[Don, the connection is now complete. You may choose your skills.]
Don struggled to form words. His mind was spinning, overwhelmed.
"Wait! Wait!" he gasped. "What is happening here? What does it mean that I'm connected to The Source? How are you speaking in my mind? And what is this thing on my chest?!"
[Unfortunately, I cannot answer now.]
The voice was calm, patient—but firm.
[I can only say this: You were deprived of your birthright. And this is a small compensation for everything.]
A pause.
[I am not a God. I am not a wish-granter. So understand this: you did not absorb Me. I am merely resting inside you… because I am bored.]
Another pause.
[Now. Choose your skills.]
"Wait! Wait!" Don shouted, desperate. "Why do you keep talking about my birthright? What is that exactly?! And how did I escape death? I've never even left this city!"
[Time is running out, boy.]
The voice sharpened.
[As I said… I cannot answer now.]
Don clenched his fists.
"Damn it! Fine. Fine." He took a long, shaky breath. "Calm down, Don."
He hadn't just gained power. He'd become a host for a rude, cryptic Source that wouldn't answer his questions.
Great. Just great.
He steadied himself.
"Alright. I need to think about my skills carefully."
He looked up at nothing—at the presence he could feel inside him.
"Source… what are the limits to my choices?"
[Any skill you name is yours.]
The voice replied smoothly.
[Of course, it will have limitations initially. But as you level it up, it will become stronger than what you ask for now.]
Don's eyes widened.
"Anything? Truly anything?"
He hesitated.
Then, in a low, nervous whisper, he said it:
"Even… Immortality?"
He had only heard of Immortals from the old man, who used to ramble drunkenly:
"Boy, in the past, the Immortals all asked only to see Me—to light up their miserable lives. You must know, it is an honor for any Immortal to have Me look at them."
The old man truly was mad. But his strange imagination had opened up many ideas for Don.
[Yes.]
The Source replied without hesitation.
[You may have it.]
Don's heart pounded.
"Alright then."
He swallowed hard.
"The first skill is… Immortality."
[Skill synthesis in progress…]
[Integrating multiple skills…]
[10% of energy drained…]
[Skill formation complete.]
SKILL ACQUIRED:
• Immortality
Effect:No matter what happens, you will not die. Your body regenerates upon destruction. Your sense of pain is almost non-existent.
Warning:If your head is severed or your heart is destroyed, you will visit the Underworld.
Critical Warning:If Death or one of his subordinates sees you before you return, you will become his slave.
"Amazing!" Don said, excitement flooding through him.
But then, a question struck him.
"Wait—why is Death mentioned again? And what's the speed of my body's regeneration? How long does it—"
[Hold on.]
The voice turned sharp. Cold. Warning.
Don collapsed.
He hit the floor hard, unable to scream. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The pain was unbearable.
His mind was being destroyed. His body was being rebuilt—again.
If the pain of the initial Source connection was like that of a small child… this pain was like that of a grown man being torn apart.
Don's vision blurred. His body convulsed violently on the bedroom floor.
Then… darkness.
He passed out.
He couldn't hear The Source's next words.
But they echoed through the white expanse within him, soft and sorrowful:
[My dear… our son truly did it.]
The voice trembled with emotion.
[I will guide him. I will protect him. I will eradicate all our enemies.]
A pause.
[This is the beginning.]
The voice grew stronger, resolute.
[The universe will be our beloved son's feast.]
[Wait, my love… until the world ends.]
[We shall meet again… Alfred.]
At this time, in the Royal Palace, King Magenda the Eleventh stood at his chamber window, gazing out at his city.
But something was wrong.
The King's eyes were vacant—empty, glassy, lifeless.
He was naked.
Behind him, on the Royal bed made of the finest silk, lay Queen Dora Antion Coleman.
Asleep.
Or so it seemed.
As one looked closer, the King was holding something in his hands.
A heart.
Still pulsing. Still beating weakly.
The Queen's heart.
He stared at it blankly—then brought it to his mouth.
And bit into it.
The sound was wet. Sickening. He chewed slowly, mechanically, as if it were all he had left in the world.
Then, a voice came from behind him.
Sweet. Mocking. Twisted.
"Well done, my King! Eat, eat, eat for my sake!"
The voice giggled.
"Today you devour the heart of your family. Tomorrow, you will devour your city. Then… your beloved continent!"
The King did not speak.
After finishing the heart, he turned and looked at his wife's body.
All that filled his shattered mind was one thought:
Beautiful.
Oh, my dear… beautiful as always.
I truly want to devour you, my darling.
Then, he moved.
He raised his own arm—and bit into his own flesh with his teeth.
The sound of tearing meat echoed through the chamber. Like chewing rubber. Wet. Horrible.
He began to eat himself.
He didn't know when this had started.
Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood.
Then… he laughed.
Maniacally. Hysterically.
His mind shattered completely.
If you looked outside the room, you would see the truth:
Everyone in the palace was dead.
The guards. The princes. The servants.
All of them.
Dead.
A burst of laughter echoed throughout the palace.
The voice spoke again—no longer sweet, but filled with rage.
"Eat, my darling, eat! Hahahahaha!"
Then, harsher:
"Eat, you DOG! Hahaha!"
The voice turned cold, venomous.
"This is the fate of every human! You are merely food for us! You are nothing but livestock!"
A pause.
"Why the resistance? Why do we allow livestock to choose?"
The voice belonged to a demon.
Specifically, one possessing the body of the Queen's personal maid.
She stood in the shadows, grinning wickedly.
She took a black stone from her hand and pricked her finger with a nail.
A single drop of blood fell onto the stone.
It glowed—shifting from black to crimson red.
Then, an image appeared before her:
A fifteen-year-old boy.
She knelt immediately, trembling with dread and respect.
"Long live the King of Blood!" she whispered.
"Long live the ruler of all demons!"
Then, she spoke to the image:
"My King… everything is done. We await your arrival now."
The Blood King smiled.
His voice was smooth, pleased.
"Excellent work."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I am on my way."
She nodded—and the image vanished.
This was the beginning.
The beginning of the demon invasion.