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 mortal 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 blazing and a sky still vast.
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 practice.
"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 revealing 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 made of hard paper.
Surprised, he took it gently with 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 in a light voice. "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 and slightly turned it in his fingers. 'Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad,' he thought.
The noise of students, passing cars, birds in the air, and rustling trees filled the air. By the time he reached his street, it was all gone. The 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 even 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. He slid it onto his middle finger, and 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 into reading and 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 quite 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, save for the one Natsuki sent him this morning at 8 am. A pleasing blush painted his face when he saw Natsuki's name.
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.
'Did I suddenly scare it? There are more angry dogs than usual these days. Can't blame you, though, a hungry man is an angry one. The same goes with dogs, I guess. Come to think of it, a dog is a man's best friend.
The streets were busy, though there was a feeling that it was getting less 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. It seemed heavier than it should've been, as if it already knew what was coming.
He pushed the hospital doors open, and the smell of antiseptics attacked his throat with a sharp and sterile greeting.
'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. It almost seemed musical when paired with the beeping of the cardiac monitor.
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 now hollow and pale. They looked drained of the fire they once carried.
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back down. His 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 still haven't said a word to me."
She said nothing. Just the distant squeak of a nurse's slippers echoed somewhere down the hall. So, he spoke himself.
He ranted about his online chess league and how he didn't remember the last time he blundered. He spoke about his grades and how pissed Natsuki got every time he beat her scores. He also brought up the band, his drumming, and even the basketball drills Natsuki dragged him into.
With every sentence, he paused. Waiting for a nod, or a blink. Any stupid sign that he was actually there. Instead, she just stared past him. Then, there was a sudden shift, and her gaze snapped straight to his. His heart made a hopeful flutter. 'Say it,' he thought. 'Just say Happy Birthday, Damon.'
"You don't really have any friends, do you?" Her voice thinned as if it cracked under its own weight.
Damon went completely numb. Her voice—the first time he'd heard it in months—felt like an electric shock. Relief flared up automatically. 'She's talking. She's finally talking.' Then the actual words she spoke hit him. The question was a mere whisper, yet it drowned out the steady beep of the monitors. The air in his lungs turned hard like concrete.
He stared, desperately hunting for any sign of a sick joke. A twitch or anything, but... the result was nothing. Her eyes looked hollow, but her glare was razor-sharp.
"…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 fight back. He wanted to tell her about Natsuki helping out, how she stayed for every single band practice, the ticket she'd just given him—but the words jammed in his throat. His vision blurred, the room tilted slightly as he blinked against the sudden sting in his eyes. His brain refused to process her words.
"What are you talking about…?"
She turned away as tears slid 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 in Damon's mind — 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 career... You took it. All of it. Or… maybe I gave it up. I don't know anymore." 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... 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 as she clutched his shirt with a 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 like his voice had shifted to his neck and was engulfed by heavy chains. The words were right there, clawing to get out, but nothing came. His hands trembled at his sides as he forced them still.
Silence used to be peaceful, but now it felt like a punishment. Without a word, he filled a plastic cup with water and held it out to her. She lashed out and struck his hand. The cup flew, slamming against the bedpost. Splinters of sharp plastic flew everywhere, one catching him right across the palm. Blood started dripping down his wrist, though he didn't flinch; he just stared at the red streak in disbelief.
"Why did you do that?" his voice remained low and broken.
"Get out. Get out!" she yelled.
His boots felt glued to the ground. His mind was completely locked up in a constant spin. Her harsh, ragged breathing filled the room now, but all he could actually hear was her voice echoing on a loop. It throbbed in its ears, perfectly matching the sting in his hand.
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 instantly rushed past him.
The EKG beeped, sharp and steady. He lunged forward, but the nurse blocked him. "Please stay back," she said firmly. He obeyed with zero resistance, though his eyes remained fixed on the windows at the door. The nurse swiped the curtain closed.
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 as she tapped 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.