In a world overrun by Demons, the gods who once guarded the great cities had all fallen in a single, catastrophic war. Their bodies were turned to dust, their divine weapons shattered, and their voices faded into silence. Without their protection, most of humanity's cities were swallowed by fire and shadow.
Only one city still stood firm.
Ydris.
Surrounded by towering stone walls engraved with ancient runes, Ydris became the final sanctuary of mankind. Its soldiers trained day and night, its mages exhausted their strength reinforcing barriers, and its people prayed endlessly for a savior—someone who could finally end the century-old war between humans and demons.
Hope was fragile, but it had not yet vanished.
In a small, forgotten district of Ydris lived a boy named Merlin Nidris.
His home was nothing more than a cracked wooden house pressed between taller buildings. Rain leaked through the roof when storms came, and cold winds slipped through the broken windows at night. His family survived on scraps—old bread, thin soup, and whatever work his parents could find.
Merlin was thin, his clothes patched together with mismatched fabric. His hair was messy, his shoes worn down to the soles. Because of this, the other children of the town made him their target.
"Hey, beggar boy!"
"Look at his clothes!"
"Run, Merlin, run!"
Stones flew through the air.
Merlin ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his breath burning in his chest. A rock struck his arm, another grazed his cheek. Pain flashed through his body, but he didn't stop. He turned sharply down narrow alleys, slipping through crowds until he reached his house and slammed the door behind him.
Inside, his mother turned from the small pot boiling over the fire.
Her face hardened when she saw the blood on his arm.
"Merlin! What have you done now?" she snapped, grabbing a cloth and pressing it against the wound. "Be careful! We can't afford to treat your injuries like this!"
"I'm sorry…" Merlin whispered, staring at the floor.
His father sat silently at the table, his hands rough and cracked from labor. His younger sister watched him with worried eyes.
No one spoke after that.
They ate what little food they had in silence. Thin broth. A piece of bread split between them. Merlin chewed slowly, pretending not to be hungry for more.
When dinner was finished, Merlin slipped outside.
The city of Ydris was loud even at night. Torches burned along the walls. Bells rang from distant towers. Soldiers marched past in heavy armor, their faces tired but determined.
Merlin wandered toward the outer district where the walls met the battlefield.
Beyond the gates, chaos erupted.
Steel clashed against steel. Magic exploded in bursts of light and shadow. Human soldiers fought desperately against towering demons whose bodies were covered in black armor-like skin. Their eyes glowed red. Their claws ripped through shields as if they were paper.
Blood stained the ground.
Screams echoed through the air.
The demons were winning.
Their strength and magic overwhelmed the exhausted soldiers. Men fell one after another. The defensive line began to crumble.
Then the sky darkened.
A massive figure descended onto the battlefield, his presence alone causing the air to tremble.
Griatt Levin.
The Demon King.
His wings spread wide like storm clouds. Dark flames wrapped around his body, and his voice boomed like thunder.
"Humans… your resistance ends today."
Fear swept through the soldiers.
But in the chaos, something impossible happened.
A wounded human soldier—barely standing—charged forward in desperation. His sword slipped from his blood-covered hands and pierced straight through the Demon King's chest.
Silence fell.
Griatt Levin's eyes widened.
The Demon King collapsed.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then a demon screamed,
"The Demon King is dead!"
Panic spread among the demons. They scattered into the darkness, fleeing the battlefield. The human soldiers erupted into cheers, lifting the wounded man into the air. They called him a hero. A commander. A legend.
But unseen by all…
A dark mist rose from the Demon King's corpse.
It drifted like smoke, twisting and pulsing with crimson light. It moved without direction at first—floating above the battlefield, passing over broken weapons and fallen bodies.
Until it felt something.
A presence.
A soul.
The mist drifted toward the city walls.
Toward Merlin.
Merlin stood frozen near the edge of the battlefield, his eyes wide with shock at what he had witnessed. His heart pounded as he watched the soldiers celebrate, unaware of the darkness approaching.
A chill crawled down his spine.
He turned slowly.
Behind him floated a small orb of dark red light.
It pulsed like a beating heart.
Merlin stumbled backward, tripping over a stone and falling onto the dirt.
"W-What is that…?" he whispered.
The orb surged forward.
Before he could scream, it rushed into his chest.
Merlin gasped as a burning pain tore through his body. His vision blurred. The world spun. He clutched his chest as something cold and heavy sank deep into his soul.
Inside him, a voice stirred.
Ancient.
Angry.
Awake.
Merlin collapsed to the ground, shaking as shadows flickered around him…