The scene opens with an expansive view of the Crimson Estate, a fortress of power and prestige. Its towering spires pierce the heavens, wreathed in morning mist, while sunlight gleams off the crimson banners draped along its ramparts. The family emblem—a flaming sword crossed with laurels—is emblazoned on every gate, a constant reminder of the Crimson family's unmatched legacy. Guards clad in iron armour stand vigilant, their eyes scanning every shadow, their movements precise and deliberate.
As the camera sweeps closer, the opulent inner halls of the estate come into focus. Golden chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of legendary battles fought by the Crimson ancestors. The polished floors gleam like mirrors, reflecting the grandeur of the tapestries depicting tales of conquest and heroism.
Luke walks through these halls, flanked by Anna Hartz, the young prodigy of magic, and his sister, Rika Crimson, revered as the Sword Saintess. Despite their presence, the tension in the air is palpable. Servants and soldiers bow low as the trio passes, their murmurs filling the air like whispers carried on a breeze.
"Is it true? The young master has awakened..." "I heard the explosion was terrifying..."
Luke's presence is both a source of awe and unease. His white hair glistens under the chandeliers, a stark contrast to the deep red of his attire, marked with the family crest. His left eye, a sharp blue, scans the crowd, while his right eye remains closed, hinting at the dormant power within. He walks with a determined stride, but his clenched fists reveal the storm of emotions brewing within him.
As they approach a pair of massive crimson gates adorned with gleaming emblems, Anna steps aside, her expression neutral but her gaze betraying curiosity. With a low groan, the gates swing open, revealing the grand dining hall.
The dining hall is a masterpiece of grandeur. A massive table stretches across the room, laden with fine silverware and bowls of fresh fruits and bread. The golden glow of candelabras casts flickering shadows on the marble walls. At the far end of the table sits a man whose mere presence commands the room: Ryan Crimson, the greatest swordsman of the kingdom and the head of the Crimson family.
Ryan sits with unshakable calm, his scarred hands gripping a goblet. His gaze is distant, as if he's peering into another realm, yet the sheer force of his aura permeates the room. There is no bloodlust, no overt display of aggression—just the oppressive weight of a man who has mastered the art of war. His every move, from lifting his goblet to taking a bite of bread, speaks of precision honed over decades.
Luke's heart pounds as he steps into the room. The atmosphere is suffocating, as though the very air resists his presence. This is the moment he has waited for, the chance to prove himself worthy of the Crimson name and earn the recognition he has yearned for.
As he takes another step, a faint hum fills the air. A circle of red light flares to life beneath his feet. Instinct takes over, and Luke leaps back just as a blade slices through the air, its edge grazing his cheek. Blood beads on his pale skin, and he touches it in disbelief.
From across the room, Ryan rises, his sword gleaming in his hand. His voice cuts through the silence like a blade: "You've awakened, but power without control is a double-edged sword. Show me you're more than chaos."
Before Luke can respond, Ryan vanishes, reappearing in an instant with a strike aimed directly at his son. Luke raises his sword just in time to block, the impact sending a shockwave through the room. His arms tremble as he struggles to withstand the force.
"How is he so fast?" Luke thinks, panic clawing at his resolve. Ryan's strikes are relentless, each one faster and more precise than the last. The sound of clashing steel fills the hall, the vibrations reverberating through the walls.
With a swift kick, Ryan sends Luke crashing into a wall, the impact cracking the marble. Luke slumps to the floor, gasping for air. His father's footsteps echo as he approaches, each one heavier than the last.
"Stand, or stay down forever. A Crimson who cannot fight has no place in this family," Ryan declares, his voice cold and final.
Luke's vision blurs, but the fire within him refuses to be extinguished. Dark energy begins to seep from his body, swirling around him like a living shadow. With trembling hands, he grips his blade, placing one hand on the hilt and the other on its edge. His mismatched eyes narrow, and his closed eye snaps open, glowing a fierce red.
A surge of mana floods the room, and the temperature plummets. Frost spreads across the floor, and the servants watching from the shadows shiver as their breath becomes visible. A black wing bursts from Luke's back, lifting him slightly off the ground. His strikes, once clumsy and desperate, now flow with precision and speed.
Luke shouts, his voice carrying a power that shakes the very foundation of the estate: "NIRAPEKSH SHUNYA!"
Ryan's eyes flash with surprise as he blocks a sudden crescent slash of black energy, the force rattling the hall.
The room becomes a battlefield of ice and shadow. Luke's attacks are unrelenting, each one faster and stronger than the last. His blade hums with energy as he moves with blinding speed, aiming a decisive strike at his father's chest.
But Ryan is unyielding. With a single, calculated motion, he deflects the attack and catches Luke by the throat, slamming him into the ground. Ryan disperses the dark energy with a wave of his aura. The oppressive cold lifts, and the hall falls silent once more.
Ryan looks down at his son, his expression unreadable. "You've grown, but raw power is meaningless without mastery. Learn control, or you will fall to your own strength."
As Ryan turns his back, his footsteps echoing ominously in the tense silence of the room, Luke staggers. Blood spurts from his mouth, his body shuddering as the immense pain of his actions and the weight of his destiny consume him. His heart races, the pressure building in his chest like a suffocating force. For a brief, fleeting moment, Luke seems to lose himself, his vision blurring, and the room around him warping into darkness.
Then, without warning, the air around him crackles with dark energy. The floor trembles, and the temperature drops to an unbearable chill. Luke's body convulses, and as if something horrible inside him awakens, his form lifts from the ground, hovering as if drawn by an invisible force. His eyes—once a mismatched pair of blue and red—now burn with an infernal glow, the pupils slit like a serpent's.
The wings that sprout from his back are not those of a majestic angel, but blackened and demon-like, flapping with an eerie sound that seems to echo from another dimension. The gust of wind they create is not the calming breeze of nature, but a violent, howling storm of darkness, sending furniture crashing and the candles snuffing out one by one.
The air becomes heavy with the oppressive force of the entity that has taken root inside him. His voice, no longer Luke's own, but that of a foreign, ancient being, rings out. The entity reveals itself to be Lucifer Morningstar, the fallen angel, now in control of Luke's body.
Ryan, sensing the shift, doesn't flinch. He doesn't even turn. His voice, cold and unbothered, cuts through the encroaching darkness: "Are you not satisfied, boy? Is this the extent of your awakening?"
The moment those words leave his lips, the entire hall is engulfed by violent, uncontrolled power. Lucifer manifests fully, his form towering above Ryan, his wings stretching wider, casting the room into a shadow so complete it feels as though the sun itself has vanished. The oppressive force presses against the walls, the sound of blood pounding in Luke's ears becoming a demonic drumbeat in his head.
A clash of godly power erupts, and Ryan engages the demon with lethal precision, every movement measured and calculated. Lucifer's strikes, wild and brutal, explode through the air with the force of an inferno, but Ryan's blade parries them effortlessly, each block resounding like the clash of two worlds colliding.
The battle escalates quickly. Lucifer vanishes in an instant, only to reappear behind Ryan. His sword, now an extension of his fury, strikes with the intent to end. But before the blow lands, Ryan's fist connects, crashing into Lucifer's gut with the sound of shattered stone, sending the demon spiraling through the air, smashing through the marble walls with a sickening crack.
The sheer violence of the impact shakes the room, and for a moment, all that can be heard is the crackling of dark magic. But Lucifer is relentless. Rising again, the very ground shudders beneath him, as a single horn begins to grow from Luke's head, a grotesque mark of the demon's influence. The demon's power surges outward, warping the air around him into an unholy storm.
Golden chains—glimmering like the last vestiges of hope—shoot up from the ground, wrapping around Lucifer's thrashing form, pinning him down in a brutal display of restraint. Hiesenberg, the Mage of Calamity, steps into the room, his expression grim. With a single, precise incantation, a binding spell locks Lucifer into a dormant state, and the room falls silent.
Luke's unconscious form crumples to the floor like a ragdoll, the aura of malevolent power lifting as the demon retreats, leaving the room to echo with the fading remnants of chaos.
With a dark chuckle, Hiesenberg addresses Ryan, his voice tinged with dark amusement:
"The blood that flows through your Crimson lineage… so wild, always tearing at each other's throats. Even after the awakening, this madness persists. Truly, the slumber of young Luke has been long, but his awakening has been far from peaceful."
As the final echoes of the battle rang out, the destroyed room fell into an eerie silence. The dust slowly settled, and the shards of shattered furniture lay scattered like memories of a time long gone. The heavy weight of the battle still lingered in the air when, suddenly, Luke's eyes fluttered open.
The world spun around him, his vision hazy, but as his senses sharpened, he felt something different—something… changed. He could feel the weight of his body, the slight thrum of power coursing through his veins. Slowly, he lifted his head and pushed himself up from the cold, hard floor. His once unruly hair, wild and untamed, had been cut—trimmed neatly, just as a noble's hair should be.
Luke's eyes widened in disbelief as his fingers grazed the sharp edges of his now-sleek white hair. "How… How did this happen?" he muttered, still trying to comprehend the sudden transformation. The most baffling part was that it was his father, Ryan, who had done this during their battle. His heart raced as he tried to piece together the impossible. Had his father… actually cut his hair while fighting him?
Before he could think any further, the voice of his father, still echoing in the ruins, broke his thoughts.
"Luke… The time has come," Ryan's voice boomed, heavy with meaning. "You are no longer the child who faltered under the weight of expectations. You must rise beyond this place."
Luke's gaze shifted upward, his icy-blue eyes catching the light in a way they never had before. A strange intensity radiated from him, and it didn't go unnoticed. The room held its breath as the young man stood tall, his impeccable looks now undeniable, the elegance of his noble blood shining through. Even Anna Hartz, who had stood at the edge of the battlefield, couldn't help but stare, her heart fluttering as she looked at him. She had already fallen for this young man, but now, there was an air of mystery, of power about him that was irresistible.
Ryan's eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the room as he regarded his son, who had now regained his bearings. "The Zhen Wu Academy awaits you, Luke. It stands atop Wu Tangshen Mountain, a place where the remnants of the Martial God linger, and only those with true potential can rise to greatness. The academy is the largest and most prestigious in the continent, and it accepts only those with unmatched skill and determination."
Luke's heart skipped a beat. The Zhen Wu Academy? He had heard of it—the fabled institution where the greatest warriors and mages honed their craft, drawing from the power of the Martial God itself. It was a place where legends were forged, a place that only the elite could enter.
But even as his father spoke of the academy, Luke felt something stir deep within him. His past, his memories of another life, the whispers of a greater destiny, seemed to reach out to him, tugging at his soul. The future would not be kind, but it was a future he could shape.
Ryan's voice cut through the silence once more. "You will leave for the academy soon. You have much to learn, and the world is a dangerous place. But remember, this is your legacy, your destiny."
Luke's gaze hardened as he faced his father, but the unease in his heart was clear. "But I'm not ready… Can I even handle this?"