The orphanage was still, its air heavy with the weight of forgotten lives. The pale light of the moon filtered through the cracks in the stone walls, casting long shadows across the room where Ahriman lay in his crib. His body was small, frail, but his will was unshakable.
For the past two weeks, Ahriman had pushed his body beyond its limits. Crawling, pulling himself to his feet, stumbling, falling, only to get back up again. Every step was a challenge, but he refused to give in. There was something waiting for him beyond these stone walls, something he could not yet understand but knew was his destiny.
As Ahriman stumbled across the room, his eyes flicked to the shattered mirror against the wall. The red symbols etched into the glass pulsed with an unnatural energy, drawing him closer. Something about the symbols felt familiar, yet strange — a whisper from a past he couldn't fully grasp.
Suddenly, his mind shifted, and with it, memories from another time began to flood his consciousness.
Visions of a past life appeared before him. He saw himself as a necromancer, surrounded by the dead, his hands moving with precision to raise the fallen. The air was thick with dark energy, his power over the dead absolute. He remembered the cold, the silence, the overwhelming presence of death. It was a life spent in the pursuit of dark magic, learning, growing, and mastering the art of necromancy.
"This is... my first life," Ahriman thought, his heart racing as the memories surged forward.
He saw himself in another body — older, stronger, his mind focused entirely on training, learning how to control the very essence of life and death. There were no distractions, no emotions — only the pursuit of power.
But just as suddenly, the memories began to fade. The feeling of his past self, the necromancer, slipped through his fingers like smoke. The memories of his first reincarnation were overwhelmed by something else — something more recent, more vivid.
His life on Earth.
The fragments of his second life — a life as a mortal, filled with the mundane struggles of daily life, began to surface. He remembered coding late into the night, his obsession with perfection, and the overwhelming pressure to finish his work. He remembered the exact moment of his death — the speeding truck, the pain, and then nothingness.
Ahriman blinked, his thoughts spinning as he tried to focus. He had just been thinking about necromancy, about his past life, but now those memories felt distant, as if they belonged to someone else.
"What… happened?" he wondered, confusion clouding his mind.
But there was no time to dwell on it. Ahriman's attention was drawn to the mirror once more.
The demon appeared in a burst of dark energy. Its form flickered, solidifying as it stepped from the mirror. It was a low-tier demon — its wings torn, its eyes burning with rage. But there was something wrong. Ahriman could sense it immediately.
"You summoned me?" the demon growled, its voice thick with disdain."You are nothing. A mere child. I will tear you apart."
Ahriman stood tall, his expression cold. The memories of the necromancer flashed briefly in his mind, but the full understanding eluded him. He was still in control, his will unwavering.
"Come forth," Ahriman said, his voice commanding.
The words slipped out without thought, but the air around him shifted, and suddenly the demon froze, its body stiffening as chains of magic — dark, ancient chains — wrapped around it. The demon struggled, but it was no use.
Ahriman felt a surge of power, a raw, untamed energy flooding his body. It was as if his entire being was connected to the demon, and with a single thought, he had bound it to his will. The demon roared, but Ahriman's grip on it was unbreakable.
"You are mine," Ahriman spoke softly, his voice like ice.
The demon's struggles slowed. Its fiery glow dimmed as its power was drained, replaced with something different — normal mana, a mana that Ahriman could control. The demon's wings folded, its once-proud form now reduced to a void-like shadow.
But no longer a shadow.
The demon's form was now black as the void, its very presence absorbing light from the room, becoming a mass of deep, endless darkness. It wasn't just a shadow of what it had been; it was as if the very essence of the void had taken form, its surface like ink, swirling and writhing in an endless expanse.
The demon was no longer just a low-tier creature. It had become something far more dangerous, something unknowable, its form an extension of the darkness itself.
The demon's voice broke through the silence, its tone now filled with respect and something else — something that felt like fear.
"Your Majesty…" the demon whispered, its voice trembling."You… you are my king now. I am yours to command."
Ahriman's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected this — the demon calling him "king." He hadn't expected the surge of power that came with it either. But as the demon stood before him, now bound to him, he could feel it — the mana boost, the strength that came with the demon's loyalty.
The demon was no longer just a low-tier being. It had evolved, becoming a low-high demon — twice as strong as before, its strength now a part of Ahriman's own.
The power within Ahriman surged. He felt his mana increase, his reserves tripling, swelling with energy. The connection between him and the demon grew even stronger. The demon was now a part of him, bound to his soul, its mana drawn from his own.
But then, just as quickly as the surge of power had come, it began to fade. Ahriman's mind wavered again. The memories, the technique — everything he had just done felt distant, slipping away from his conscious mind.
"What… happened?" Ahriman thought again, his head aching.
He reached into his thoughts, but the technique he had just used — the binding, the command — felt like a fragment of a dream, something he could no longer fully recall. His body was still the same, his will still strong, but the memories of the past moments began to fade.
He looked down at the demon, now a mass of black void, and tried to grasp what had happened. His mind only retained a few clear fragments: the demon's loyalty, the power surge, and the threefold boost in mana. But the rest the exact words, the full technique had already become a blur.
"I am not weak," Ahriman muttered under his breath, shaking his head."No matter how much I forget, I am still in control."
The demon stood quietly beside him, awaiting his command, its form like an endless abyss — its very presence a reflection of the power Ahriman now wielded.
Ahriman's lips curled into a faint smile. The power was his. And nothing would stand in his way.
A/N im sorry for any errors i used ai gram or something to fix my english.