CHAPTER 1: FINAL STAND AT ABYSS
Location: Castle Abyss, Throne Room
Time: The Day Before Rebirth
The air in the throne room tasted of ozone and desperation. Azazel, Devil God of the Abyss, stood with his back against his obsidian throne, seven pairs of glowing eyes surrounding him in a deadly circle.
"Brothers," Azazel's voice echoed, calm despite the blood dripping from a dozen wounds. "After ten millennia together, you choose betrayal?"
Satan, resplendent in prideful armor, stepped forward. "Not betrayal, brother. Evolution. You grew weak, sentimental. The Abyss needs a stronger hand."
To Azazel's left, Astaroth roared, time magic crackling around him. "Traitors! I'll tear your souls apart!"
To his right, Lilith whispered spells, her seduction magic washing over their enemies—ineffective against fellow Archdukes but buying milliseconds.
"Enough!" Belial's voice cut through, green envy magic forming chains. "Just die cleanly, Azazel. We'll make it quick."
Azazel's seven-colored eyes—each representing a deadly sin—glowed with bitter realization. They've already sealed the escape routes. The throne room is a cage.
He glanced at his two loyalists. Astaroth, the berserker who'd fought beside him since the first war. Lilith, the strategist who'd planned their greatest victories. They would die here with him.
Unless...
A forbidden technique surfaced in his memory—the Soul Sundering Sacrifice. A spell that would detonate 95% of a god's power, creating a dimensional rift large enough for two souls to escape.
The cost? Near-complete annihilation.
"Forgive me," Azazel whispered.
His hands moved in ancient patterns. The Mammon's Mark on his right hand—a symbol of his pact with the Archduke of Greed—glowed with stolen power.
"What's he—" Satan began.
"SOUL SUNDER!" Azazel roared.
The explosion wasn't of fire or lightning, but of existence itself. Reality tore. The castle—the entire dimension—shuddered. Seven Archdukes were thrown back, screaming as god-level energy scoured their forms.
Azazel felt his essence unraveling. 95% of his power, his divinity, his very soul—detonating like a star. With the last 5%, he grabbed two soul fragments.
To Astaroth: "Find me again."
To Lilith:"Guide me back."
He hurled their souls through the rift, then felt his own consciousness fading, shredding, scattering...
---
Location: Between Dimensions
Time: The Moment After
Awareness returned in fragments. Azazel—no, just a consciousness now—drifted through the void. Memories flashed:
The first war against Ellyon's angels.
Teaching Lilith how to weave temptation magic.
Drinking with Astaroth after victories.
The slow poison of his brothers' envy.
His soul, now just 5% of its former glory, sought anchor. The spell had been precise: reincarnation in a compatible vessel in the human realm. A body with darkness affinity, where he could hide and recover.
Through the dimensional layers, he felt a pull—a familiar energy signature. Mammon's Mark. His traitor-brother's power, resonating with the remnants of his own.
Mammon... you always were sentimental.
The consciousness plunged toward the source.
---
Location: Shadowfall, Valcraven Estate
Time: Simultaneous
In a birthing chamber lit by shadow-lanterns, Lady Seraph Valcraven screamed her final push.
"Almost there, my lady!" the midwife urged.
Duke Aiden Valcraven stood by the door, his knuckles white on the hilt of his shadow-forged sword. The dark noble's face, usually an impassive mask, showed genuine anxiety.
A second scream—then the cry of a newborn.
"He's here!" the midwife announced, lifting a squirming baby boy.
But as she moved to clean him, she froze. "My lord... his eyes..."
Aiden rushed forward. The baby—his son—had opened his eyes. And they weren't the blue or brown of a newborn.
They were dark gray with flecks of crimson, staring with unsettling focus.
"Seraph," Aiden whispered.
His wife, exhausted, reached weakly. "Let me... let me see him."
The midwife handed over the baby with trembling hands. As Seraph cradled her son, the infant's tiny right hand flexed. On the back of it, a mark glowed faintly—a complex crown-like symbol in black and gold.
"The Mammon's Mark," Aiden breathed. "It's awakened already?"
The baby—Lucian Valcraven—looked at his new mother's face, then at his father's. His mind, a god's consciousness in an infant's brain, processed:
Human parents. Noble lineage. Darkness affinity. Compatible vessel.
Memories of another life, another identity, flooded him. The betrayal. The explosion. The escape.
I survived.
Then, a second realization, as his newborn senses detected a familiar soul signature miles away, being born at the same moment:
Astaroth. You made it too.
Lucian opened his mouth to speak, but only a baby's cry emerged. The frustration was maddening.
"Shhh, little one," Seraph cooed, unaware she was comforting a being older than her civilization. "Welcome to the world."
Aiden touched the glowing mark on his son's hand. "The prophecy said the Mark awakens at five years. Not at birth."
The Mark pulsed, as if responding. Lucian concentrated, trying to access his power. A trickle responded—maybe 0.1% of his original might. Enough to sense, to remember, but not to act.
95% gone. Traitors to punish. A god to kill. And I'm stuck in a body that can't even hold its head up.
The irony would have made him laugh if he could.
Outside the chamber, a servant announced: "My lord, a messenger from the capital! Princess Celestia has been born!"
Aiden nodded, his eyes still on his son. "Two heirs born on the same night. An auspicious sign."
Lucian's newborn mind filed the information. Celestia. Heir to the throne. Worshipper of Ellyon. Future enemy.
He tried to form a plan, but infant exhaustion overwhelmed him. His eyes—those ancient, knowing eyes—drifted shut.
But not before one final thought crystallized:
I will reclaim everything. My power. My throne. My vengeance.
And I will burn Heaven itself to ash.
---
Location: Solaris Imperial Palace
Time: Same Night
In a birthing chamber glowing with holy light, Empress Selene held her own newborn. The baby girl had hair like spun sunlight and eyes that already seemed to hold celestial wisdom.
"Celestia," Selene whispered. "Our little light."
In a nearby room, a second cry echoed. Queen-Consort Isabella had given birth to a son. Prince Aaron Lumis screamed with unusual fury, his tiny fists clenched as if ready for battle.
No one noticed how both babies' eyes briefly glowed—one gold, one amber—before returning to normal.
---
Location: Imperial Magic Academy
Time: Five Years Earlier
In a dormitory room, a five-year-old girl named Lilith (not yet a professor) sat up in bed, gasping. Purple energy crackled around her for a moment before fading.
Her roommate mumbled sleepily. "Nightmare again?"
Lilith touched her chest where her soul—now housing an ancient consciousness—thrummed with new purpose.
"No," she whispered to the darkness. "A promise."
She looked toward the northern mountains where Shadowfall lay.
I'm coming, my lord. Wait for me.
---
Back in Shadowfall, Lucian slept in his mother's arms. The Mammon's Mark had faded to a faint scar, waiting. His power slept, a beast in chains.
But in dreams, he walked familiar halls. The obsidian throne room. The seven betrayers' faces. The explosion.
And a single, burning resolve:
This is not an end.
This is a beginning.
---
END OF CHAPTER 1