Yes, Kyle was thinking of suicide. It suddenly made a lot of sense to him. What was the point of living when there was no goal left to chase, no one to lean on, and nothing in his chest but this frustrating pain? He staggered into the courtyard, his wounds far from healed.
Julie's voice called to him; the worry and concern were clear in her tone. "Kyle! What do you think you're doing? Your wounds could open again!"
She rushed forward and grabbed his arm, forcing him to pause. For a moment, she thought she might pull him back, but then he turned. The look he gave her was flat and cold, drained of every trace of life. Julie froze, her hand trembling against his bandages; ultimately, she had no choice but to let him go. If she had known what weighed on his mind, if she had known that Kyle was already thinking of ending everything, she would never have allowed him to walk away.
But she didn't, and he did. Step by step, he left the courtyard. He walked… and walked… and walked like a lifeless puppet controlled by invisible strings. His body moved with a grim steadiness, every step firm yet lifeless. His eyes were dull stones staring at nothing in particular as he pushed through the inner sections of the clan grounds.
He passed the guards without so much as a glance. Past curious onlookers who whispered into their sleeves and into each other's ears. Past gossiping bystanders who watched him like groups of blackbirds circling over a dying beast. Kyle didn't care. Let them stare. A man wrapped head to toe in bloodstained bandages, walking around lifelessly like some zombie? Who wouldn't stare? He was bound to draw eyes, but at this point, what did it matter?
Meanwhile, high above, an old figure stood on the tallest roof in the city. His flowing robe rippled against the breeze, his bearing regal. Adorned with fine embroidery that glittered faintly in the sun, the man's eyes looked very calm, sharp, and merciless. This was Kabal, the patriarch of the Bancroft clan. Kyle's father.
Kabal had long surpassed ordinary men. His cultivation stood at the Transcendent tier, the very peak of strength in the Evernight Region. From his vantage point, chi surged through his eyes, allowing him to watch the city as though it wasn't hundreds of feet away from him. He could zoom in on any figure; furthermore, if he enhanced his ears, he could also hear whatever he wanted. This was how he ruled. No secret could hide from his watchful eyes. And usually before the commoners even brought cases of disagreement to him, he knew who was lying and who was telling the truth. At Kabal's level he could also split his focus and monitor multiple events. Clearly, this was no mundane man.
He watched from above at the sea of people, and in that sea of moving figures, one lone soul caught his notice. Kyle.
A sigh left the patriarch's lips. Despite Kyle's unfortunate situation, he didn't pity his son; instead, he was disappointed.
Kyle had always been kind. Selfless. That heart of his, no matter how strong it made him, had always been soft and too forgiving. Even now, as Kabal studied him wandering out of the market with bandaged limbs and hollow steps, he knew his son was not plotting vengeance. He was not dreaming of rebellion. No, he was simply adrift, broken by grief, and still incapable of hate.
And to Kabal, that softness was weakness. People who forgave too easily were not fit for power; they were fit to serve. That was why no matter how poorly a master treated a servant, their soft heart would return to obedience instead of fighting for freedom. That was why Kabal had not interfered when Kane—Kyle's own brother—had stolen his heart. Forgiveness would only drag Kyle down in the end. He didn't deserve the power he had been born with. (The Eclipse heart.) If he had punished his brother long ago instead of pardoning his every cruelty, maybe he wouldn't be limping through the streets now. Little did Kabal know, with the heart gone, Kyle was a different person and be could see the injustices quite clearly.
At the same time, gossip spread like disturbed bees as Kyle moved through the markets and city square, drawing stares from guards and commoners alike.
If he had his cultivation, his ears might have picked up on every gossip. But he didn't have a magic heart and could only hear small pieces of conversations around him as he walked.
"Isn't that Kyle Bancroft? The patriarch's son?" someone asked.
"That bandaged man? You must be mistaken. How could you recognize him through all that?"
"I'm sure it's him. Haven't you heard the story?"
"Yeah, I did, it's unbelievable… his own brother. If that were me, I'd have cut him to pieces. How could he rest in the same clan as that traitor?"
Kyle heard their whispers but didn't slow. He couldn't be bothered with rumors or pity. What did their words matter when his own heart had been torn away?
For years, despite his father's urgings, despite every battle where he had the chance, Kyle had never killed. Not once. That restraint had defined him. But now, for the first time, the thought of blood entered his mind. Not someone else's but his own. If he were to kill at last, it would be himself. Suicide seemed the only path left. No one's words could change that.
He walked until his legs throbbed, until pain flared in his torso, where the emptiness of his stolen heart gnawed at him like fire. Finally, he reached the edge of the Evernight Forest.
The forest rose before him like a living wall, lush and green, whispering with hidden life. Despite appearances, its reputation was anything but gentle. People said that once you went far enough inside, the sun itself abandoned you. No light, no dawn, only endless blackness where beasts beyond imagination prowled. Even the patriarch of the clan wouldn't dare step too deep. But to Kyle, that was the perfect thing to do at the moment.
He forced his legs to move forward again, past the quiet places with harmless hopping bunnies and other low-level creatures that were not aggressive. Past his usual meeting place with Grace. Where they once did their clumsy proposals, confessions of love, and deep kisses. The sight of their spot under the tree made him even more determined to die.
Without hesitation, he crossed the safe perimeter and entered the darker reaches. Roars echoed in the distance, cries of magical beasts whose auras pressed down on him like waves of lead. Their cultivation levels were leagues beyond his own. His knees threatened to buckle, yet he pressed on. He almost laughed. Why was this taking so long? Why hadn't some monster already swallowed him whole? Did he truly seem so worthless, so beneath notice, that even the beasts dismissed him?
All he wanted was for the pain to end. For everything to end. Maybe, he thought, the other side—whatever/wherever it was—would finally give him peace...
At that very moment,
Far, far away in a place no mortal man should see, a pair of eyes opened.
A figure stood in utter darkness, nearly ten feet tall, humanoid in form but radiating a power that defied words. His skin was blackened like charcoal, his eyes, endless pits of night. Heavy chains, thick as ancient trees, coiled around his unreal muscles. And yet, even bound, his presence moved the very air.
This was the god of death. Satan. Lucifer. Hades. Whatever name one was familiar with.
His lips curled into a smile, his voice pouring forth, deep and terrible, laced with a sinister delight. The chuckle he let out would have sounded funny or maybe cliché in some story told to scare kids. But now it sounded like something out of a horror movie.
"Ah… yes. Another soul drifts into my grasp. Such potent hatred, such buried hunger for retribution. He will not need much coaxing to serve me, poor, innocent Kyle. I will give you just what you want."
Lucifer's prison was the underworld, a realm as bleak as legend described. No sky, no sun, only smoke and endless darkness. Flames licked the cracked red earth, and the very air smelled of ash. The gods themselves had condemned Lucifer here, sealing him away as a threat too great to walk free. Even chained, he still found ways to weave his schemes.
Smoke seeped from his body, writhing like a living shadow. It coiled, then shot upward into the starless void, streaking toward the living world. Streaking toward Kyle.