The sky didn't feel real that day. It was too dark for morning, and the moon had a crack in it, like someone hit it with a sword. People in the rich cities said it was a sign that the gods were angry, but the poor people in the slums of Dead Hollow didn't care. They were too busy trying to stay alive. In the deep fighting pit where cursed ones were forced to battle for food, the crowd was louder than usual. Bones were flying down from above. Rotten food too. In the center of the pit, a boy with white hair stood barefoot in the dirt, his ribs poking out through his bruised skin. His name was Ceyr Draven, but nobody said his name anymore. They just called him Empty. He was fifteen years old. He had no weapon, no armor, no Crest. In a world where every child awakened a Crest at six years old, Ceyr awakened nothing. No beast. No power. No blessing. The priests said he was cursed. His mother disappeared the next morning. And from that day, he was alone.
Now he was standing in the pit, about to fight a monster. It wasn't just some big guy or a mad dog. No, this one was called Garak, a beast-man with four arms, fire on his back, and bones growing from his shoulders like horns. Garak had already killed twelve other fighters in one week. His Crest was glowing red across his chest like a brand. Ceyr didn't even have a shirt. As the gate closed behind him, people in the crowd screamed for blood. Kill him! Smash his bones! Let the beast eat the Empty! But Ceyr didn't react. His arms were shaking. His knees weak. But his eyes were still open, still locked on Garak like he had something to prove. He didn't want to win. He just wanted to hit the monster once. Just once before he died. Garak roared and slammed his hands together. The horn blew. The fight began.
The beast-man charged fast. Ceyr jumped to the side, dodged under a claw, but not fast enough. The whip came out of nowhere, made from beast fangs, and slapped across Ceyr's chest with a loud crack. His skin tore. Blood splashed on the dirt. He rolled but got back up. Garak came again. Two fists swung like hammers. One hit his shoulder, the other his stomach. Ceyr flew backwards and crashed into the wall. The crowd roared in laughter. The guards looked bored. Ceyr coughed, blood in his mouth. His ribs were screaming. But he stood again.
He didn't know why he kept standing. His legs were crying to stop. His heart was slowing. But something in him refused to lay down. Garak didn't wait. The beast roared again and opened his mouth, breathing out a jet of red fire. Ceyr jumped away, barely missing the flames. His feet burned. He ran around the arena edge, found a rock, leapt off it, and punched Garak in the face with everything he had. It felt like punching a mountain. Garak barely blinked. He grabbed Ceyr's arm and slammed him into the ground again and again until the stone cracked under him. Ceyr stopped moving. The crowd laughed harder. Some guards started betting on how long it would take for him to die. But then everything changed.
The wind stopped. The air got heavy. People started looking up. And then the sky exploded. The clouds cracked open with a loud ripping sound. A scream rolled across the heavens. The moon turned black. The light disappeared. A shadow began to fall. At first it looked like a comet, but then it moved. It had wings. It had horns. It had fire in its body. It wasn't a star. It was alive. It was a creature. A Fallen Sky Beast, one of the creatures from the old stories, a being from before the gods sealed the heavens. It was falling straight toward the pit.
People screamed. The crowd ran. The guards tried to escape. Even Garak froze, his eyes full of fear. The beast hit the arena like thunder. The ground exploded. Dust and fire flew everywhere. Stones crashed down. Everything shook. Ceyr didn't even have time to move. He just watched it come. He thought he was dead. But the beast didn't crush him. It looked at him. It stared straight into his soul. Its eyes were spinning like golden clocks. Its wings were made of shadows. Its bones were glowing. And then it opened its mouth.
Ceyr wanted to scream but no sound came out. The beast let out a roar and rushed into him. Its entire body turned into black fire and slammed into Ceyr's chest. His back arched. His body lifted off the ground. His heart stopped. Then his veins started glowing. Symbols appeared on his skin, glowing gold and black. His eyes rolled back. A second heartbeat started inside him. His breath came back like a storm. The Fallen Beast wasn't killing him. It was entering him. Binding with him. Becoming part of him.
Far away, Garak stood up again. One of his arms was broken. His face burned. But he roared and charged at Ceyr again. Ceyr opened his eyes. He didn't feel tired anymore. He didn't feel weak. He felt everything. His body was full. His soul was on fire. He raised his right hand. A mouth opened in his palm. It was full of sharp stars for teeth. The moment Garak reached him, the mouth opened wide and sucked him in like a void. Garak didn't even get to scream. He was gone in one second. Not a drop of blood left.
The arena went silent. Ceyr floated down to the ground. Smoke came off his back. A black Crest was glowing above his head. It was not any normal Crest. It was round and dark, shaped like a throne with fangs. It was the Devourer Crest. A lost Crest from before history. A Crest that was erased from every book. One that could steal other powers. One that could eat fate itself.
The chains that once held Ceyr snapped and floated around him like armor. A black throne rose from the earth behind him, shaped from stone and death. A voice echoed inside his head, not loud, but deep and cold. It said, You are my blood. My heir. My throne is yours. Devour this world. Rewrite its laws.
High in the divine towers of the sky kingdom, bells rang. Priests woke from sleep crying. A giant star map cracked. On the golden walls, old prophecies lit up with fire. The Devourer King has returned. The world is breaking. The end is waking. A boy with no Crest now holds the Crest that should not exist.
Ceyr didn't care about their fear. He wasn't thinking about the gods. He wasn't thinking about revenge. He was only thinking about one thing. He was never Empty. The world tried to bury him. But now he was rising. And he was hungry.