Ryou awoke to the sound of crackling energy, an unfamiliar hum that seemed to resonate in the very bones of his body. His eyelids fluttered open, and he was suspended in a void of shifting colours. Shades of red, black, and green swirled around him, like a living, pulsating storm. There was no ground, no sky—just an endless expanse of chaos. His limbs felt heavy, as though invisible chains bound him, and every breath burned his chest.
"Where... where am I?" he murmured, his voice weak and echoing strangely in the void.
As if in answer, a deep, resonant voice boomed around him. "You have awakened in my domain, mortal."
Ryou's head snapped up, his heart pounding in his chest. Before him, the colors began to coalesce, forming a towering figure. The being stood at least twice the height of any man, with crimson skin and a muscular frame that seemed carved from stone. Its face was humanoid yet grotesque, with jagged horns that curled from its brow and a single massive green eye in the center of its forehead. Around the central eye were eight smaller ones, each glowing faintly and moving independently, scanning Ryou with unsettling precision.
The creature's chest bore a glowing triangle etched in light, with intricate runes radiating from its center. Its hands were clawed, each finger tipped with razor-sharp nails that glimmered in the strange light of the void. Despite its monstrous appearance, there was an air of authority and wisdom about the being, as if it were ancient beyond comprehension.
Ryou tried to scramble backward, but his body refused to move. "Wh-who are you? What do you want with me?"
The demon's lips curled into a grin, revealing sharp, ivory teeth. "I am Zevran, Demon of the Blade and Keeper of Forgotten Magics. You, boy, are the one who shattered the veil between our worlds."
"What... what are you talking about?" Ryou's voice trembled. "I didn't do anything! I just—"
"Enough," Zevran interrupted, his voice a thunderclap that reverberated through the void. "You speak of what you do not understand. The power you unleashed back there, the destruction you wrought—it was no accident. It is a fragment of something far greater, something that has lain dormant within you until now."
Ryou shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't mean to... I didn't want to hurt anyone! Harun... my friend... he's dead because of me."
Zevran's many eyes blinked in unison, their gaze piercing. "Indeed. And his sacrifice was the catalyst for your awakening. Such is the nature of power—it demands a price."
Ryou clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Then take it back! I don't want this power! I just want things to go back to how they were!"
Zevran chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down Ryou's spine. "Foolish boy. The path you walk now has no return. But despair not—for while you cannot rid yourself of this power, you can learn to control it. To wield it."
The demon extended one massive hand, his clawed fingers glowing faintly. "But such mastery comes at a cost. Are you prepared to pay it?"
Ryou hesitated, his mind racing. Memories of Harun's lifeless body flashed before his eyes, the blood, the screams, the destruction. If he didn't learn to control this power, more lives would be lost. More innocent people would suffer because of him.
"What's the cost?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Zevran's grin widened. "Your humanity."
Ryou's breath caught in his throat. "What... what do you mean?"
"Power such as yours is not meant for mortals," Zevran explained, his tone almost matter-of-fact. "To wield it without succumbing to madness, you must shed the frailties of your human soul. Become something greater—something eternal."
Ryou stared at the demon, his mind reeling. "You're asking me to become like you? A demon?"
Zevran shrugged, a surprisingly human gesture. "In essence, yes. But the choice is yours. Reject my offer, and you will remain as you are—weak, uncontrolled, a danger to all around you. Accept it, and I will guide you, shape you into a force capable of bending this world to your will."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Ryou looked down at his trembling hands, the memory of his green-glowing eyes flashing in his mind. Was this who he was meant to become? A monster? Or was there a chance he could use this power for good?
"I... I need time to think," he stammered.
Zevran's grin faded, replaced by a look of stern impatience. "Time is a luxury you do not have. Even now, your enemies rally against you. The Shadow Knights will not rest until you are brought to heel, and without control, you will fall before them."
Ryou's chest tightened. He thought of the villagers, the survivors who had looked at him with fear and hatred. If the Shadow Knights found him, they would destroy everything—and everyone—in their path to get to him.
"I don't want anyone else to die because of me," he whispered, more to himself than to Zevran.
"Then make your choice," the demon said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Step into the abyss, and rise anew. Or cling to your humanity, and perish as the weakling you are."
The void seemed to grow colder, the swirling colors dimming. Ryou took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. He didn't want to lose himself, to become a creature like Zevran. But if it meant protecting those he cared about—if it meant preventing another Harun—then perhaps it was a sacrifice worth making.
"I'll do it," he said finally, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his heart. "I'll take your power."
Zevran's grin returned, broader than ever. "Good. Very good."
The demon raised his clawed hand, and the glowing runes on his chest flared to life. The void around them began to pulse with energy, the colors growing brighter and more violent. Ryou's body was lifted into the air, his limbs spreading out as if he were being crucified.
"This will hurt," Zevran said, almost casually. "A lot."
Before Ryou could respond, a searing pain tore through his body. It felt as though every nerve, every cell, was being set ablaze. He screamed, the sound echoing endlessly in the void. The glowing symbols in Zevran's eye seemed to leap from their sockets, carving themselves into Ryou's skin like molten brands.
Memories flashed before his eyes—his parents, the village, Harun's laughter. Each image was consumed by fire, replaced by visions of dark power: towering storms, rivers of molten lava, armies of shadowed figures bowing before him. The pain was overwhelming, but Ryou held on, clinging to the one thought that kept him grounded.
"I'm doing this for them," he muttered through gritted teeth. "For Harun... for everyone."
Finally, the pain began to subside. The symbols on his skin glowed faintly before fading, leaving behind intricate scars that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the void. Ryou collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
"It is done," Zevran said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You are no longer wholly human. You are something more."
Ryou looked down at his hands. They seemed the same, but he could feel the difference—a new strength coursing through his veins, an unfamiliar power that both thrilled and terrified him.
"What... what do I do now?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Zevran extended a clawed hand, and a small sphere of light appeared, hovering between them. "Cultivate your mana. Build your strength. You are but a sapling now, boy, and the winds of this world will seek to uproot you at every turn. Grow tall and unyielding, and one day, you may stand as a tree among reeds."
Ryou nodded, though he didn't fully understand. He reached for the sphere, and as his fingers brushed against it, a surge of warmth spread through his body. The void around him began to dissolve, the swirling colors fading into darkness.
"Remember, Ryou," Zevran's voice echoed one final time, "power is not given. It is earned. And it is always hungry."
When Ryou opened his eyes again, he was lying on the forest floor, the faint light of dawn filtering through the canopy above. His body ached, but the pain felt distant, as if dulled by something greater. He sat up, his hand brushing against his chest where he could feel the faint ridges of the scars Zevran's ritual had left.
For better or worse, his journey had begun.