Twelve hundred years have passed since the day the Goddess Kaya, humanity's last divine protector, vanished from the world. Yet, the demons never ceased their hunt. Even after centuries, they continue to ravage human lands, feasting on flesh and hope alike. In all these long years, nothing has truly changed. Every day, countless lives are butchered by demons. Every day, countless tears stain the earth.
And still, with every sunrise, a new child is born—fragile, innocent, and ignorant of the cruel fate that may await them. Some will be devoured by the beasts they cannot fight. Others will be twisted by their own people, shaped into weapons to prolong a dying world.
Today, once again, a child draws his first breath.
Born into the ancient Vermilion Clan—one of the most powerful bloodlines known—Eran enters a world.
Eran's earliest memories were steeped in loss. His father fell in a clash with demons before Eran could know him, and his mother vanished after his birth, her fate a whispered mystery.
Raised by his uncle and aunt in the stone halls of the Vermilion Clan, Eran found solace in the laughter of his cousin Jagroth, born mere months before him, and two other orphaned children of the clan, Lila and Kael.
The Vermilion Clan was a legend, one of the world's most powerful bloodlines, capable of manipulating blood—hardening it into weapons, healing wounds, or boiling it in their enemies' veins. This power made them a beacon of strength in a war-torn world, but also a target for those craving their blood's secrets.
In their uncle's home, the children were inseparable, their bond a flicker of light against the clan's bloody legacy. But when Eran turned eight, that light was extinguished. Jagroth, with his fierce ambition and sharp gaze, was sent to the Academy, a training ground for the clan's elite.
Just after jagroth leave the home,
Eran, Lila, and Kael were betrayed by the family they trusted. Their aunt and uncle imprisoned them in a mold-slick cell, forcing rancid food down their throats and beating them into submission.
For six months, their laughter was replaced by despair, their bodies growing heavy from the relentless feedings, their spirits crushed under betrayal's weight. One night, Eran overheard his aunt's hushed words to his uncle:we must sacrifice these children for the ritual "The ritual will crown Jagroth's destiny. His power will be unmatched.
Eran didn't fully understand the meaning behind his aunt's words, but one thing was clear—he had to escape from this cell.Eran, Kael, and Lila tried everything they could to escape the cell whenever no one was guarding it, but their magic had not awakened yet.They failed every time, and in the end, they realized there was nothing they could do." Eran clutched Lila's hand, whispering promises of escape, though his voice trembled with fear.The children couldn't understand why their family had turned on them, why Jagroth never came.
Unknown to them, their aunt and uncle were driven by a ruthless ambition: to make Jagroth the most powerful being in the world through an ancient Vermilion ritual—the Crimson Ascendance.
Eran, Lila, and Kael were pawns, their blood the key to their cousin's ascension.One night, the cell door creaked open. Two cloaked strangers dragged the children from their prison, their weakened bodies unable to resist. They were dumped into the ruins of an ancient manor, its crumbling walls lit by a flickering bonfire.
Four figures awaited: their uncle, their aunt, a gaunt priest with hollow eyes, and a silent man clutching an ancient tome. The air was thick with the stench of blood and ambition.The priest's voice was a dry rasp. "The Crimson Ascendance is no ordinary ritual. For a year and a half, we must offer blood to awaken its power. Can these children survive such a sacrifice?
"Their aunt's lips curled into a cold. All of them are from the vermillion clan, if they cannot do it then no one will be able to do it, anyway we do not have any other way, soon the founder of the "kshtra" will also die and the demons will not leave our land also.we will have to try make jagroth powerful.
"The priest's eyes glinted with worry. "we have to succeed "
"Then begin," their uncle snapped.
The strangers lifted Eran, Lila, and Kael, placing them in stone jars arranged in a triangle around the bonfire. Above the flames, a pot hung, a single drop of Jagroth's blood falling into the fire. The priest opened the tome, chanting words that twisted the air with dark energy.
Eran's heart pounded as a man approached, a jagged blade gleaming. The first cut was shallow, a line across his arm. Blood flowed like a river, pooling in the jar. Lila and Kael's screams joined his as their flesh was sliced, their blood feeding the ritual.
The Crimson Ascendance demanded relentless sacrifice. Day and night, the men carved into the children, drawing rivers of blood for the bonfire. The pot dripped Jagroth's blood, each drop fueling the priest's chant. The children wept, screamed, and begged for mercy, but their Vermilion blood healed every wound, only for new ones to be inflicted. Death was a cruel mirage, always out of reach. Their aunt and uncle's betrayal cut deeper than any blade—they had orchestrated this torment to elevate their son, sacrificing their kin without remorse.
Months passed. Their aunt and uncle returned, pouring fresh vials of Jagroth's blood into the pot. Eran's voice broke as he screamed for them to stop, but they left without a glance.
After a year, the children's cries faded. By the eighteenth month, they were husks—alive, but hollow, their eyes dull as blades tore into them.On the final day, their aunt and uncle returned, tears streaming down their faces. "Demons attacked the clan," their aunt sobbed. "Everyone is dead. Jagroth… Jagroth is gone.
"The priest's face paled. "Dead?" His voice trembled, and the chant faltered. The bonfire roared, exploding in a blast of heat and smoke. The ritual collapsed into chaos.
Many demons attacked at once.
Their first victim was Eran's aunt—ripped apart before she could even scream. His uncle, desperate to save himself, turned on the priest with a dagger. But before he could strike, the demons swarmed him too, tearing him down in a frenzy of claws and teeth.
From the heart of the smoke, a figure emerged—half skeleton, half muscle, bones gleaming under stretched flesh.
The creature moved with terrifying speed, slaughtering the demons as if they were nothing but paper before a blade.
The priest staggered back, horror twisting his gaunt face.
"Jagroth is dead...i belief he was the last descendant of the founders of Kshtra...grandson of " he muttered in disbelief.
"Did that woman lie to me?
Before he could speak another word, the monstrous figure lunged forward, tearing through him with merciless precision.
The priest collapsed to the ground, gasping. As he lay dying, the half-skeletal, half-muscled body began to shift—flesh knitting together, bones smoothing, until a boy stood where the monster had been.
Through the blood haze, the priest's dimming eyes recognized him.
"Eran..." he whispered—then breathed his last.
Still Eran's eyes burned crimson, wild and hungry for blood. No one would have believed he was only ten years old. With rage boiling through his veins, he dashed out of the ruins, a force of vengeance unleashed upon the world.