The Grand Hall of Ashen Thrones was suffocating with power. Black marble pillars stretched upward like the spines of a dead titan, and molten rivers of fire flowed through grooves in the floor, pulsing in rhythm with the Demon Emperor's breath. Every heir of the imperial bloodline stood gathered beneath that oppressive ceiling, arranged in order of rank and prestige.
The eldest sons stood closest to the throne, armored in obsidian and draped in silks woven from Netherflame threads. Their eyes gleamed with pride and arrogance, each believing the crown was already theirs. The youngest daughters wore cruel smiles, daggers strapped casually to their waists, as though today's ceremony was a game where one unlucky piece would be discarded.
And then, at the farthest end of the hall, stood him.
The forgotten prince.
He was neither armored nor robed in glory. His garments were plain, stitched together with little care. His shoulders hunched as though the weight of mockery had long become a second skin. Where his siblings' demonic auras flared with terrifying vigor, his own presence was a dim ember, barely noticeable.
Whispers hissed like snakes through the hall.
"Why bring him here? He's unfit even as a servant."
"Pathetic. Imagine sharing blood with that one."
"They should have left him rotting in the outer courts."
Their laughter cut sharper than blades, but he endured it in silence. He had learned long ago that words could wound deeper than steel—but he had no luxury of bleeding before jackals.
On the throne sat the Demon Emperor, towering, vast, his eyes two abyssal suns that burned with judgment. His voice rolled like thunder, shaking the marrow of every bone present.
"Today," he declared, "the bloodline of Netherkind shall prove its worth. Among my children, only one shall inherit the throne. The succession ritual shall begin."
A collective shiver rippled across the hall. The ritual—ancient, ruthless, sacred. Each generation, heirs would compete in trials of blood and sorcery, but first… the summoning sacrifice.
The Emperor's gaze swept across his offspring, pausing at each one until it settled—cold and unflinching—on the weakest.
"You."
The word was a decree, heavy as fate. The prince's breath caught in his throat. His siblings smirked, some openly laughing, others smothering their amusement behind masks of false dignity.
"He shall serve as the vessel," the Emperor intoned. "The sacrifice for the Crown Prince's summoning."
The Crown Prince stepped forward, broad shoulders cloaked in flame, his aura so thick the air trembled. He looked at the forsaken prince as one might look at a dead insect. "Try not to scream too much, little brother. You'll ruin the ceremony."
Chains of living fire bound the prince's wrists and dragged him toward the obsidian altar. His knees scraped against the stone floor, skin splitting, but no one offered pity. To them, he was already less than nothing.
He lifted his head once, meeting the endless void of the throne room ceiling, and for the first time, he allowed himself a thought he had long buried: Is this truly my fate? To die nameless, mocked, forgotten?
The ritual circle flared with blood-red light. Ancient runes carved into the stone ignited, forming a web of power that seared his flesh. The Crown Prince raised a dagger carved from a demon's horn and slashed his palm, spilling royal blood into the circle. Flames erupted, coiling upward, hungry and wild.
The ground trembled. From the circle, something vast stirred—an ancient presence older than empires, a demon whose name had been forgotten because it was too dangerous to speak.
The forsaken prince's body convulsed as the ritual sought to consume him. He was supposed to be nothing more than a vessel, a cracked cup to hold borrowed power for another. His vision blurred, pain blotting out everything—until, in the burning haze, a voice whispered.
Child of scorn… will you be a vessel? Or will you claim me?
His heart stopped. He couldn't tell if the words came from within or without, but the moment he hesitated, black fire surged into his veins. His body burned as though he were being unmade and reforged in the same instant. Screams tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing across the hall. His siblings laughed, expecting him to perish.
But then the laughter faltered.
The black fire did not consume him. It fused with him.
The chains binding him shattered into ash. The ritual circle cracked, unable to contain the storm of power erupting within him. The great demon's essence roared, not enslaved, but embraced. His skin paled to ghostly white, jagged black lines etching themselves like living tattoos across his flesh.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed, for the first time uncertain. The Crown Prince's sneer slipped into shock.
And there he stood, trembling but alive, the impossible weight of power coursing through his veins. Slowly, his head lifted.
When his eyes opened, they glowed with a sigil older than the empire itself—the mark of the Nether Codex.
The hall fell silent.
The forgotten prince was no longer forgotten.
The silence pressed like a suffocating veil. Not a single heir dared breathe too loudly, as though the sound might provoke the black fire still swirling faintly around the prince's form. The marble floor beneath his feet was cracked and scorched, glowing faintly from the remnants of the failed summoning circle.
The Crown Prince's hand twitched toward his sword, his confident smirk replaced with the twitch of unease. "This… is impossible," he hissed, eyes narrowing. "He was supposed to be consumed."
The forgotten prince stood unsteady, his chest heaving as if every breath threatened to shatter his body from within. His skin burned, his bones ached as though too small to contain the vastness that now resided inside him. He clenched his fists, and black sparks danced across his knuckles, burning holes into the stone beneath his hands.
Inside his skull, the voice spoke again—deeper, heavier, echoing as though from an endless abyss.
You are mine now… and I am yours. Together, we are the Codex. Feed me, and I will make you eternal.
His vision wavered. Shadows pulsed at the edge of sight, every heartbeat sounding like a war drum. He staggered forward, his feet dragging across the cracked ritual circle, yet the fire that once bound him parted as though it feared his touch.
Gasps rippled through the heirs. Some stepped back, clutching at their charms and talismans. Others whispered frantically, voices breaking under fear.
"Did he… bind the demon?"
"No—worse… the demon bound itself to him!"
"That mark… the Codex… it was a myth!"
The Emperor rose from his throne. His towering form eclipsed even the burning rivers that carved the hall, his gaze sharp enough to strip flesh from bone. For the first time in centuries, his voice carried not only command, but curiosity.
"The Nether Codex…" he rumbled, his tone heavy with something that could almost be called awe. "Sealed away beyond memory, thought lost to time… And it chooses him?"
The words struck the prince harder than the chains ever had. His heart thundered. Him? The weakest? The forgotten shadow of the royal brood? His hands trembled, not from fear, but from the violent surge of realization.
For the first time… they are looking at me.
But the moment of triumph was fleeting. The Crown Prince's aura flared like a sun erupting into fury, molten flames spilling from his body as he stepped forward.
"No," he spat, voice laced with venom. "I won't allow it. That power belongs to me! He is nothing but a mistake—an insect unworthy of our blood. Father, give the order, and I will cut him down here and now."
His siblings murmured in agreement, voices rising in a storm of envy and fear. None of them could stand the thought of the forgotten one wielding power beyond them.
The Emperor raised a single hand, and silence fell once more. His eyes burned into the boy's soul. "He survived the sacrifice," the Emperor declared. "The Codex has chosen. If he can endure it, then perhaps his worth is greater than I believed."
The Crown Prince's jaw tightened, fury bleeding through his calm mask.
The forgotten prince staggered again, pain lancing through his veins as the black fire settled deeper into his marrow. He felt as though a thousand screaming voices clawed at the inside of his skull. The Codex was power, yes—but power that came with hunger. His stomach churned with emptiness, a gnawing void that no mortal food could fill.
Feed, the voice whispered again, seductive and cruel. Feed, or be consumed.
The prince's eyes flickered toward his siblings. For a fleeting instant, he imagined their flesh burning, their essence pouring into him like sweet nectar. His jaw clenched. He forced the thought aside, horrified at the hunger curling around his heart.
But he knew. Deep down, he had crossed a threshold from which there was no return.
The Emperor leaned back into his throne, his massive frame framed by fire and shadow. "So be it. Let the trials begin. If he survives, he will carve his name into the annals of our bloodline. If he fails… the Codex itself will devour him."
The Crown Prince sneered, hatred blazing in his eyes. "He won't survive the first night."
The forgotten prince lowered his gaze, concealing the faintest curve of a smile. His body trembled from agony, yet beneath it, something stirred—something sharp and relentless.
I was meant to die here. But if this curse is power… then let it be mine. Let them mock me. Let them hate me. One day, they will kneel.
The Nether Codex pulsed within him, its sigil glowing faintly across his eyes.
And so began his exile.