The Battle of Monarchs
The sky burned like molten gold as the Monarch of Light, Alistair, stood at the edge of a broken world. Across from him, cloaked in shifting shadows, stood the Monarch of Shades—Raziel.
"You should have bowed to the truth," Raziel said, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Light is weak. It gives people hope, but hope is just an illusion. It blinds them to the real power—fear."
Alistair gripped his radiant sword, Solmora, as golden energy crackled around him. The battlefield was littered with fallen warriors—his High Humans, those blessed by divinity, had fought bravely, but Raziel's darkness had swallowed them all.
"I do not rule through fear," Alistair said, his voice calm despite the storm raging around him. "I shine so others may find their own path."
Raziel chuckled, raising his hand. From the blackened sky, Belphegors descended—gold-and-black soulless knights, their massive swords dripping with the remnants of light warriors they had slain. They were his most powerful creations, and even a single one could turn entire continents into dust.
Alistair knew he was outnumbered, but he had no intention of surrendering. He raised Solmora, channeling all the light left in him. "For the Benevolent Eyes!" he roared. His golden energy exploded, sending shockwaves through the battlefield.
Raziel did not flinch. He stepped forward, his fingers curling, and suddenly the golden light flickered. A deep, empty coldness spread across the field as Raziel's power seeped into the cracks of existence itself.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was in front of Alistair.
Before Alistair could react, Raziel's hand plunged into his chest.
The Monarch of Light gasped as black tendrils wrapped around his soul. His radiant energy flickered like a dying flame. Raziel's smirk grew wider as he whispered, "You always shined the brightest, Alistair. But even the greatest light will fade."
With a sickening pull, Raziel tore out Alistair's soul.
For the first time, the multiverse saw true darkness.
Alistair's body fell from the sky like a shooting star, crashing through the clouds. His golden blood trailed behind him as he plummeted toward Low Earth—a world that had once belonged to him.
But unknown to Raziel, someone had been watching.
The Ritual of the Monarch of Souls
Deep in the hidden sanctum of the Monarch of Souls, an ancient ritual began. The Monarch of Souls had foreseen this moment, had known that Raziel would strike down Alistair. And so, he had prepared.
A Fragment of Light—a tiny, but powerful sliver of Alistair's essence—was sealed within a mortal shell. The vessel was a boy, no more than six years old, lying lifeless in the sanctum.
The Monarch of Souls placed his hands over the boy's chest. Blue energy flowed from his fingertips, weaving symbols of resurrection in the air.
"Rise, child," he whispered.
The dead boy's body shuddered. His skin, once pale and lifeless, slowly regained color. A faint golden glow pulsed in his heart.
The Monarch of Souls sighed. "I have done my part," he said softly. "Live, and one day… remember who you are."
The boy, Cedric, opened his eyes.
Eleven Years Later
Cedric was seventeen now, living a simple life in a quiet town near the river. He had no memories of the past, no knowledge of the battle that had once been fought for the fate of the multiverse. To him, life was nothing more than fishing in the river, running through the fields, and spending time with his childhood friend, Ciara.
Ciara was the daughter of a merchant, cheerful and always full of energy. "Cedric, hurry up!" she called as she pulled him along the dirt path. "You're so slow!"
Cedric smirked, his silver hair catching the sunlight. "You just have too much energy."
"Or maybe you just don't care enough," she teased.
He didn't argue. Cedric had always been… different. He never felt truly afraid, nor did he ever feel the excitement that other kids did. He was calm, noble in his bearing, but distant—like a prince who had forgotten his kingdom.
But that peaceful life was about to end.
The Night of Fire
That night, as Cedric and Ciara sat by the river, watching the moonlight dance on the water, the sky changed.
Darkness spread like ink, swallowing the stars. A shrill sound echoed through the air, followed by the distant screams of their town.
Cedric's heart pounded. "What's happening?"
Then, from the sky, they came.
Black figures with glowing red eyes. The Pandemoniums.
They descended upon the town like a plague. People screamed as the demons latched onto them, draining them of their mana. Those who resisted were torn apart by creatures known as Blockers—demons that severed power and crushed their victims with brute force.
Ciara grabbed Cedric's arm. "We have to run!"
But Cedric stood frozen. As he watched the destruction unfold, something in him stirred.
A memory. A feeling. A truth buried deep within him.
And then, the largest of them all descended.
A Belphegor.
Its towering, armored form crashed onto the town square, its golden-black sword slicing through buildings like paper. With a single swing, it wiped out entire streets.
Cedric's breath hitched.
His home. His people. His father.
All gone in an instant.
And then, for the first time, something inside Cedric ignited.
His hands clenched, and golden light flickered at his fingertips.
He didn't know what it was.
But he knew one thing.
This wasn't the end.
This was only the beginning.