The Holy City, a beacon of human civilization, is steeped in rich history and mysterious legends. On the surface, it symbolizes prosperity and order, where citizens live peacefully, and nobles bask in glory. Yet beneath this grandeur lies a hidden dark world-occult rituals in the shadows, whispers of eerie creatures, and secret deals of noble families.
In a decaying underground chamber, damp stone walls exude a foul scent of rot and blood. Flickering candlelight casts shadows on the ancient runes and blood-stained marks. A young man with a delicate face, dressed in luxurious attire, stands at the center of a ritual circle, holding a thorny branch that glows with an eerie red light.
This is no ordinary plant. He gently takes out a small vial from his sleeve, swirling the deep red liquid inside—it's the essence of his own kin's blood. He pours it along the lines of the circle, igniting a crimson glow, like a serpent awakening.
"This is all for the glory of the family," Adrian mutters, a hint of madness flashing in his eyes. He places a black crystal in the center of the circle, its interior filled with swirling black mist, seemingly housing countless souls. He dips his finger in his own blood and completes the final rune, which glows faint blue and resonates with the ritual circle.
Lying on the ground is a young man, pale and lifeless, seemingly devoid of will.
Adrian smirks disdainfully, stabbing the thorny branch into the youth's chest. The thorns seem to come alive, voraciously draining his blood.
The Gray family, a minor noble house in the Holy City, has struggled to gain a foothold among the higher ranks. Desperate for power, Adrian Gray, the eldest son of the Brown family branch, found ancient records of a ritual promising control over supernatural forces. He chose his half-hrother Ethan, a blood relative ignored by the family, as the sacrifice.
The Gray family, a minor noble house in the Holy City, has struggled to gain a foothold among the higher ranks. Desperate for power, Adrian Gray, the eldest son of the Brown family branch, found ancient records of a ritual promising control over supernatural forces. He chose his half-brother Ethan, a blood relative ignored by the family, as the sacrifice.
Ethan, born of a maidservant, had been neglected by his family, never once shown favor by the patriarch. In the cold, dark chamber, he is overwhelmed with agony and despair. He cannot comprehend why he was chosen as a sacrificial pawn.
"What did I do to deserve this?" Ethan cries silently as his body convulses, blood pouring from his chest. The thorny branch's barbs dig deep inside, tearing at his very soul.
As Adrian's chanting speeds up, the circle's glow becomes blinding. Suddenly, the thorns pulsate violently, emitting a low growl as they grow sharper and swell, like blood-soaked tendrils piercing deeper into Ethan.
"What's happening? This isn't part of the ritual..." Adrian feels a flicker of unease, but his greed compels him to continue. Black light erupts from the crystal, absorbing energy from its surroundings. Pain shoots through Adrian's arm as the thorny branch spirals out of control, surging towards him like a rabid snake.
"Failed... The ritual failed!" Adrian yells in panic. He rips the thorn-covered tendrils from his arm, flesh tearing away, and stumbles away in a frenzy.
Silence soon falls once more, with only the candlelight flickering softly. The discarded thorny branch stirs, crawling towards Ethan's body, embedding itself in his chest and wrapping around his heart.
"Ah—!" Ethan screams, but this voice does not sound like his own. A new soul awakens inside the body-another Ethan Gray from an otherworldly dimension. He tries moving his limbs, each twitch bringing searing pain. Staring at his hand, he sees blood flowing along the thorns, soaking into his flesh. The thorny branch is no longer separate but part of his very being.
"Is this body... my new vessel?" Ethan whispers, surveying the dark chamber, feeling the strange, pulsing power surging through him. The thorny spikes pierce through his palm, changing shape like an extension of his own arm.
"Gray family... I should thank you, dear brother," Ethan murmurs, a cold gleam in his eyes. The thorns in his hand tremble, as if hungering for fresh blood.
Ith'ss standing before the broken mirror in the basement, staring at his reflection. His body is frail, his shoulders slightly slumped, as if even the effort to hold himself up is slowly draining him of energy. His skin is pale, nearly devoid of color, almost like a lifeless statue. Years of malnutrition have carved deep lines into his face, and the sharp contours of his cheekbones and jaw are now more visible, making him appear gaunt. His form is thin, with skinny arms and legs, his ribcage almost visible beneath his skin. Every breath he takes is shallow, making his chest rise and fall with a visible effort, as though the air itself is a struggle. He looks like someone who has been worn down by time, starved and neglected, a fragile figure whose very bones might snap at any moment.
Once handsome, his face now carries the weight of sorrow, his brow furrowed as if burdened by an invisible grief. His eyes, once bright and full of life, now seem dull, reflecting an emptiness that goes beyond mere exhaustion. His hair is dark and damp, clinging to his forehead in messy strands, giving him a disheveled, almost helpless look. The face that once radiated confidence and vitality now seems weary, with a haunting silence. It is a face burdened with unspoken pain, the reflection of someone who has suffered too much and lost too much, leaving only traces of the person he once was.
A small tear-shaped mole under his left eye remains, a remnant of his younger years, a piece of his past that doesn't quite fit the person he has become. It stands out against the somber mood of his face, as though mocking the carefree boy he once was. His eyes, though lacking the brilliance of his youth, still hold a faint trace of resolve, an inner strength buried beneath the surface. Despite the exhaustion and confusion that dominate his features, there is an undeniable determination in his gaze—a silent battle still raging within.
His face retains some of its once striking features: high cheekbones, well-defined lips that, though cracked, still carry the memory of their former beauty. But these features, now slightly blurred by time and hardship, are overshadowed by a sense of loss, as though the light of his youth has been dimmed by the weight of his experiences. There are hints of a past life in his looks, but they are now shrouded in a heavy shadow that obscures their original radiance.
His body, although fragile, still exudes an unspoken resilience. He stands there, slightly hunched, as if searching for pieces of himself that have been lost in the mirror's shattered reflection. His eyes, dark and deep, hold a storm of unspoken emotions—pain, confusion, and a yearning for something he cannot name. While his physical form may appear frail, there is an undeniable strength in the resolve that burns beneath his surface, a silent promise that he will endure whatever comes his way. Even if his body looks like it could collapse at any moment, something inside him refuses to give up, fighting against the world that seems intent on breaking him.