The boy sat up slowly, his body trembling as he tried to process what had just happened. His vision swam, and his head throbbed with pain, but he forced himself to focus. He felt jaded, as if his very soul had been stretched thin. Then, a flood of memories—not his own—crashed into his mind.
Phoenix.
The name rang clear in his head. The devil who had tried to possess him wasn't just any being of the immaterium. Phoenix was a successor to the great Demon King Beelzebub, a title that carried immense weight in the infernal hierarchy. But the memories were fragmented, blurred, and incomplete. From what he could piece together, Phoenix had been targeted by another successor of Beelzebub, stabbed and left for dead. Desperation had driven him to take refuge in the boy's body.
The boy clenched his fists, trying to push deeper into the memories, but they resisted, like shadows slipping through his grasp. A deep, guttural voice echoed from within him, cutting through the haze.
"Ouroboros."
The word came unbidden, rolling off his tongue like an incantation. His eyes turned pitch black, blotting out the whites as his mind surged with knowledge. The arcane—its forbidden truths—flowed into him. Creatures of the immaterium had true names, and knowing them granted dominion over those creatures.
The voice spoke again, resonating deep within his soul.
"True name, Ouroboros. Legacy name, Amon."
The boy's hand instinctively touched his chest. "So… I am Amon now?" he muttered. His lips curled into a faint smile, though his mind swirled with questions. Ouroboros—the eternal serpent, devouring its own tail. A symbol of endless cycles. It was fitting, he thought. Yet, could he use the name Amon instead? It sounded… simpler. Mortal.
As he rose unsteadily to his feet, he made his way out of the building. The streets were a familiar chaos—crumbling ruins and desolation under the oppressive black sun. He gazed up at the void-like sky, his thoughts racing.
"I had long since forgotten my name," he murmured. "But now, I am reborn… a child of the immaterium."
Amon considered the arcane powers now coursing through his veins. They were a gift and a curse. To use them freely would be to risk discovery. Phoenix's enemies were still out there, searching for him. It wouldn't be long before they tracked the remnants of his soul. For now, it was best to lie low. He needed time to understand his new reality—and his new powers.
His thoughts drifted to the white serpent that had awakened within him. It was a mystery he would need to unravel, though he doubted it would come easily. Then his mind turned to the Canon—the religious text introduced when Lucifer had declared dominion over Earth. The memory of its words burned in his brain. The lords of hell, in their conquest, had eradicated humanity's knowledge of the arcane. History, once a foundation of power, had been rewritten and erased.
The thought of Lucifer stirred something primal within him. His blood quickened, his heart pounding with an almost euphoric rhythm. He recalled her commanding presence, her alabaster skin, and the cold blue eyes that had once pierced through him like an unyielding frost. Now, with this newfound power, he had a chance—a chance to see her again.
His face twisted into a grotesque smile, a mix of longing and ecstasy. The fluffy strands of hair that usually obscured his face parted, revealing two black, pupil-less eyes. In that moment, his gaze mirrored the abyssal depths of the devil he had absorbed. It was a look that spoke of something ancient, deadly, and unnerving.
Snapping back to reality, he muttered aloud, "Now that I have arcane powers, I can try becoming a first-class citizen. A daemon hunter." His lips curled into a smirk. "I'll just lie… say I'm under contract with a demon. But first, I need to move deeper into the city. I'll need to meet a 'farmer' if I'm to stand a chance."
The first circle of hell, Limbo, wasn't known for its abundance of daemons. As far as Amon knew, their numbers increased with each layer descending deeper into hell. For now, he could navigate Limbo without fear of crossing paths with the truly monstrous beings of the immaterium.
He walked through the alleys with purpose, passing scenes of despair and depravity. The ruins teemed with the remnants of humanity, their broken spirits on full display. He saw men and women fighting over scraps of food, thieves robbing the weak, and others resorting to unspeakable acts to survive. He kept his head low, moving past it all. This was life in the first circle—a reflection of the cruelty humanity was now forced to endure.
Eventually, he reached an abandoned building and climbed its creaking stairs, each step echoing through the hollow structure. On the roof, he gazed out toward the city's center.
There, rising defiantly against the bleak horizon, stood the tower. It loomed over the ruins like a monolithic shadow, its surface pitch black and reflective, absorbing the dim light of the black sun. Massive pipes jutted out from its sides like grotesque tendrils, stretching across the city and spreading their influence like veins of corruption.
The sight filled him with a mix of dread and determination.
"That's where I'll begin," Amon whispered, his voice carrying into the wind. "The first step toward building my destiny begins there."