Akuma woke up to a dull ache in his body, the cold, rocky ground pressing against his skin. His breath came in shallow gasps as he slowly sat up, his mind groggy from exhaustion. The cave provided shelter from the oppressive heat outside, but it did nothing for the biting loneliness gnawing at his heart. The silence felt unnatural, oppressive even, as if the weight of the entire world rested on his small shoulders.
He winced, stretching his sore limbs, trying to shake the fatigue that had settled deep into his bones. His throat was still dry, his stomach still empty, but for now, his mind was focused on something else entirely: the fear and uncertainty of what lay ahead. Where was he? What was this place? And most importantly, where was his father?
"Father…" Akuma whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the cave entrance, hoping to see the towering figure of Iruma walking in. But it was futile—he knew it deep down. His father was gone, and Akuma was alone.
A deep pit of despair settled in his chest as memories of the war flooded his mind. The coalition of humans, elves, dwarves, and draconians—the Radiant Church leading the charge—had brought his people to ruin. Their once-glorious kingdom was now nothing but ash and rubble, their proud clan reduced to a memory. The flashes of battle, the cries of his people, and the sight of his father, bloodied but still fighting, played out in his mind like a nightmare that wouldn't end.
Akuma closed his eyes, biting his lip as the tears threatened to spill over. The heat of his anger kept him going, kept him from breaking down entirely. He couldn't allow himself to cry, not now, not when he needed to survive.
Dragging himself to his feet, Akuma decided to explore the cave further. His steps echoed off the stone walls as he walked deeper into the darkness, each step slow and cautious. The cave was narrow, barely wide enough for him to squeeze through in certain spots, and the air grew colder the further he went. It wasn't long before he noticed something unusual.
A skeleton, its bones bleached white by time, lay crumpled in a heap against the far wall of the cave. Akuma's breath caught in his throat as he approached it cautiously, his small hands trembling. He'd seen death before—far too much for his young age—but the sight of this skeleton, alone and abandoned in this desolate place, unnerved him.
The bones seemed old, worn by the elements, but what caught Akuma's attention was the object lying beside it. A tattered book, its cover faded and cracked with age. His eyes squinted in the dim light, trying to make out the title.
"(Rigor Mortis?)" Akuma read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. The name sent a shiver down his spine, but curiosity got the better of him. He knelt down, brushing the dust from the cover and opening the book. The pages were brittle, yellowed with time, but the writing was still legible.
Akuma began to read, his brows furrowed in concentration. The book spoke of a unique form of magic—a magic that didn't revolve around the traditional elements of fire, water, earth, wind, lightning, or even darkness. Instead, it detailed a power that allowed the user to control bones, to summon creatures made of the remains of the dead. The art was centered around manipulating death energy, using the remnants of life to fight in the present.
Akuma's heart raced as he flipped through the pages, each one more unsettling than the last. The book described the process in meticulous detail, explaining how to summon a creature known as a "Bone Fiend"—a skeletal warrior bound to the caster's will. The summoner would infuse the bones with death energy, animating the creature to serve as a loyal protector or weapon.
Akuma's first reaction was one of revulsion. The idea of using bones, of controlling the dead, was disturbing. He had grown up learning the ways of Demonic Arts and Dark Arts, magic that drew power from shadows, curses, and malevolent forces. But death magic? That was something entirely different.
"Is this even real?" Akuma muttered to himself, his fingers brushing over the fragile pages. "I've never heard of anyone using magic like this… controlling bones…"
In his world, magic was tied to the fundamental elements. Fire magic could summon flames and manipulate heat, while water magic could control the tides or heal wounds. Earth magic gave the power to manipulate the ground, creating barriers or shaping landscapes, and wind magic controlled the air, enhancing speed and agility. Lightning was raw energy, while light magic was used for healing and purifying evil forces. Darkness, the power that Akuma's clan specialized in, drew from shadows and obscured the truth, creating fear in the hearts of their enemies.
But this—this power of death—was something new, something unknown to him.
Akuma's thoughts drifted back to his father, to the crushing defeat of the Demon Clan. His fists clenched, the anger rising again like a tide threatening to drown him. The Radiant Church and their allies had crushed everything he had ever known. They had taken his father, his people, his home.
"I'll make them pay," Akuma growled through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing with fury. "I'll make all of them pay for what they did to us…"
But how? How could a child of nine, with limited knowledge of magic, hope to stand against the coalition that had destroyed his people? His (Dark Flame) barely flickered in the air, more of a small light than a weapon. He had no real power, no way to fight back.
That was when his eyes fell back to the book.
Could this magic be the key? Could this strange, unsettling power give him the strength he needed to survive? He hesitated, his hands trembling as he held the book. The idea of summoning a creature made of bones, of wielding death as a weapon, was terrifying. But in this wasteland, in this moment of desperation, it was his only option.
Taking a deep breath, Akuma sat down cross-legged beside the skeleton, placing the book on the ground in front of him. The pages detailed a series of incantations and rituals, the method of drawing death energy from the surroundings and channeling it into the bones. It wasn't something he had ever done before, but he knew he had no choice. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to honor his father's last words, he had to learn this magic.
"Okay… let's try this," Akuma muttered to himself, steeling his resolve.
He began to chant the incantation written in the book, his voice shaky but determined. "(Mortem Obsequium!)" The words of the spell felt strange on his tongue, like they weren't meant to be spoken by the living. But as he spoke them, he felt a chill run down his spine—a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if the very air around him was shifting, growing heavier with each syllable.
Following the instructions in the book, Akuma placed his hands over the skeleton's ribcage. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of death energy in the air. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there—lingering in the bones, in the very earth beneath him.
He reached out with his mind, channeling the energy into the skeleton. The process was slow, each second dragging by as he struggled to control the flow of magic. But then, slowly, the bones began to move.
The skeleton's hand twitched, its fingers curling as the death energy flowed through it. Akuma's heart raced, excitement and fear mixing in equal measure. He continued chanting, his voice growing steadier as the bones shifted and snapped into place. The skeleton's chest rose as it took on a new life, its head lifting to meet Akuma's gaze.
It worked.
A shiver of triumph ran through Akuma as he gazed at the skeletal figure standing before him. The Bone Fiend was tall, its hollow eye sockets glowing faintly with dark energy. It stood silently, awaiting his command, a loyal servant bound to his will.
Akuma couldn't help but smile—a small, bitter smile of satisfaction. For the first time since the fall of his people, he had accomplished something. He wasn't powerless. He wasn't helpless. This skeleton, this Bone Fiend, was proof that he could survive, that he could grow stronger.
"You…" Akuma said, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "I'll call you… Kuro."
The skeleton gave no response, of course, but Akuma felt a strange connection to it, as if this lifeless creature was now his only friend in this desolate world.
"Kuro," Akuma repeated, standing up and placing a hand on the Bone Fiend's bony shoulder. "We're going to survive this, together."
And with that, Akuma took his first step on the path of darkness, determined to rise from the ashes of his fallen clan.