The dagger plunged into my heart without resistance. I had braced myself for searing pain, for agony beyond comprehension—but there was none. It was as if the blade had simply passed through me like a phantom. And yet, I could feel it lodged deep within my chest. I wasn't bleeding. I wasn't writhing in pain. Most importantly, I wasn't dead.
The High Priest slowly withdrew the dagger. Strangely, there wasn't a single trace of blood on its golden blade. Lowering it into the pool of blood before him, he continued his ceaseless chant. The moment the dagger's tip touched the surface, a brilliant golden light radiated outward, surging toward the sky. Ancient symbols materialized in the air, glowing with an eerie power. The two cybernetic skulls hovering behind him turned, their red eye sockets scanning the floating text.
After a brief moment, the High Priest handed the glowing dagger to one of his mechanical arms before extending his other hand expectantly. A simple wooden bowl—ordinary in every way—was placed into his grasp. With careful precision, he brought the bowl to the gaping hole in his chest, where blood still oozed from the empty space where his heart should have been. The dark liquid swirled unnaturally inside, as if alive.
Then, in a single, deliberate motion, he tilted the bowl, letting the thick blood spill over me. I flinched, expecting the warm liquid to coat my skin, but instead, it never touched me. The blood simply slid away, repelled as though an invisible barrier protected me. Not a single drop remained.
A crimson-red circle of light, tinged with gold, erupted from my body. As the radiant glow spread throughout the stadium, the previously silent audience stirred. A wave of murmurs rippled through the thousands of spectators—a strange, otherworldly sound that sent a chill down my spine. Until now, they had been so eerily quiet that I had almost forgotten they were even there. But their sudden voices were an undeniable reminder that they had been watching.
Just as quickly as the commotion began, it ceased. Silence returned, leaving only the faint, haunting music that had played all along.
The High Priest's chant deepened, reverberating through the air. The crimson-red circle pulsed once before fusing with the ancient symbols floating above. As they merged, new, incomprehensible glyphs appeared—shifting, writhing, and pulsating with power. Before I could even process what was happening, the symbols surged toward me, sinking into my body in an instant.
Then, the chanting stopped. The High Priest lifted his head and, in a loud, commanding voice, declared:
"Akuma Beggar!"
The moment his words rang through the vast stadium, the entire audience moved in perfect unison. Every single spectator slammed their hands against the tables before them, the deafening sound echoing like rolling thunder. It shook the very air around me, reverberating deep within my chest. It was overwhelming—like the entire world was acknowledging my existence at that moment.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Silence reclaimed the stadium once more, leaving only the ghostly melody lingering in the air.
"Akuma Beggar?! What kind of fucking name is that?!"
Had this lunatic priest lost his mind? Who names a kid "Beggar"? Was this some kind of twisted joke? Was everyone here mocking me?
More importantly—how the hell did he know I had named myself Akuma? It had to be connected to those ancient-looking symbols.
And seriously, all of this—this eerie stadium, the chanting, the blood, the floating inscriptions—was just to give me a name? The sheer absurdity of it made my head spin.
Without a doubt, this was the worst birthday I had ever had. I had nearly died from fear—more than once. At this rate, I was going to have a heart attack before I even learned to speak.
"What the hell is going on here?"
I was still lost in thought when my tiny body suddenly floated toward my parents. My mother eagerly stretched out her hands, her excitement unmistakable. The moment I was close enough, she pulled me tightly into her arms, cradling me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.
"Ohh, my baby has a name now! Akuma Beggar… don't you think it sounds good, honey?" she asked, her voice brimming with joy.
My father silently nodded in approval.
Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to hold myself back from speaking. If I could, I would have screamed, "Mother, how is 'Beggar' a good name?!" Just hearing it made me cringe to my very soul. The irony was unbearable—the very name I had spent my past life running from had followed me into this one.
====
Just as we had arrived, we now returned home from that strange place. I was still upset about my name, but what could I do? It had already happened—crying over it wouldn't change anything. My mother, on the other hand, was overjoyed, happier than usual. My father, however, was unusually quiet.
He was always a man of few words, rarely showing emotion. But after living with him for months, I had begun to grasp the subtle shifts in his expressions. Right now, he seemed... displeased.
In the living room, my father suddenly stretched his hand into the air, as if grabbing something invisible. In response, the floor rumbled and slowly rose, revealing what looked like an elevator hidden beneath the floorboards. I had no idea our house had something like this.
Without hesitation, my mother stepped inside, still radiating excitement. My father followed in silence. The elevator descended smoothly, taking us underground. After a few seconds, the doors slid open, revealing a massive hallway.
The corridor stretched out, vast and empty, with only a few people in white uniforms scattered along its length. They were all around five to six feet tall, and as soon as they saw us, they froze in place. Their eyes widened with a mix of shock and fear, yet despite their discomfort, they all, in perfect unison, placed their hands on their chests and bowed deeply.
As always, my father didn't acknowledge them. He simply walked forward, and they instinctively moved aside, making way for us. We passed by hundreds of doors until we finally reached one that stood out—a massive, vault-like structure, reminiscent of a bank safe.
Two towering Custodes guards flanked the door. Upon seeing us, they both bowed and placed their hands on their chests in salute. My father silently stared at them, as if signaling something. Without a word, both guards stretched their hands into the air—and as if by magic, the colossal door creaked open on its own, without them even touching it.
As we stepped inside, one thought filled my mind.
Is this where my mother is kept?
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If we reach 100 stones, I'll reward you all with a bonus chapter!