The moon was a bloated, silver eye watching from the heavens—a silent witness to the end of my five-day reprieve. Those five days of laughter and training with my friends felt like a lifetime ago. Now, as the ink dried on my final diary entry, I packed my bag with the silence of a grave-robber and slipped out into the freezing dark.
The village was a tomb. A biting wind howled through the empty paths, carrying no sound of life. Only the moonlight offered a pale, flickering guide. At the gate, I made my way to the temple. My heart hammered against my ribs as I reached for the sacred candle.
Forgive me, I whispered, bowing deeply to the Goddess. It wasn't a theft in my mind, but a desperate loan for a soul with nothing left to lose.
I reached the cave, the air growing thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient rot. I struck the match. The candle flame danced, casting long, jagged shadows against the cavern walls. With a sharpened branch, I drew the circle, tracing the star until its points pierced the edge of the ring. I placed my katana and the candle at the center, the steel reflecting the orange glow like a predator's eye.
Opening the weathered book, I began the invocation.
"O heavenly demon, who lived upon the fear, rage, and cunning of the family that conquered the heavens and defeated the gods... I, your seeker and servant, petition thee. Grant me the power; upon these words, grant me a kind fate."
My hands shook as I pulled the small, ragged bird from my bag. Its life was already flickering, its feathers matted and thin. I drew my blade across my palm—a sharp, stinging heat—and let the dark blood coat the bird. I began the chant, my voice rasping in the hollow chamber.
Hours passed. The air grew heavy. Then, the ground groaned. Cracks spider-webbed across the stone, and an oily, black smoke billowed upward, choking the light.
"You... small child..." A voice vibrated through the very marrow of my bones, followed by a laugh that sounded like grinding glass. "Why do you summon the King of Demons?"
I forced myself to breathe, clutching my chest to still my heart. "My name is Rudra. Rudra Leywine. I want the power of the Demon King to become strong."
"Strength? A mere human hatchling?" The smoke pulsed with malice. "What price will you pay to inherit the throne of shadows?"
"I give my blood and this living sacrifice," I replied, gesturing to the blood-soaked bird. "The ritual asks for a body and the blood of the owner. I give you both."
The smoke swirled, a sound like a disappointed sigh echoing in the dark. "A pittance. For such power, this is an insult. You cannot inherit this."
The rejection hit me harder than a physical blow. I swallowed my pride, looking into the roiling mist. "Then tell me. What is the true price?"
The smoke paused, drifting closer until I could feel its unnatural cold. "You are but a child. I will grant you the power... but only on the condition of a contract. You shall work for us, now and in the inevitable future."
"Yes," I gasped, the prospect of power outweighing the dread of the unknown. "I accept!"
The smoke surged, converging into a single, dense sphere above the sacrifice. It lunged into the bird, then suddenly recoiled as if burned. The mist exploded outward, slamming into my chest and throwing me against the cave wall.
"What is this mockery?!" the voice roared, no longer calm but filled with hysterical rage. "Your blood... it is already demonic! How is this possible? If you carry the blood of the Progenitors, why do you beg me for scraps?"
I gasped for air, my mind spinning. "Demonic? I... I don't understand..."
"You are a fool. You don't even know what you are. If you carry the blood of a bastard demon and yet possess no strength, you are nothing but garbage. And garbage must be incinerated."
With a final, contemptuous hiss, the smoke vanished through the cave ceiling, leaving me in shivering silence. Garbage. I was "bastard blood." The disappointment was a weight in my gut as I began to pack my things with trembling hands.
BOOM.
The cave entrance shattered. A massive tree trunk, used as a battering ram, smashed through the stone. A beast stepped into the flickering candlelight—a boar of monstrous proportions, its back bristling with jagged, ivory spines.
"Mother of God..." I hissed, drawing my katana.
The boar's eyes glowed with a feral, intelligent hate. "You mere bastard-blood," the beast growled, its voice a guttural rasp of filth. "I will slaughter your low-born species where you stand."
It lowered its tusks and charged.