backpack had fallen off. His math notebook spilled out into the street, pages fluttering like feathers. He was only thirteen.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
I tried to smile.
Then the world went black.
I didn't dream. I didn't see light. Just… nothing.
Until the pain came back. But this time it was different. This pain wasn't from a bullet.
It was like my body was being rearranged.
Gasping, I shot up.
My lungs screamed. My chest was burning. My vision flickered — not black, but red. Crimson red. I blinked again, trying to focus.
I wasn't on the street anymore.
I was in a throne room.
The ceiling arched high above me like the jaws of some sleeping beast. Walls of obsidian and red marble towered around me. Blood-red banners with silver symbols hung above a cracked black throne. Fire blazed in iron braziers. The air stank of ash and incense.
And I was sitting on the throne.
What the hell—
My hands gripped the cold stone arms. They were bigger. Calloused. A ring I didn't recognize — a black serpent coiled around a ruby — glinted on my finger.
Footsteps echoed behind me. I turned.
An armored man knelt before the throne.
He didn't look confused. He didn't look afraid. He looked reverent.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head. "We've received word. The Hero has crossed into our realm."
Hero?
My mouth felt dry. "What… did you say?"
He looked up at me with a strange mix of pride and fear. "The Hero, my lord. The Golden Star. Elion Seraphis. The boy from the prophecy."
That name hit me like a whip.
Elion.
I stood up too fast. My body moved like it wasn't mine. Muscles flexed. My balance was perfect. Too perfect.
I staggered to the side, caught myself against the stone pillar. My reflection shimmered in a nearby mirror embedded in the wall.
Black hair.
Pale skin.
Eyes like burning coals.
I didn't look like me.
Not anymore.
The memories came in waves.
Not mine.
But his.
Lucien Kael Draven.The Crimson Sovereign.Feared warlord of the Demon Realms.Executor of the Night Wars.Terror of the North.The villain in the sacred prophecy.The one destined to fall at the Hero's hand.
And I was him now.
I stumbled back, gasping. My heart slammed in my chest.
"Your Grace?" the knight asked.
"Leave me," I said — my voice colder, deeper. It echoed in the room like thunder.
He obeyed without question.
I collapsed onto the throne again.
What kind of twisted joke was this?
I die protecting my brother… and I'm reborn as the villain he's meant to kill?
A flutter of paper caught my eye.
A scroll, sealed in wax, lay open on the throne's armrest. I didn't know how I knew it — but the language, ancient and jagged, was familiar.
"...When the Crimson One rises, so shall the Hero be chosen.In fire and blood, the brothers shall clash.One shall fall.One shall rise.The cycle must not break."
I read it again. And again.
My hands trembled.
I paced the chamber, mind racing.
I needed answers. I needed to find him. Eli—no, Elion—was alive. Here. In this world. Fighting a war he didn't understand. Destined to kill me.
He wouldn't recognize me in this body.
Hell, I didn't recognize myself.
I looked at the sword leaning beside the throne. Black metal. Red runes pulsing along its blade.
This world wanted me to fight him. Kill him. Or die trying.
But I couldn't.
He was my reason for living.
A soft ding echoed in my ears. Like a bell from nowhere.
Then came the voice.
Cold. Hollow. Mechanical.
[Fatebind System Initiated.]
Welcome, Lucien Draven. You have returned.
Main Objective: Slay the Hero.
Failure to comply: Soul Disintegration.
I froze.
You may unlock bonus objectives by accumulating Villainy Points.
Bonus: Spare the Hero — ???
Warning: Defying fate is a Class-Sin. All outcomes will be monitored.
Then silence.
The system vanished. The room grew quiet again.
Except for the sound of my heart pounding in my chest.
I looked up at the cracked mirror again — at the face of a monster I didn't ask for.
My voice was barely a whisper.
"Eli… what have we been thrown into?"
And then the chamber doors slammed open.
A woman stood in the doorway — leather armor stained with blood, blades at her sides, red tattoos glowing faintly on her pale skin.
She gave a crooked smile.
"So," she said, tilting her head. "The Crimson Sovereign has finally awakened."
I didn't speak.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You look… different," she said. "Like you just crawled back from hell."
I gave a thin smile. "Something like that."
She threw something at my feet.
A rolled-up wanted poster.
I picked it up.
There he was.
Bright hair, blue eyes, proud smile.
Elion Seraphis.
Alive.
Stronger than before.
Marked as enemy of the Demon Realm.
And right below his name…
"Slay on sight."