"So this was your dream... Luke Crimson..."
A voice deeper than the abyss echoed—slow, jagged, and rotten. From the endless dark, only a fang-lined grin and the chin of a monstrous being emerged.
Lucifer. Shrouded in shadows, whispering madness.
15 Minutes Earlier
"Welcome, heir of the Crimson family. May your journey at the academy bring you glory and honor."
The words rang with artificial warmth as a radiant figure of light floated midair, its form crackling with holographic precision.
"Now, please enter."
The light bowed as the colossal gates yawned open, parting with a deep groan.
Light spilled across the marble-black ground, illuminating the path like a divine ritual.
Luke stepped forward.
Click. Click.
His boots echoed across the obsidian floor—but then… he froze.
The air—unnatural.
It shimmered. Hummed.
A hidden web of mana vibrated beneath his skin.
"…A barrier."
A spell layered with intent. Not protection—rejection.
Then—rip.
A tear in his shadow.
Luke's eyes snapped down. Nahin—his tamed beast—was being ripped from the folds of darkness, clawing at the edges, screeching in pain.
The holographic guide contorted. The formal greeting dropped, and its eyes—once calm—flooded red.
"Unauthorized entity detected. Initiating immediate elimination."
FWOOOSH!
It lunged from the air, spear of condensed mana aimed to kill.
Luke moved faster than thought—
CLANG!
His blade met the attack, sparks and wind scattering in a storm of mana and rage.
Steel danced. Blades screamed.
The duel ignited into chaos—an orchestra of violence.
The puppet fought with precision. But Luke? With purpose.
Each swing became a story. Each dodge a prediction.
The difference between them grew painfully clear.
And with a final cry—SHNK!—
Luke drove his sword deep into the puppet's chest.
Light burst from within. Cracks spread like veins.
Its form fizzled, collapsing into fragments of light—ash that never touched the ground.
But it wasn't over.
With a dying breath, the puppet etched a curse into the air, an arcane sigil crawling through the wind, carving toward Luke like a leech hungry for flesh.
His body locked.
Nausea hit him like a sledgehammer. The world twisted, bending reality like soft clay.
Colors bled.
Shapes melted.
A voice—familiar, worried—cut through.
"YOUNG MASTER, ARE YOU OKAY?!"
The butler, running, panting. Reaching toward him, his voice cut through the madness. Luke tried to move—but couldn't.
Then—PAIN.
Not dull. Not piercing. But existential.
Like something foreign being inserted into the timeline of his soul.
His eyes fluttered. A glint of silver. A silver dagger jutted from his gut—twisting. His blood pulsed around it in waves of agony. He looked up—
White glowing eyes stared back.
A ghostly face. A burning aura. His butler—but not.
A blackened, demonic silhouette. Empty. Smiling.
Then… came the others.
From behind the twisted specter, they emerged—
Nahin, his trusted beast—warped, ghost-like, cracked down the middle like a broken doll.
Ryan, his father—his features stretched into an unholy grin.
Elara, his mother—mouth stitched, eyes crying blood.
Anna.
Rika, his sister—face twisted with hatred.
Orcs, the massive ones from the forest—they lumbered forth, flesh boiled black, eyes shining with death.
A man, face bashed into pulp—dragging behind him a mangled corpse, the girl who once called him brother.
Strangers, people Luke barely remembered, faces eroded by rot, teeth and bone grinning beneath skin.
Sylvi. Arthur. All of them—corrupted. Their forms barely clinging to what they once were. Black and white. Hollow and screaming.
Not alive.
Not dead.
A graveyard come to life.
Luke stumbled back, breath catching in his throat. His heart pounded. He looked down.
His hands—not his.
Wrinkled. Ashen.
The hands of a man long starved, long forgotten.
Old. Dying.
His body began to melt, skin sliding off muscle like hot wax.
Bone shifting, cracking, stretching.
He screamed as his jaw detached, tongue split, eyes bleeding.
And suddenly—
He was watching from outside.
Floating.
A third-person view, staring at his own melting corpse.
A blink.
The world went black.
Nothing.
And then—
A face, barely human, disfigured beyond recognition—his own, aged and tortured—emerged from the void.
He fell—
Thump!
He fell onto soft earth.
He gasped—smaller lungs, higher-pitched cry.
He looked at his hands.
Small. Soft. A child's.
Only to realize he was in the body of a three-year-old.
He stood up, legs wobbling, eyes wide.
And there they were—the black and white horrors—waiting.
He turned to flee—
Only to find the melting, horrifying figure of his older self blocking the way.
Its jaw hanging, voice a strangled whisper:
"He...lp... me..."
From all sides—echoes.
Cries.
"HELP ME..."
"HELP ME..."
"HELP ME..."
The air trembled with their screams. Hands reached. Mouths opened. Blood and void.
Luke dropped to his knees.
Hands—tiny—covered his ears.
Tears poured, blurring the world.
The cries rattled his skull.
Drilled through his soul.
Just before his sight faded into black—
A voice. Quiet, close.
"So this was your dream... Luke Crimson..."
Laughter followed.
Low. Then louder.
Sickening. Twisted.
Horrific.
Demonic.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAHHH!"
He opened his eyes.
He opened his eyes—barely.
And there—he saw him.
Lucifer Morningstar.
Towering like a mountain.
Eyes glowing. Mouth stretched into a monstrous grin.
Luke's back touched something cold. Hard.
A wall?
No—
A throne.
JOKE -{The Throne of the Meow.
The Ruler of Paws.
The Throne of Purrs}-END
The Throne of the Ruler.
The Ruler of Death.
The Throne of Death.
And Luke sat before its ruler.
The air thickened.
Time froze.
All he could feel was one thing.
DEATH.