Every bit of power demands a price. But the moment you pay with your humanity… you've already lost.
The throne of hell was never meant for a human—except one. Betrayed by a member of his kind. Posing a threat to humanity, Fortunas, and their Chronisouls.
He is hell-bent on revenge as his name fades from life itself. He's neither a human nor a Fortuna. Not even a Chronisoul. He is something else.
Slave. Thrall. General. Each step soaked in lies and sharpened by deceit, till he claimed the throne himself.
He was called the bringer of death. But no… death was merely a herald for this man. The Chains of Eternity were soon to become his destiny.
Hell's fire bent to his will, and even the undead dared not whisper his name. Glowing fire possessed his eyes, his face bathed in bitter satisfaction. His voice sent a chill through hell itself.
"It is time."
But that was many lifetimes ago, or perhaps... a lifetime away.
Far away from scorching hell. Beneath a sun still warm and a sky still blue.
A boy walked home from school. Unaware of the journey, unaware of the darkness waiting to unfold.
Damon.
Damon walked home in his black school uniform, dark hair catching hints of dark blue in the sunlight.
"Guess I'm seventeen now," he muttered, kicking a crumpled ball of paper down the road as he pushed his hair back.
He walked past a shop with a wolf's face carved into the wood. As he checked his phone, there were no messages. No calls. Just another birthday, or so he thought.
"Ohh, I gotta go see Mom at the hospital." His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.
"I don't think I've seen—"
WHACK.
A basketball smacked him clean in the head. A sudden, jarring halt to the mundane. She jogged over, muscles in her arms still tense from pract/ice.
"Ow—Damn it."
"Damon!! I've been looking for your ass everywhere!" Natsuki jogged over, breathing hard, wiping sweat from her brow. Her long blonde hair was pulled back and wrapped in a black tie, with a few loose strands framing her face.
Natsuki.
Natsuki's purple eyes widened at him. His own sapphire ones reflected the light on her.
Damon handed her a napkin. The sunlight on her loose strands made it hard to look away. The way she wiped the sweat off her face made it slightly worse. He forced his gaze to the ground before she noticed.
"Didn't you hear me? Where've you been?" she asked, her voice sharp but softened by the sweat of effort, the sun rays revealed the slight freckles on her face now.
"Sorry, band practice ran late." He looked away, his voice quieter now. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah, I know. Been occupied with basketball stuff, we've got a game soon, so I need to get better, y'know. I need more horsepower."
"Natsuki, what are you doing?" he asked, confused, as she aggressively tore through his bag.
"There it is." She pulled out the paper; her tone was competitively serious. "I'm looking for your test results. Wanna compare them to mine?"
She sat at the nearest bench with her posture competitive and her eyes glinting. Even sitting still, she had that sharp, athletic confidence. The kind that made people look twice.
He forced a smile, "You could've just asked." She didn't answer him, and he sighed in mock annoyance, though his lips twitched with amusement.
She raised her head to meet his eyes and smirked, admiration mixing with competition. "Somehow you always seem to beat me, don't ya?"
Damon looked nervous for a moment. "What can I say? Hard work pays off. You said you were looking for me. Why?"
Natsuki smirked, "Is it a crime to miss your best friend?"
Damon blushed, and she giggled.
"Ohh, right. Gotcha something. Never understood your obsession with the guy, but here you go. Happy Birthday." She handed him a ticket. Hard paper.
Surprised, he took it gently, his fingers brushing the edge as though it were fragile. "Tickets to the Clover Note Memorabilia Auction. I thought they were sold out." His smile widened, genuine, unguarded.
She giggled, with her hand on her lips, her voice light. "My mom's got the organiser in her pocket. You'll get to hang out with his team all day."
"Thank you, Natsuki."
"I'm gonna be late. Gotta go," she said as they said their goodbyes. Her tone was brisk, but her eyes lingered for a moment longer.
He looked down at the ticket again, turning it slightly in his fingers. 'Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad,' he thought.
The noise of students, passing cars, and rustling trees filled the air. By the time he reached his street, it was gone. Silence had already returned.
On his way home, a priest standing in front of a church waved at him with a bright smile. A smile that felt wrong. His eyes didn't blink, not even once.
Damon waved back casually, though confusion tugged at his expression.
Arriving home, a wrapped present waited on the table. He tore it open, and inside was a silver ring carved with a dragon crest.
A silver ring carved with a dragon crest. He slid it onto his middle finger. It fit perfectly. When he tried to pull it off, it wouldn't budge.
"…Huh."
For a second, something pulsed beneath the metal — then vanished.
Most of the day blurred. Reading. Gaming.
He won a pet in the game he played, and the idea stuck in his mind longer than it should have. When he logged out, the room felt too quiet again.
Damon opened his browser and typed "dogs for adoption near me." He scrolled through pages of them — big ones, tiny ones, fluffy ones, angry ones — but none of them felt right.
He didn't know what he was looking for. Just… something. Something alive to come home to.
He stared at his phone for a while before typing a message to his dad. 'I'm home.'
Sent. No reply. No messages. No missed calls. Not even a "happy birthday" notification.
The cake sat untouched for a few minutes before he cut into it. He paused halfway, then set the knife down.
All celebrated alone.
Clank.
The door slammed behind him as he left for the hospital.
A dog barked in the distance — then abruptly stopped, as if something had silenced it.
The streets were busy. Parents called their kids in, warning them of a cold. Digital billboards glowed, promising new inventions. But something felt off. A chill. Cold air, he couldn't explain.
"Why's it cold? Even the ring's freezing?" He hid his hands in his sleeves, shivering. "Never trust the weatherman, I guess."
Cold air stung his cheeks, sharper than it should've been for the season. The silver pressed against his skin, heavier than it should be, as if it already knew what was coming.
He pushed the hospital doors open. The smell of antiseptics attacked his throat, sharp and sterile.
'Why do hospitals always have to smell like bleach?' Damon muttered in his mind, turning his face opposite the direction of the thicker smell.
A nurse glanced at him as he passed. Damon always drew a second look without meaning to.
His mother lay in bed, sheets pulled to her stomach, her breathing shallow.
Her hair was platinum white, not due to age but their normal colour. Though they framed a face that bore the unmistakable, gaunt qualities of a long‑sick person. Her eyes, blue like Damon's, were hollow now, pale, drained of the fire they once carried.
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back down, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
"Mom, how are you feeling?" His voice cracked, concern genuine, raw. "Have you been taking your meds?"
There was no response from the sickly woman on the hospital bed.
For a second, he wondered, 'C'moon. Just look at me. Just once. It'll make my day if you even say happy birthday or any other word at all. Or did you forget your son's birthday?'
"You're still not gonna talk, huh? I mean, I know it's cancer, but ever since you got it, you haven't said a word to me."
There was no response, except the distant squeaking of a nurse's slippers in the hallways.
He talked for her. Online chess leagues. His grades, how Natsuki wasn't too happy that he kept surpassing her. He told her about the band. He told her about Natsuki's basketball practice.
Each time he mentioned something, he waited for a nod, a blink—anything to acknowledge he existed. For a heartbeat, her eyes moved to his. They were blue, like his, but empty of the warmth he remembered from his childhood dreams.
He thought, for one delusional second, she might say it. 'Happy birthday, Damon.'
Then her voice broke through the quiet.
"You don't really have any friends, do you?"
Damon froze. The sound of her voice—the first time he'd heard it in months—sent a jolt of relief through him that was almost like joy. 'She's talking. She's... actually talking to me.' But as the words actually settled, the joy turned into a cold, prickling confusion.
His mother's question was so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it sliced through the hum of the hospital machines like a scalpel. Damon froze. The air in his lungs felt like it had turned to lead.
He looked at her, searching for a glimmer of a joke or a lapse in focus, but her hollow eyes were sharper than he'd ever seen them.
"…I have Natsuki," he whispered.
"She's not your friend." Her hollow eyes locked onto him. "Why would anyone want to be around you?"
Damon opened his mouth to argue—to tell her about Natsuki's basketball games, the band practice Natsuki always stayed to watch, the way Natsuki just gave him a ticket—but the words died in his throat.
He blinked hard, the sting behind his eyes making the world tilt for a moment. Everything seemed impossible to process before he finally spoke, "What are you talking about…?"
She turned away, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Starting today, I'll be honest, Damon. I never... I never wanted a child," she said. Her voice cracked, though her eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
For a moment, a memory flickered — her laughing as she lifted him into the air when he was five, sunlight catching in her white hair. It vanished as quickly as it came.
"I wanted my body. My life. My career." She wiped her eyes, angry at herself for crying.
He stared down at his arms, the weight of her words pressing against his chest.
"And then you came along and—" She swallowed. "You ruined everything. The truth is... I regret ever having you."
His fingers trembled, just once, before he forced them still.
Her hands shot out, clutching his shirt with trembling rage. "You were a mistake. Every time I looked at myself, I saw you instead of who I used to be. I regret ever having you."
Silence.
His throat tightened painfully. The words were right there, clawing to get out, but nothing came. His jaw locked. His hands trembled at his sides as he forced them still.
Silence pressed against him like razors at his throat. It had once meant peace. Now it felt like punishment. He didn't move. He just handed her a cup of water.
She slapped it away. Hard.
CRASH.
The glass shattered mid‑air. A shard sliced into his palm. A sharp sting bloomed as blood dripped slowly and steadily.
His eyes burned, but no tears came. When he felt the sting, his body jolted with shock subtly, but he didn't flinch.
"Why did you do that?" his voice low, broken.
"Get out. Get out!" she yelled.
He didn't move. His body refused to. For a short moment, he didn't move. His body refused to. His mind recoiled from her words, mentally too stunned to process them.
But as if his senses knew the ache and turmoil it would bring, they didn't process appropriately. Despite her heavy breathing now, all he could hear was her repeated voice, now similar to the sting in his palm.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The EKG rang.
"Mom… Mom?"
No response.
BANG went the door.
His footsteps echoed in the hallways, speeding up, slipping, catching himself. He brushed past another patient without really seeing them, his thoughts spiralling too fast to focus.
'Mistake.' 'Regret.' 'You took it all away from me.'
The words echoed while he sprinted; each word felt like a blade to his very self. He reached the doctors, breathless, panicked. "My mother… HELP her!!" The doctors rushed past him.
The EKG beeped, sharp, steady. He lunged forward, but the nurse blocked him. "Stay back," she said firmly.
He obeyed. Zero resistance.
He called his dad — no answer. Texted him — no reply. He checked his phone after 30 minutes— sent. An hour— sent. The words replayed in his mind. 'Why would she do that? Why would she say that? Did she really hide her hate for seventeen years?'
His foot tapped against the floor, faster than he realised.
Hours later...
"Mr. Vale. Mr. Vale. Mr. Vale." The nurse repeated, her voice rising, tapping his shoulder.
He rushed from his seat, his voice trembling. "Is she alright?"
The nurse didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched again.
Far away, the sky was still blue. But here, silence was the only colour left. The air around him dropped, colder than before.