Azakil's aura ignited.
At the age of twenty, for the very first time, the aura of Mankion revealed itself within him. It was unique—burning crimson, like a blazing flame—and his eyes glowed with fury and hatred for what his parents had done to him.
That mysterious being had granted him the spark… a spark that awakened the power long buried deep inside him.
Azakil looked at himself, feeling the surge of strength coursing through his body. The flame restored his vitality, his physical power returning in full force. His muscles expanded, his body growing stronger, overflowing with raw energy.
As rage seeped deeper into his aura, he turned his gaze toward his parents. His eyes spoke only of wrath.
"You made me a slave for over thirteen years… Now it's my turn. You will become my slaves. I will make you suffer as I did… so you can understand the pain I endured."
His father responded with a mocking laugh.
"Who would've thought a slave like you could possess such power? Hahaha! You want to make me your slave? Impossible. Even if the sky crashes into the Ground, you will never achieve that, Azakil. I stand above you… while you belong in the trash."
His mother, on the other hand, trembled in fear, horrified by the overwhelming power and the bloodthirsty aura surrounding him.
"Please, Azakil… don't kill your brother. Do whatever you want to me—destroy everything—but don't harm my son!"
Behind her stood a boy—Azakil's younger brother, someone he had never known existed. The child clung to her, terrified. He was handsome, innocent… carrying the aura of nobility.
Hearing those words, Azakil's voice broke.
"And what about me, mother? Am I not your son too? Don't I deserve even a shred of care… or at least a little respect? You only ever saw me as a slave. A slave who wasted half his life working so you could enjoy wealth and comfort…"
His voice darkened.
"But this ends now. I will burn everything… I will burn even your son. Everything you have… was because of me. And I will destroy it all."
His father rushed toward his wife and younger son, embracing them tightly as if trying to shield them.
Azakil raised his hand, ready to annihilate everything before him with his newfound power.
But then…
He hesitated.
Seeing them embrace each other like a family… united.
Though he was born from them, he had never truly been part of that family—and never would be.
Tears fell from his eyes—tears of heartbreak, rage, and sorrow—all at once.
In the end, he destroyed the house… the stables… everything.
But he did not kill them.
Despite the pain consuming him, he couldn't bring himself to end their lives. Instead, he obliterated everything they had built with the money he earned as a slave—the result of their exploitation.
Then, a voice echoed suddenly after it was all over.
"Kill them, Azakil… Take your revenge. Do not hesitate. I will grant you everything if you do. Aren't they the ones who hurt you all your life? Aren't they the ones who destroyed your life?"
Azakil replied firmly,
"I won't do it. That would be meaningless. I will make them suffer even more. They now stand on the edge of poverty… I have already destroyed everything they owned."
His tone grew colder.
"And after that… I will prove to them that I am not what they believed—a slave or worthless trash. I will rule the world… enslave it entirely… and make them my slaves as well. That is my goal now."
A sinister laugh echoed.
It was Barderos, the Demon King.
"So that is your desire, Azakil… Very well. I shall grant it. You will become my right hand—the one who will rule the world alongside me. Your thirst for blood, your desire to dominate humanity… I have never seen such darkness in a human before."
He extended his hand.
"Come, Azakil. Join me. We will return once we have built our army… and conquer this wretched world."
And so, Azakil departed with Barderos to the Demon Realm, becoming the first—and strongest—soldier of the Demon King. He was the very first member of the six elite generals closest to Barderos.
Before stepping through the gate, he looked back.
Everything had been destroyed… except his father and mother.
They were still there, holding their young son tightly in their arms, trying to protect him.
That sight only deepened the fracture in Azakil's heart.
He had always wished to be in that child's place—the one who received all their love and care.
In that moment, he realized something…
He hadn't destroyed what mattered most to them.
The most precious thing they had… was that child.