Chapter 1
The cold of the wooden floorboards seeps into my bones, intensifying the pain coursing through my body. I collapse, weak and bleeding from several wounds, but it’s not the injuries that are killing me. It’s the poison my wife slipped into my veins. I clutch my abdomen, feeling the venomous concoction spreading, necrosis already setting in.
Desperation drives me to move. I know she keeps an antidote somewhere in this room. Cloister eggs—the only thing that can counteract the undead poison running through my blood. Each agonizing step feels like an eternity as I drag myself across the floor, cursing with every breath. My vision blurs, but I focus on the last drawer in the far corner. If I can just get to it, I can kill them all. I don’t need my legs or arms, just that cloister.
I think back to how she did it. A kiss laced with death, the poison slipping into my mouth as I let my guard down. The knife in my back, both literal and metaphorical, came from the one place I thought was safe—our home. My heart breaks anew with each recollection, but I use the pain to fuel my determination.
Finally, I reach the drawer and wrench it open. My fingers fumble inside until they close around the small vial of cloister eggs. With a smirk, I pop the vial open and swallow the contents, feeling the healing properties start to work almost immediately. The necrosis halts, and my wounds begin to mend, but I am still paralyzed. It will take several moments before I am at full strength. I begin to plot my next move, but a sudden chill creeps over me.
Looking around, I notice an eldritch horror standing before me. Its presence is like a shadow, sucking the warmth from the room. An artifact flies up from the floorboards as the walls around me collapse. It’s only now that I realize this was a trap. They knew they couldn’t kill me outright, so they paralyzed me, healing me just enough to keep me alive but immobile.
My wife steps into the room. She is a beautiful woman with dirty blonde hair, a busty and well-proportioned figure. The sight of her now sickens me. Her betrayal cuts deeper than any blade. I ask her why, my voice barely a whisper. She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walks over to a man I recognize well. He was once a loyal dog to this family I married into. The sight of her kissing him churns my stomach. It hurts more than any physical wound.
“My dear husband,” she finally says, her voice dripping with mockery. “You were always too trusting.”
Her words twist the knife further. I realize the full extent of their betrayal. They needed my blood to fuel an unholy relic, a dark artifact that would grant them unimaginable power. We had once been a house of angels, but now, because of me, we have become a clan of demons. It is all my fault. In many ways, I was the monster that brought darkness to the light.
As I lay there, paralyzed and helpless, I watch them prepare the ritual. Seven unholy relics, and this one would be fed by my death. I refuse to give them the satisfaction. With the last of my will, I pour everything I have left into my sword. The hilt shatters with a brilliant explosion of spirit energy. It is not enough to harm them, but it illuminates the room, revealing the extent of their treachery.
In that moment, I know I have only one goal: to die on my own terms. The broken hilt releases my spirit energy into the universe. I feel myself floating into nothingness, the pain of death taking over. But then, something strange happens. I feel my essence divide and reform, my consciousness spreading into countless parts until I am nothing but a single cell.
I open my eyes, confusion swirling in my mind. Where am I? The last thing I remember is the cold, wooden floorboards and the searing pain from my wounds and the poison. I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The room is dimly lit, and I feel an overwhelming sense of smallness. I lift my hands and stare in disbelief at the tiny fingers in front of me. What is going on?
Panic sets in as I look around, realizing I’m in a crib surrounded by other infants. I’m a child. How can this be? My memories of the ritual, the betrayal, and the unholy relics flood back to me. Did the relics have a side effect on being sacrificed? I’m not sure. My thoughts race as I take in the room. This is the royal nursery, a place where children of nobility are given first priority to crawl for their chains—a cruel ritual forcing infants to crawl through a dark tunnel that drains their spirit energy. Most do not survive this ordeal, but those who do manifest their chains, providing a reserve of energy.
I wonder what royal family member I was born from. How did I end up here? Exhaustion washes over me, and I eventually fall asleep, my tiny body unable to cope with the confusion and fear.
Months pass. I can now crawl, but I’ve yet to meet my parents, only the nurses who care for us. The memory of my past life never fades, and I remain determined to survive. One night, we are taken to a small burrow. One by one, we are led to crawl inside. It’s dark, and I feel my energy seeping away. A faint light forms ahead, guiding us. This is how the infants navigate the tunnel, following their own energy to the end. Only those with enough energy make it out.
A child in front of me collapses, their light fading. Panic grips me as I hear their labored breathing. They manifest their chains, but it’s not enough to carry them out. They are blocking the way. I manage to squeeze by, but I notice others won’t be able to. I’m feeling the drain on myself, but I can’t leave them. I wrap their chains around the other two children the best I can and crawl forward, holding on to their chain, taking it with me as it feeds from them.
I see the exit, but I lose my balance. A lot of my energy is gone. I don’t even know how much this body had compared to my previous one, but I don’t give up. My chains manifest, linking with the chain of the bigger baby, and I crawl out. My chain, a solid glowing silver, dangles from my belly button. The proctors are shocked to see me emerge, exhausted but alive. They rush over and feed me a cloister. The taste is familiar; I remember taking one the night I was poisoned. They can heal anything but paralyze you for three minutes while healing you.
My chain retracts into me, pulling the chains it was connected to along with three other babies out of the tunnel. The proctors are astonished, questioning how the chains got linked like that. They realize the babies were all close to dying, saved just in time. Mission accomplished, I think to myself. I knew if I made it to this point, I could save them by returning my chain. But now, I need to recover.
The proctors are ordered to save any infant that escapes with a chain. I’m relieved that I still have my memory and can think clearly. I vow to grow stronger, to survive, and to exact my revenge on those who wronged me.
A nurse takes me, along with the other babies, and presents us to the head of the family. The man we were all supposed to call Father, but who I now held the most hatred for. He sits in the darkness like a demon but carries the smile of an angel. He is sadistic, choosing to keep this ritual going. How many infants have died because of your twisted hand?
Memories of my previous life flood back, and I start to cry during the coronation. A look of fear spreads across everyone’s face. This is a moment when silence is demanded, but I can’t help myself. The nurse holding me tries her best to calm me, but I can’t shake the memory and the pain it brings. It’s too late.
He stands before us, the nurse cowering in fear. “Father...” she says, acknowledging him.
Smoke revolves around him like some darkened monster, but he is a fair-skinned, golden-haired man with beautiful amber-red eyes. He is well-built and radiates elegance. When he speaks, his voice is deep and horrid, like a roaring dragon.
“Silence,” he commands.
I keep crying, even as the nurse silences herself. I’m barely able to shake the vision when I am held upside down by my legs.
“I can already tell you may be a disappointment,” he says. “If you can’t stay silent, why should I let you live? Or your stupid handler?”
He asks what I have to offer, and I see the same people who led me to death present in this coronation hall, sitting in the shadows. He taunts me more, holding me upside down by my legs. Well? I can’t do anything, so I muster what strength I can and my pudgy hands slap him.
The room falls into a deeper silence. Even the man I once called Father is shocked. Hell, if I’m dying anyway, I may as well go down in history as the first and only child to slap the spit out of him. He seems angry, and everyone thinks he is, but he simply laughs and cackles.
“Well now, I am sure to have sired this one personally. Who is his mother?” he asks the nurse.
She speaks a unique language, one even I don’t understand. Was it a name? He seems to know who she is and appears rather unhappy before he nearly drops me. The nurse grabs me just in time.
“Then I don’t expect much, but he may surprise me a second time in life. Now, make sure he doesn’t cry again, or you will lose a tongue, because your hands are still useful to me.”
I am angry, but I hold myself in. In this moment, I dedicate myself to getting stronger and destroying this family that betrayed me. The memory of my previous life fuels my resolve, and I vow to never let my guard down again. This new life is just the beginning of my journey of vengeance. They wanted a sacrifice, but instead they have made a monster.
