The throne of hell was never meant for a human—except one. Betrayed by his kind. Posing a threat to the Fortuna's and their Chronisoul's.
He is hell-bent on revenge as his name fades from life itself. He's neither a human nor a Fortuna. Not even a Chronisoul. He is something else.
Slave. Thrall. General. Each step soaked in lies and sharpened by deceit, till he claimed the throne himself.
He was called the bringer of death. But no… this man was death's vessel. The Chains of Eternity were soon to become his destiny.
Hell's fire bent to his will, and even the undead dared not whisper his name. Glowing fire possessed his eyes, his face bathed in bitter satisfaction. His voice sent a chill through hell itself.
"It is time."
But that was many lifetimes ago, or perhaps a lifetime away.
Far away from scorching hell. Beneath a sun still warm. Sky still blue.
A boy walked home from school. Unaware of the journey, unaware of the darkness waiting to unfold.
Damon.
Damon walked home in his black school uniform, dark hair catching faint hints of blue under the sunlight.
"Guess I'm seventeen now."
He pushed his hair back casually as he nudged a crumpled ball of paper along the road with his shoe. No messages. No calls. Just another birthday, or so he thought.
"Ohh, I gotta go see Mom at the hospital." His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.
"I don't think I've seen—"
WHACK.
A basketball smacked him clean in the head. A sudden, jarring halt to the mundane. She jogged over, muscles in her arms still tense from practice.
"Ouch—There she is."
"Damon!! I've been around school looking for your ass!" she yelled. Then she stopped, heaving for breath and wiping sweat from her brow. Her long blonde hair was pulled back and wrapped in a black tie, with a few loose strands framing her face.
Natsuki.
Natsuki's purple eyes widened at him. His own sapphire ones reflected the light back at her.
Damon handed her a napkin, secretly fascinated by her beauty, by the way she wiped the sweat off her face.
"Didn't you hear me? Where've you been?" she asked, her voice sharp but softened by the sweat of effort.
"Sorry, I was at band practice." He looked away, his voice quieter now. "I was just thinking about you. Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah, I know. I've been occupied with basketball classes."
"Natsuki, what are you doing?" he asked, confused, as she aggressively tore through his bag.
"There it is." She pulled out the paper, her tone serious. "I'm looking for your test results. Wanna compare them to mine."
She sat at the nearest bench, her posture competitive, her eyes glinting. Even sitting still, she had that sharp, athletic confidence. The kind that made people look twice.
He forced a smile, "You could've just asked." She didn't answer him and he sighed in mock annoyance, though his lips twitched with amusement.
She raised her head to meet his eyes and smirked, admiration mixing with competition. "Somehow you always seem to beat me, don't ya?"
Damon looked nervous for a moment.
"You said you were looking for me. Why?"
Natsuki smirked, "Is it a crime to miss your best friend?"
Damon blushed and she giggled.
"Ohh, right. Gotcha something. Never understood your obsession with the guy, but here you go. Happy Birthday." She handed him the ticket. Hard paper.
Surprised, he took it gently, his fingers brushing the edge as though it were fragile. "Tickets to the Clover Note Memorabilia Auction. I thought they were sold out." His smile widened, genuine, unguarded.
She giggled, with her hand on lips, her voice light. "My mom's got the organiser in her pocket. You'll get to hang out with his team all day."
"Thank you, Natsuki."
"I'm gonna be late. Gotta go," she said as they said their goodbyes. Her tone was brisk but her eyes lingered for a moment longer.
He looked down at the ticket again, turning it slightly in his fingers. 'Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad,' he thought.
The noise of students, passing cars, and rustling trees filled the air. By the time he reached his street, it was gone. Silence had already returned.
On his way home a priest standing in front of a church waved at him with a bright smile. A smile that felt wrong. His eyes didn't blink, not even once.
Damon casually waved in response. 'Who is that guy?' he thought.
Arriving home, Damon found a wrapped present on the table. He tore it open. A ring. Silver. Carved with a dragons crest.
"A ring… with a crest?" He slid it onto his middle finger. It fit perfectly, as though it had been waiting for him.
He frowned slightly and tried to pull it off. It didn't budge.
"…Huh."
For a second, something pulsed beneath the metal — faint, but there. Then it was gone.
Most of the day blurred. Reading. Gaming. He stared at his phone for a while before typing a message to his dad. 'I'm home.'
Sent. No reply.
The cake sat untouched for a few minutes before he cut into it. He paused halfway, then set the knife down.
All celebrated alone.
Clank.
The door slammed behind him as he left for the hospital.
The streets were busy. Parents called their kids in, warning them of a cold. Digital billboards glowed, promising new inventions. But something felt off. A chill. Cold air he couldn't explain.
"Why's it cold? Even the ring's freezing?" He hid his hands in his sleeves, shivering. "Never trust the weatherman, I guess."
The cold air stung his cheeks, sharpening the angles of his face as he walked. The silver pressed against his skin, heavier than it should be, as if it already knew what was coming.
He pushed the hospital doors open. The smell of antiseptics attacked his throat, sharp and sterile.
A nurse glanced at him as he passed, Damon always drew a second look without meaning to.
His mother laid in bed, sheets pulled to her stomach, her breathing shallow.
Her hair was platinum white, not due to age but their normal colour. Though they framed a face that bore the unmistakable, gaunt qualities of a long‑sick person. Her eyes, blue like Damon's, were hollow now, pale, drained of the fire they once carried.
Holding the tears was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"Mom, how are you feeling?" His voice cracked, concern genuine, raw. "Have you been taking your meds?"
Silence.
"You're still not gonna talk, huh?"
He talked for her. Online chess leagues. Grades. Band practice. All the lies of a normal life. His voice felt thin, like it might crack if he said one more word. But his eyes — dark blue but too bright — softened as he looked at her.
Then her voice broke through the quiet.
"You don't really have any friends, do you?"
He froze.
"…I have Natsuki," he whispered.
"She's not your friend." Her hollow and pale eyes cut into him. "Why would anyone want to be around you?"
He blinked, confusion sharp, stinging. "What are you talking about…?"
She turned away, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I'll be honest, Damon. I never... I never wanted a child," she said. Her voice cracked though her eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
"I wanted my body. My life. My career." She wiped her eyes, angry at herself for crying.
He stared down at his arms, the weight of her words pressing against his chest.
"And then you came along and—" She swallowed. "You ruined everything. I regret ever having you."
His fingers trembled, just once, before he forced them still.
Her hands shot out, clutching his shirt, trembling with rage. "You were a mistake. Every time I looked at myself, I saw you instead."
Silence. He wanted to scream. He couldn't. Silence pressed against him like razors at his throat. It had once meant peace. Now it felt like punishment. He didn't move. He just handed her a cup of water.
She slapped it away. Hard.
CRASH.
The glass shattered mid‑air. A shard sliced into his palm. A sharp sting bloomed as blood dripped slow and steady.
His eyes grew heavy, but nothing fell. His body jolted with shock, but he didn't flinch.
"Why did you do that?" his voice low, broken.
"Get out. Get out!" she yelled.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The EKG rang.
"Mom… Mom?"
No response.
BANG went the door.
His footsteps echoed in the hallways, speeding up, slipping, catching himself. He saw another bald patient, cancer perhaps, the thought lasting less than a second before he pushed forward running.
'Mistake.' 'Regret.' 'You took it all away from me.'
The words echoed while he sprinted, each syllable a blade.
He reached the doctors, breathless, panicked. "My mother… HELP her!!" The doctors rushed past him.
The EKG beeped, sharp, steady. He lunged forward, but the nurse blocked him. "Stay back," she said firmly.
He obeyed. Zero resistance.
He called his dad — no answer. Texted him — no reply. He checked his phone after 30 minutes— sent. An hour— sent. The words replayed in his mind. 'Why would she do that? Why would she say that? Did she really hide her hate for seventeen years?'
His foot tapped against the floor, faster than he realised.
Hours later...
"Mr. Vale. Mr. Vale. Mr. Vale." The nurse repeated, her voice rising, tapping his shoulder.
He rushed from his seat, his voice trembling. "Is she alright?"
The nurse didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched again.
Far away, the sky was still blue. But here, silence was the only colour left. The air around him dropped, colder than before.