Chapter 1 – The Imperfect Host
He died without a name.
In his previous world, he was just another face among billions: a 27-year-old programmer who spent sleepless nights fixing banking-system bugs while dreaming of something greater.
He died stupidly, the way so many do.
A truck that ran the red light.
A body flung three meters through the air.
Shattered ribs.
Blood in the mouth.
His final thought was pathetic:
*At least I won't have to turn in that report tomorrow.*
Then came nothing.
A nothing that lasted… how long? Minutes? Years? Centuries? There was no time. There was no light. Only absolute darkness, so thick it felt solid.
He drifted there—no body, no senses, only consciousness.
He screamed, but there was no sound.
He cried, but there were no tears.
He tried to remember his own name and failed.
Until something answered.
A voice that was not a voice. A thought that was not a thought. It came from everywhere and nowhere.
— Do you want to live?
He wanted to. He wanted it with a strength he had never possessed in life.
— Yes.
— Then live.
But not as you were. Never again as you were.
— Then give me your body.
Before he could ask what that meant, something entered.
It was not gentle.
It felt as though an avalanche of black ice had been poured straight into his chest.
He felt every bone break and reform.
Every vein invaded by living ink.
He screamed without sound as an ancient, vast, crushing presence settled into his lungs, his heart, behind his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a floor of cold black stone.
Human hands.
Human feet.
A body exactly the same as the one that had died minutes—or centuries?—earlier.
But it was no longer his.
— Stand — said the voice inside his own mouth, using his tongue.
The body obeyed.
He tried to scream. He couldn't. His vocal cords now belonged to someone else.
— Easy, boy — said Nyxarion, the ancient king, flexing the right arm as if trying on a new glove. — You're still in here. Just… not in the driver's seat.
Inside the skull, the 27-year-old programmer screamed in panic:
*HEY! GET OUT OF MY BODY RIGHT NOW!*
— Impossible — Nyxarion replied calmly, walking through a damp corridor lit by violet flames. — My original body was destroyed. My soul was shattered into billions of fragments. I needed a new vessel. You were perfect: a displaced soul, no ties, no light clinging to you. But… — he paused, frowning (his frown) — something went wrong.
The human seized the opening:
*Wrong? Great! Then get the hell out!*
— It's not that simple — Nyxarion resumed walking, slower now. — When the seven divine torches killed me, they didn't just destroy my flesh… they drove pure light into my essence. A sliver of that light is still lodged inside me. A curse. It prevents me from taking your body completely. A piece of the original soul remains. A conscious fragment. A voice.
The human understood what that meant and laughed hysterically inside his own head:
*So you're stuck with me, you bastard! I'm your eternal weakness!*
Nyxarion stopped in the middle of the corridor.
For a second, the brown eyes—his eyes—flashed with spinning red stars deep within the pupils.
— Exactly — said the King of Darkness, and there was an almost… weary note in his voice. — You are the flaw the Lightbearers left in me. As long as you exist in here, I will never have full control. I will never be what I once was.
The human felt a cruel satisfaction.
*So I can sabotage you whenever I want? Scream, swear, distract you, make you trip in the middle of a battle?*
— You may try — Nyxarion smiled with his lips. — But I have three thousand years of experience in torture, boy. And now we share the same skull. We'll see who breaks first.
*Three thousand years?*
The body kept walking.
The human tried to resist—tried to lock the legs, close the eyes, anything. Nothing worked. He was a passenger strapped into the back seat of his own brain.
— Let us set some rules — Nyxarion said calmly. — I control the body. I speak with the mouth. I decide when we eat, sleep, or kill. You stay inside and watch. If you annoy me too much… I have ways to silence you for weeks.
The human fell silent for a few seconds, digesting.
*What if I help you?* he finally asked. *If I cooperate—what do I get?*
Nyxarion raised an eyebrow.
— You continue to exist. You remain conscious. You stay human, even if only inside your head. And perhaps… one day I'll grant you a few hours of control. When I'm strong enough that I no longer need to fear your betrayal.
The human thought. He thought hard.
*Fine. Deal. But I choose the name we use out there. None of that "Nyxarion" crap—it'll draw too much attention. My name was Lucas. We go by Lucas.*
Nyxarion tasted the name on the tongue:
— Lucas. Simple. Forgettable. Perfect for a disguise.
The body—Lucas's body—reached the end of the corridor.
A stone door slid open on its own.
Beyond it, a swirling portal of liquid darkness.
— First stop — Nyxarion announced. — The surface. The world of the living. We'll start small. Little lies. False alliances. Fragments of my soul hidden in temples, cities, people. And you will help me find them, Lucas.
Inside the head, Lucas gave a bitter smile.
*Lead the way, boss. But just so we're clear: the day you slip… I'm taking this body back and running as far as I can.*
Nyxarion laughed low—a sound that made the violet flames tremble.
— Dream on, passenger. Dream all you like.
And together—one fallen king of darkness trapped in a mortal shell, and one dead programmer imprisoned in his own mind—they stepped through the portal toward the light they both despised.
End of Chapter 1