"Demon Lord Seedling?" Drake's eyes narrowed as the system's cold mechanical voice faded into silence. The words lingered like a curse in the air. What the hell does that even mean? His mind churned. The phrasing implied one thing, this wasn't unique. There would be others. So this kid isn't the only one. But why him? Why now?
He shifted his gaze to Dayo, who stood frozen, trembling slightly as though possessed. The boy's body radiated a strange energy, a pulse that warped the air around him. Drake could feel it crawling across his skin, alien yet intoxicating.
"I… feel different," Dayo whispered. His voice was raw, unsteady, but beneath it was something else, an edge of exhilaration. His clenched fists shook as veins bulged across his forearms. "Stronger. Like something inside me finally woke up."
For a fleeting moment, his eyes gleamed with a crimson light, then vanished. He sucked in a ragged breath, shoulders trembling as if barely containing the surge of strength. A twisted smile tugged at his lips.
From now on, he vowed inwardly, I will never bow. I will never let anyone spit on me again. No one will bully me. No one will break me. I'll carve my own place in this world, even if it means burning everything else down.
"Of course you feel different," Drake muttered, his tone half-teasing, half-apprehensive. "Evolution tends to do that."
Dayo flinched, as if forgetting Drake was even there. His new-found focus was entirely inward, lost in the intoxication of his own transformation.
"S-Sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to ignore you."
Drake waved it off with a dry chuckle. "Don't sweat it. But tell me, boy… what's your plan now?"
Dayo fell silent. His shoulders slumped. "Plan? I don't have one. Nobody's ever wanted me around. I've been a burden my whole life. It's a miracle I even survived this long."
His voice cracked at the edges. There was no self-pity in it, only the plain, brutal truth of someone who had been crushed by life.
Drake tilted his head, studying him. "Then how about this? Join me."
The words struck Dayo like a lightning bolt. He stared at Drake, stunned, lips parting but no sound escaping. Join… him?
No one had ever said those words to him before. Nobody had wanted him. The world had spat on him, trampled him, treated him as nothing more than a shadow. Yet here stood this man, this stranger who had once saved his life, offering him a place, a bond.
Dayo's vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. He blinked furiously, ashamed of his weakness, but couldn't stop it.
Drake shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head. "Hey, don't cry about it. It's not that big of a deal…"
But to Dayo, it was everything. In that single gesture, Drake had unknowingly touched the deepest wound in his heart.
A fierce, desperate resolution flared within him. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, his trembling slowly hardening into steady resolve.
Drake extended his hand, his voice calm but firm. "My name is Dennis Drake."
Dayo stared at the offered hand. He hesitated, then reached out. His grip was weak at first, then tightened with newfound strength.
"My name is…" He froze. Dayo. That name was a shackle, a reminder of humiliation and weakness. He couldn't carry it into this new life. His lips curled into something darker.
"No," he said with finality. "That name belongs to the boy who died today." His voice deepened, laced with conviction. "From this moment, I am Diablo."
The system answered instantly.
«CHANGING PLAYER [DAYO] NAME TO [DIABLO]…»
«SUCCESS.»
A chill swept across the space, as though the very air acknowledged the birth of something dangerous.
«STATUS WINDOW»
NAME: Diablo
LEVEL: 1
ATTRIBUTE: Weakness Conqueror
TITLE: Demon Lord Seedling
SAGA: —
WEAPONS: —
HP: 210/210
MP: 60/60
STRENGTH: 20
AGILITY: 20
SENSE: 10
HEALTH: 25
INTELLIGENCE: 10
AVAILABLE POINTS: 10
SKILL: —
GOD COINS: 100
The lines glowed with ominous light before fading.
Drake's jaw tightened. He had seen countless status windows already, but this one… this one felt wrong. Not because of the numbers, but because of the title. Demon Lord Seedling. It wasn't just a role. It was a warning.
At that moment, Dennis Drake knew he had not just recruited an ally. He had unleashed something that might one day become his greatest enemy.
And so, Diablo was born, the seed of a calamity that would one day strike fear into all who stood against him.
Meanwhile…
Unaware of what happened, Collins stirred, groggy. His eyelids fluttered as he pushed himself upright. His skull throbbed faintly, though the pain had dulled since earlier. "Ugh…" He rubbed his temples, then glanced at James.
The boy was sprawled on a chair, legs wide open, mouth hanging loose, a string of drool sliding down his chin.
Collins blinked, then snorted. It was the first time he had seen James so utterly defenseless. The stress of the gods' sudden intervention must have finally caught up with him.
A mischievous grin tugged at Collins' lips. He moved quietly to the basin, filled a cup with water, and tiptoed back to James. With a wicked chuckle, he tilted the cup—
SPLASH!
James jolted awake, flailing off the chair and onto the floor with a loud thud. "Wha—?! Cold! Cold!" He scrambled, wiping water off his face. His furious glare snapped to Collins, who was doubled over laughing.
"Remember this, Collins," James hissed, dripping wet. "When I repay you, it'll be ten times worse."
Collins smirked. "Congratulations. That day will never come."
"You'll never know," James muttered darkly, though his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl.
"Quqahhh…"
The two exchanged looks, then trudged to the kitchen. They found a small stash of food, meager but edible.
James squinted at Collins, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hey, remember what the elders always say?"
Collins raised a brow. "What?"
"Respect the younger ones and provide for them. For they lead tomorrow." James folded his arms sagely.
Collins frowned. "…And that means?"
"It means since I'm younger, you should leave all this food to me." He said it with a perfectly straight face, utterly shameless.
Collins stared at him for a long moment. Then, with mock seriousness, he said, "Sure."
James' eyes lit up. "Really?!"
In the next instant, Collins snatched the food and devoured half of it before James could react.
"HEY!" James lunged at him. "Didn't you just agree?!"
"Shut up and eat," Collins said, chewing. "We've got bigger problems to deal with."
By the time James sulked his way through the leftovers, Collins had already moved to the window. He pulled the curtain slightly aside and froze. Outside, monsters roamed freely, their grotesque forms wandering aimlessly through the ruined streets.
He let the curtain fall. "We're trapped."
James swallowed hard. "Then maybe… maybe we wait. The government will send soldiers, right?"
Collins turned, giving him a flat, almost pitying look. "You're still that naïve? Do you think anyone's coming to save us? The world isn't the same anymore. With this system… everyone will fight for themselves."
James shifted uncomfortably. He knew Collins was right.
Collins clenched his fists. "If we wait for help, we die weak. I won't accept that."
And then
«DING…»
A voice echoed in his head.
«SYSTEM HAS BEEN NAMED [ORÚLA] BY HOST.»
Collins froze. His breath hitched. Slowly, letters materialized before his eyes.
«STATUS WINDOW»
NAME: Adam Collins
LEVEL: 1
ATTRIBUTE: Book of Origin
TITLE: King of Books
SAGA: —
WEAPONS: Ordinary Knife
HP: 200/200
MP: 50/50
STRENGTH: 10
AGILITY: 12
SENSE: 10
HEALTH: 15
INTELLIGENCE: 1
AVAILABLE POINTS: 3
SKILL: Information Manipulation
The words shimmered like ancient scripture, radiating an aura older than the stars.
Collins' lips curled into a slow smile. His chest tightened with exhilaration. "Orúla… you're finally awake."
This wasn't just a system. It felt alive. Watching. Waiting. And now, it had answered his call.
Somewhere deep within, a whisper stirred.
Now, Adam Collins. Let us rewrite the world.