Prophecy Fragment:
"They spat his name into the dirt; the heavens laughed. Let a demon name him, and the world will taste sorrow beyond measure."
The hut smelled of iron and smoke. Straw lay matted with blood, and the remnants of those who had tried to raise the boy were scattered across the floor. He stood barefoot in the middle of the ruin, tiny hands coated in grime and dried blood. His eyes glimmered like embers in the half-light, patient, hungry, intelligent in a way that was far beyond his years.
And then the air shifted.
A shadow fell across the hut—vast, impossibly heavy, more like a rending of reality than a creature. Horns scraped the ceiling. Wings stitched from living darkness unfurled. Zorvak had come.
He crouched slightly, claws brushing the floor, and regarded the boy. "Tell me," the Demon's voice rolled like breaking stone, "what do the stars call you?"
The boy's lips parted. "No… name," he said, voice soft but unyielding. "None worthy has ever spoken one."
Zorvak's laughter shattered the hut. "Good. Names from the heavens are chains. I will give you one that the stars themselves will choke on."
He pressed a talon into the boy's chest. Flesh split with a sharp sound, symbols burning into bone, black fire coursing through veins. Azkarel's small body convulsed, but his grin never faltered. Pain was information; fear was nourishment.
"From this night," Zorvak intoned, claws tracing across ribs, "you shall be called Azkarel—Ash-born, Angel-Breaker, Devourer of Dawn."
The Chains awakened within him.
[SYSTEM OF CHAINS INITIATED]Status: Bound Whisper:Your birthright denied by light. Reclaim it in blood.Prompt:Accept covenant? [YES / NO]
Azkarel's tiny fist clenched, instinct and hunger answering before thought. The Chains did not weigh him; they became him. Shadows flowed beneath his skin, weaving with the fire of his veins.
At that moment, a midwife, who had not yet fled, crept into the doorway, clutching a bundle of cloth she thought to gift the child. "Child… little one… we—"
Her words were cut short. Azkarel moved faster than thought, his small hands around her throat. She gasped, sputtered. He did not hesitate. He tasted the first tang of human fear, the warm metallic sweetness of blood, the sharp tang of despair. It burned on his tongue and filled his chest with fire.
The System sang.
[Skill Unlocked: Gluttony of the Void][Reward: Item Seed — Vythar Spring][Next Quest: First Taste — Slay and devour mortal kin.]
Zorvak's claws hovered near the child, not to strike, but to witness. "See how it teaches you? Not just flesh, but memory, fear, and grief. Eat their pasts. Fold their sorrow into your marrow."
Azkarel chewed slowly, deliberately, savoring not just blood, but the echo of the midwife's life: the lullabies she sang, the soft laugh of her small son, the smell of her hair. They became part of him. The Chains shimmered, feeding, strengthening, recording.
"Names and marks are beginnings," Zorvak said. "But soon, the stars themselves will know your true name."
Azkarel spat the last taste of blood, wiped his hands on the straw, and looked up at the sky. The constellations twitched in anger—or perhaps fear—for the first time.
"Let them watch," he whispered. His voice was small, but it carried a promise:
Mercy is gone. Only I remain.
The Chains pulsed. The System recorded every heartbeat, every drop of blood, every consumed memory. And in that quiet, predatory moment, Azkarel understood: the world, the stars, the heavens—they had nothing left to give him.
Only hunger.