{A/N: Okay, So this chapter was just kind of a prologue so I admit it's quality wasn't that good. Though I would appreciate if you drop some comments}

In a massive stone house, large enough to be mistaken for a palace, nestled in ancient Scandinavia, a woman sat quietly.

Her long, pitch-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with her piercing blood-red eyes.

Her hands moved tenderly, stroking the slight swell of her pregnant belly, her face calm and unaware of the chaos brewing inside her womb.

Unbeknownst to her, a small-scale war raged within her body.

…

"GUGU GAGA GUGA GAGA!" (Translation: "HAHAHA! COME TO DADDY!")

Inside that very belly, there were three babies—two males and one female. And the scene inside was nothing short of a battlefield.

One of the male babies, with a crazed look in his underdeveloped eyes, was absolutely pummeling the other two, like this was some sort of twisted hobby he picked up before even being born.

"WAH WAH!" (Translation: "DIE, YOU DEMON!")

But the other two weren't going down without a fight. They flailed their tiny limbs in retaliation, trying desperately to fend off the relentless assault.

Unfortunately for them, they were getting the absolute shit kicked out of them, again and again, as if they were just training dummies for their sibling's brutal beatdown.

Now, you're probably wondering what the hell is going on here? Babies fighting inside a womb? To explain this madness, let's rewind a few months.

First Person POV

'Ugh… Where the hell am I? Who am I?'

These were the first thoughts that hit me as I found myself floating in some kind of slimy liquid. It was dark—really dark.

A suffocating kind of darkness where you can't see anything, but you can feel everything. The walls around me were soft yet firm, like I was trapped in some fleshy cocoon.

I don't know where I am or how I got here. Hell, I don't even know what I am. But somehow, I understand this language.

I know what I'm thinking, I know the concepts of words and thoughts, but I have no memories—nothing that gives me context for any of this.

My body feels… small, and I can sense it. I can feel it, but I can't move it. No matter how much I try to twitch, flex, or even stretch, it's like I'm paralyzed.

And it's not just that—I can feel my surroundings too. It's cramped, moist, and I can sense… vibrations. But everything is pitch black.

'What the fuck is going on?'

Suddenly, a cold, eerie voice echoed in my mind.

"KILL THEM ALL! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

'What the fuck...'

Before I could even grasp what was going on, I felt it—two other presences. They were alive, and close. Really close. My senses began sharpening in this strange, cramped space, and soon enough, I could see them.

They were small, wriggling, like tiny humans. Babies? Wait... if they're babies, does that mean I'm... a baby too? Shit, I am. Damn right, I'm a baby.

"EAT THEM!!! EAT THEM!!! HAHAHAHA!"

That cold, sinister voice returned, piercing my thoughts, and it wouldn't stop. It kept repeating, over and over again, like some twisted, demonic chant. Each time it spoke, it suggested something even more horrific than the last—"Eat your twins, devour them, consume everything."

At first, I was horrified. I remember thinking, What kind of monster would I be if I did that? But the voice wouldn't let up.

Every day, every moment, it was there, whispering, corrupting me, twisting my thoughts. And as time passed, I could feel myself changing, becoming something darker. Something cruel.

Without even realizing it, I was turning into the demon the voice wanted me to be.

The Devil....

Third Person POV

Fast forward to the present…

"GUGUGAGA!" (TRANSLATION: "I AM HUNGRY!")

The main baby, now fully embracing his violent urges, screamed out as he grabbed his twin brother by the throat and his sister by the head, slamming them together with brutal force.

The wet sound of their tiny skulls cracking echoed in the dark womb. He didn't stop there.

Over and over again, he bashed them into each other, the soft, fragile flesh bruising and splitting, blood slowly seeping out and staining the surrounding fluid.

Both of them began to bleed, their fragile bodies shuddering in pain, and that sight—oh, that sight—sent a euphoric wave through his tiny form.

He reveled in it. The violence, the bloodshed—it felt good. Too good. It was like a drug.

"EAT THEM! EAT THEM!"

The cold, familiar voice returned, pounding in his head like a sick rhythm. But by now, he had learned to ignore the voice itself, even if he never ignored its advice.

A twisted grin formed on his face—or at least as much of a grin as a baby could manage.

Without hesitation, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth—yes, somehow, he already had sharp little teeth—into the soft flesh of his twin brother.

Blood squirted into his mouth, the taste metallic and primal, fueling him further. He didn't stop.

He bit down harder, gnawing at his siblings, devouring them piece by piece, the taste of flesh and blood filling his senses.

His hands smeared red as he continued to tear them apart, the lifeless bodies of his brother and sister offering no more resistance.

And the more he ate, the more the hunger grew, consuming every inch of his newborn mind.

And just like that, our little psychopath of an MC devoured his siblings without a second thought, their flesh fueling his already growing power.

The womb, once a battlefield of squirming babies, was now eerily quiet, soaked in the remains of what had once been his brother and sister.

The only movement left was his—content, full, and thriving in the bloodbath he had caused.

Time marched on, and with every passing day, his body matured at an unnatural speed.

Whatever dark force was driving him was making sure he'd be ready. His limbs grew stronger, his muscles more defined—well, as much as a fetus could have muscles.

His bones hardened, his teeth sharpened further, as if preparing him for the outside world. And somehow, he knew he was getting closer.

The voice had been quieter lately, almost as if it was waiting for something big to happen.

Then came the day.

The womb tightened around him, convulsing in a slow, rhythmic pulse. He could feel it—the contractions, the pressure.

It was time. Time for his birth. Or maybe it was more like an escape, because he didn't feel like some innocent baby being brought into the world.

No, this was more like a predator being unleashed.

As the pressure mounted, his tiny fists clenched, ready to meet whatever waited for him on the outside.

And with each tightening of the womb, it brought him closer and closer to the moment when he would finally break free.