"Go."
Azrael raised his hand.
Kaelen opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form words, the dying god began to crumble. Pale flesh flaked away like ash. Stitched seams unraveled. Empty sockets stared at nothing as Azrael's form dissolved into darkness, scattering into the void like smoke in wind.
And Kaelen vanished.
He hit the ice hard.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and for several long seconds, he could only lie there, staring up at a sky the color of bruised slate. Snow fell around him, light at first, then heavier.
Kaelen pushed himself up.
Ice. Everywhere ice.
A vast plain stretched in all directions, flat and white and utterly featureless. No trees. No rocks. No signs of life. Just an endless expanse of frozen nothing beneath clouds heavy with more snow to come. Jagged mountains pierced the horizon in the distance, but they were too far to matter.
The cold hit him next.
It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. On Earth, he had known winter—freezing nights in back alleys, the bite of wind through thin jackets, the numbness that crept into fingers and toes when you stayed still too long. That was nothing. This was cold as an active force, cold with intent, cold that wanted to kill.
Kaelen's breath misted instantly, ice crystals forming on his lips. His black hair whipped across his face. The wind screamed across the ice, a constant, piercing wail that cut through his thin clothes like knives.
Kaelen looked around.
Ice. Nothing but ice in every direction. The wind howled. The cold bit deep.
He opened the system.
[THE ABYSS SYSTEM]
[Welcome, Heir of Azrael]
[Souls Collected: 37]
[Rank: Initiate]
He navigated to the abilities section.
Tons of abilities filled the screen—rows and rows of them—but most were greyed out, their names and descriptions blurred into unreadable darkness. He couldn't make out a single word, couldn't tell what any of them did.
Only two abilities glowed brightly at the top of the list.
[DARK STEP]
[Active Ability]
[Cooldown: 40 Seconds]
[Description: Instant short-range teleportation. Pass through shadows unnoticed.]
[BLOOD STRING]
[Active Ability]
[Cost: Consumes half of current blood per use]
[Description: Manipulate threads of blood. Control, restrain, or lacerate.]
He navigated to the health section.
[HEALTH STATUS]
[HP: 82/100]
[Status: Cold Exposure (Active)]
[PHYSICAL STATS]
[Strength: 13]
[Speed: 14]
[Endurance: 8 (Reduced by cold exposure)]
[Recovery Rate: 6]
[MENTAL STATS]
[Intelligence: 19]
[Wisdom: 11]
[Perception: 18]
[Ruthlessness: Legendary]
[CURRENT CONDITIONS]
[Core Temperature: Dropping]
[Frostbite Risk: Moderate]
[Blood Volume: 100%]
[Estimated Survival Time in Current Conditions: 6 hours]
Kaelen read the words twice.
His HP was dropping. 82 out of 100 and falling.
Six hours. Maybe less.
He looked up at the frozen wasteland around him.
He had thirty-seven souls, two usable abilities, and less than six hours to find shelter.
Kaelen closed the system and looked around.
Azrael wouldn't just drop him anywhere. The dying god must have teleported him near the demon army. It was the only thing that made sense.
He started walking.
The cold bit at him with every step, his HP continuing to drop, but he pushed forward. In the distance, he spotted a small snowy mountain—more of a large hill really—and trudged toward it. The climb was exhausting in the cold, his endurance stat screaming at him with every step, but he made it to the top.
He scanned the horizon.
For a long moment, nothing. Just ice and snow and gray sky.
Then he saw them.
Two figures in the distance. Small against the vast white, but definitely there. Moving slowly.
Kaelen squinted, his perception stat doing its work. Demons. They had to be.
But they looked... human.
He had expected horns. Wings. Something monstrous. But from here, they could have been anyone. Just two people standing in the snow, watching something he couldn't see.
Then the ground behind them began to move.
A small cavalry-like army emerged from behind a ridge—maybe fifty or sixty figures on horseback, riding slowly, their formation loose and tired. Even from this distance, Kaelen could see the state of them. Tattered armor. Limping horses. Heads hanging low.
These people were in dire circumstances.
Kaelen watched for a long moment.
He had no choice. He needed shelter. He needed answers. He needed to survive longer than six hours.
He started down the mountain.
---
The demons spotted him before he got close.
"Stop!" one of them shouted, raising a spear. "Don't come any—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The other demon stared. The first demon's spear lowered slowly, then clattered to the ground. Behind them, the cavalry had halted, every eye fixed on Kaelen.
Something passed through them like a wave.
Kaelen felt it too—a strange pull, a sense of recognition, like these people were part of something he now carried inside him. Azrael's essence. His power. His bloodline.
They felt it.
One of the scouts took a step forward. Then another. His weathered face crumpled.
"You..." he whispered. "You're..."
Behind him, the cavalry dismounted. Demons of all shapes and sizes—some more human-like, others with subtle differences in their eyes or teeth—began to gather. They surrounded Kaelen not with hostility, but with something else entirely.
A woman fell to her knees. Then a young demon, barely more than a child. Then others, one by one, until all of them knelt in the snow.
Tears streamed down faces. Hands reached out to touch the hem of his clothes, his boots, anything.
"We knew," an old demon sobbed, his voice breaking. "We knew he wouldn't abandon us."
"We waited."
"He sent someone."
"The heir."
Kaelen stood in the center of them, white hair whipping in the wind, crimson eyes taking in every face, every tear, every desperate hand reaching for him.
Then his vision blurred.
His knees buckled. The demons caught him before he hit the ice, their desperate cries fading into static as darkness swallowed him whole.
He woke to warmth.
For a long moment, Kaelen simply lay there, confused by the absence of cold. Then memory returned—the frozen plain, the demons, the system telling him he had six hours.
He opened his eyes.
A fire crackled nearby, its light casting dancing shadows across a low ceiling. Furs covered the ground beneath him. The walls were made of ice blocks packed with snow, crude but effective. A hut. Someone had dragged him inside.
He tried to sit up. His body screamed in protest.
[HEALTH STATUS]
[HP: 34/100]
[Status: Exhausted, Frostbite (Mild)]
Before he could examine further, the hut's entrance opened.
A man ducked inside.
He was massive—broad-shouldered and built like hammered iron, his skin darkened by years of sun and battle. Scars crisscrossed his face like a roadmap of every fight he had ever survived. One ran from his temple to his jaw, another split his eyebrow, a third pulled at the corner of his mouth. He wore black armor, dented and worn but still serviceable, and strapped across his back was a battleaxe that looked like it could cleave a man in two.
He saw Kaelen awake and dropped to one knee instantly.
"Lord." His voice was rough, raw with emotion. "You're awake. The ancestors have answered our prayers."
Kaelen said nothing. Just watched.
The demon lifted his head, hope burning in his eyes. "What should we do, Lord? Surely we can now retaliate against the humans. We have you on our side now. Azrael sent you. We can finally fight back."
Kaelen stared at him.
Then he laughed.
It was not a kind laugh.
"Are you stupid?" Kaelen's voice came out hoarse, weak, but the words landed like strikes. "Retaliate?"
The demon's hope flickered.
"I am not a god," Kaelen continued, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "And there is certainly no such thing as luck on my side. I haven't even had time to think about this transmigration—this summoning, whatever the hell it was—and yet I find myself in a war with humans. Again."
He fixed the demon with those crimson eyes.
"If we retaliate now, we die. First, tell me everything. The situation of our men currently here. How many are present? How many are injured? How many are warriors? And how many can cast spells?"
The demon swallowed hard.
Then he began to talk.