The sky was bleeding.
A sea of crimson clouds stretched endlessly across the heavens, swirling like wounds torn open by divine hands. Beneath that cursed sky, a broken battlefield groaned—littered with ash, shattered swords, and the corpses of both man and monster.
And at its very center knelt the hero.
His once-glorious armor was scorched black, the sigil of the gods upon his chest burned beyond recognition. His sword—Sanctaris, the blade of light—lay broken at his feet, its golden edge dulled and lifeless. Blood dripped from his mouth, from his fingers, from the deep gash across his abdomen that refused to close.
Around him stood the very beings he had once served: the angels.
Towering, radiant, wings unfurled like tapestries of sunlight, they circled him in solemn silence. But their beauty was hollow now. Their eyes, once said to reflect the heavens, were cold, vacant—judges delivering a sentence long decided.
"You have defied the Divine Order, Aeron," said the Archangel Seraphion, voice echoing like bells tolling a funeral.
Aeron lifted his head slowly, sweat and blood matting his dark hair to his forehead. His lips moved, barely audible.
"I saved them... I stopped the war... I stopped her…"
"You altered fate," Seraphion interrupted, voice sharpened. "The Demon Queen should have perished. Instead, you spared her. You challenged the will of the gods. That is unforgivable."
Aeron coughed, the taste of iron thick on his tongue. "I spared her… because she surrendered. She laid down her crown and begged for peace."
"She deceived you," the angel spat. "All demons lie."
Something cracked inside him—not bone, but faith.
For years he had fought for them. Slaughtered beasts, sealed hell gates, watched friends die in his arms. All for them. For the promise that light would prevail.
But here he was. On his knees. Branded a traitor.
"No trial," Aeron whispered, almost laughing. "No questions. Just execution."
"You knew the cost of betrayal."
Seraphion raised his hand, and the angels followed, their spears of divine flame igniting in unison.
Aeron didn't beg. Didn't scream. He simply closed his eyes.
And smiled.
"If I ever return," he said, "I'll burn your heaven to the ground."
The spears descended.
Light engulfed the world.
And then—
Darkness.
---
There was no afterlife.
No warm light.
No endless field of flowers.
No hand from the heavens to welcome him home.
Only cold.
And silence.
An abyss without shape, without form, without time. His body was gone, but he remained. A flickering ember, suspended in nothing.
A soul, unclaimed.
How long he drifted, Aeron could not say. Days? Months? A thousand years compressed into a heartbeat? All he knew was the absence. The suffocating emptiness where once there had been purpose, flesh, and fire.
Until—
Drip.
A sound. Faint. Wet.
Drip… drip…
Then came the scent. Copper. Ash. Decay.
And then—the whisper.
> "You are not theirs anymore."
A woman's voice. Soft, but not kind. Velvet over daggers.
> "You never were."
Aeron's consciousness jolted. Like a hook embedded in his soul, something pulled him downward, dragging him through layers of shadow and memory. Images flickered past him like glass shards:
—A demoness in chains, eyes burning with silent hatred.
—A battlefield drowned in screams.
—A child crying over a father's corpse.
—The Archangel's blade piercing his chest.
—And… the sound of a woman laughing in the dark.
> "Wake up, Aeron."
His soul struck something solid. A ground, or a boundary. And suddenly—
He breathed.
His eyes snapped open with a gasp that tore through his lungs. He wasn't in the heavens. He wasn't even in the world he remembered.
He was somewhere else.
---
The sky above him was pitch black, like ink spilt across eternity. No stars. No moon. The air was thick with mist and rot. Massive twisted trees towered overhead, their branches like skeletal arms reaching toward a forgotten god.
He lay on a slab of stone in a ruined cathedral, the broken pillars clawing toward the sky. Strange runes glowed faintly along the altar beneath him, pulsing with a reddish hue that matched the blood that coated his chest.
Only—it wasn't his blood.
He tried to move. Pain lanced through his body. His arms were heavy. His heart was slow, like it didn't remember how to beat. But he managed to sit up.
That's when he saw her.
The girl.
Standing at the foot of the altar, barefoot in a pool of shadow, her figure was barely visible beneath layers of black silk that swayed despite the absence of wind. Hair darker than midnight cascaded down her back, and in her eyes—two shimmering rubies—was the calm of a predator long since tamed by madness.
> "Vel…zaria…"
The name rose unbidden from his lips.
She smiled. Not with joy, but something deeper. Older. A secret smile.
> "So, you remember."
Her voice was music and malice. Every syllable seemed to echo inside his bones.
Aeron's hands clenched. "You… You're supposed to be dead."
"So are you," she replied simply, stepping closer.
Velzaria's bare feet made no sound as they crossed the bloodstained floor. Her fingers reached out, grazing his jaw. Her touch was cold—but it sparked something inside him. A flicker of power. Of connection.
> "They thought they could erase us," she whispered, eyes glowing brighter. "But the world is built on rot and ruin. And now, it's ours to claim."
He tried to stand, but his knees buckled. She caught him effortlessly, guiding him down to one knee.
> "Do you feel it?" she murmured near his ear. "The bond that links us now. Soul to soul. Flesh to shadow. You belong to me, Aeron."
His eyes burned. A mark—like a black brand—had formed across his chest, just above his heart. It pulsed in sync with hers.
"Why me?" he asked hoarsely. "Why bring me back?"
Velzaria's smile faded.
> "Because you hated them. And that... is beautiful."
She leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek. Not a kiss—an invocation.
> "Rise, my shadow."
And with those words, the ground trembled.
From beyond the cathedral walls, something ancient stirred. Eyes opened in the dark. Growls echoed through the forest. The seal was broken.
The queen had awakened.
And her shadow had returned.
---
The world outside the cathedral was not silent anymore.
The ancient woods groaned, twisted trunks creaking as if whispering secrets in a forgotten tongue. Eyes glinted between the trees—hundreds of them—watching. Waiting.
Velzaria stood at the shattered doorway, her silhouette framed in the crimson mist that now poured in like a living fog. Her presence was regal, chilling, and utterly otherworldly. She didn't simply walk—she glided, her feet barely touching the cracked stone as she stepped into the open.
Aeron followed, still unsteady, but no longer just human.
The mark across his chest throbbed in rhythm with the pulsing energy around her. His senses were sharpening, his breath colder, his thoughts… darker. He could feel her emotions—faint but constant—lurking in the back of his mind like an echo: curiosity, hunger, a calm rage that had fermented for centuries.
He tried to speak, but Velzaria raised a hand.
> "Listen," she said softly.
Aeron stilled. The growling in the forest had grown louder. Shapes moved in the mist—snarling, twitching, malformed things with skin like melted shadow and claws that dripped venom.
Demonspawn.
Dozens of them crept from the treeline, surrounding the cathedral in a slow, tightening ring. Eyes burning green, bodies trembling with hunger.
"They were drawn by the seal breaking," Velzaria explained. "Creatures born of corrupted mana, feeding on death and ruin. Even I do not command these... yet."
Aeron's eyes narrowed. "Then they're going to attack."
Velzaria tilted her head, almost amused. "Yes. And you're going to kill them."
He blinked. "What?"
She turned to him, her voice suddenly laced with command.
> "You asked why I brought you back. This is your answer. If you are to be my shadow, you must earn your place."
Aeron clenched his jaw. His body still ached. He had no armor, no sword, no blessing.
And yet…
His hand moved instinctively to his side—and there it was.
Not Sanctaris, the divine blade that once burned with holy light.
But a new weapon—formed from raw, black crystal, jagged and seething with cursed energy. As he gripped it, it shifted and wrapped around his arm like liquid metal, forming a living gauntlet with a wicked blade extending from his forearm.
It pulsed with the same rhythm as his soul-mark.
> "This is…?"
"Your new bond," Velzaria said, watching him. "Drawn from my shadow… and your hatred."
The demonspawn screeched.
And then they charged.
The first beast lunged at him—a mass of snapping jaws and bone-covered limbs. Aeron dodged sideways, the movement faster than he expected, and slashed upward.
The blade of shadow cut clean through the creature's head. Black blood sprayed the stones.
The others didn't stop.
They came in waves, snarling and biting. Aeron moved through them like a blade through water. His body remembered how to fight—even if it was a different kind of power now. He didn't just swing.
He commanded.
The weapon extended, reshaped, split into tendrils of shadow that impaled three beasts at once. When one tried to bite his neck, it found only mist—he had vanished, reappearing behind it in a blink.
The carnage was brutal. Beautiful. Terrifying.
By the time the last creature fell, his chest was heaving, eyes glowing faintly violet, and the once-gray stones of the cathedral steps were painted black with blood.
Velzaria clapped slowly, her crimson gaze gleaming.
> "You are learning."
Aeron stood over the corpses, the shadow blade retracting back into his skin. His hands trembled—but not from fear.
From power.
> "This… this isn't holy. This is wrong."
Velzaria stepped beside him.
> "You were never meant to be holy."
She looked up at the blood-colored sky, where no gods watched.
> "This world no longer needs a savior."
Her eyes turned to him.
> "It needs a monster."