The wind howled like the wailing of tormented souls.
At the peak of a jagged mountain, a boy no older than sixteen stood at the precipice of death itself. His body, decorated with scars, bore the remnants of countless battles, punishments, and betrayals. His eyes, void of light, gazed into the abyss before him—lifeless, yet burning with something deeper than mere survival.
Behind him, a black horse neighed, its long, spiraled horn glinting under the moonlight. Atop it sat Damian Veyron : a man in his early thirties, dressed in dark robes embroidered with golden insignias. His expression was cold, yet his lips curled into a cruel smirk as he tightened his grip on the reins.
"Now, boy, you have nowhere left to run." His voice was laced with amusement. "How does it feel? Running all this time, clinging onto a pathetic thread of hope, only to land right back into my hands?"
The boy said nothing. He simply stared, his silence suffocating.
Damian continued, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Your parents died because of you. Your siblings died because of you. Even your twin, the last flicker of your wretched existence, died protecting you." He leaned forward slightly, savoring the despair he hoped to see in the boy's face. "And for what? Just so you could come crawling back to me in the end?"
His laughter rang through the mountain air low, menacing, and laced with madness.
"But don't blame me, child. This is simply fate. The curse of Veyron has played its role, and you were always meant to be the sacrificial lamb. Blame your bloodline, not me."
Then his smirk deepened, his golden eyes glinting with arrogance.
"Though we share the same blood, mine is just pure and superior." He chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Kekeke..."
The boy finally moved. He smiled—a slow, eerie curve of his lips. It was not the smile of a man in despair, nor of a man clinging to false hope. It was something twisted.
Not happiness. Not sadness.
Damian frowned.
"You took everything from me," the boy spoke, his voice light yet chilling, a whisper carried by the wind. "And now… you wish to take my life too?"
Still smiling, the boy slowly raised his hands to his face. Then, without an ounce of hesitation, he dug his fingers into his own flesh and ripped the skin below his eyes.
A sharp, wet sound echoed in the air.
Thunder clashed across the heavens at that exact moment, illuminating the boy's face—a horrifying sight. His fresh wounds bled like a pair of cursed tears, streaking crimson down his face.
Damian Veyron's fingers twitched.
The boy's expression did not change. Instead, he spoke, his voice now carrying an eerie weight.
"I see you, Damian Veyron."
Damian's body stiffened.
"I will remember your face."
His bloodied gaze shifted to the girl standing behind Damian—the one who had once shared his deepest trusts, his greatest vulnerabilities.
His lips curled further.
"And you..." He let out a low chuckle, laced with venom. "You, my beloved... You ripped my heart out and toyed with it. So I swear upon the cursed blood that runs in my veins..."
His voice dropped to an icy whisper.
"I will do the same to you."
The girl's breath hitched. Her hands trembled, but she said nothing.
Damian's eyes darkened. A flicker of unease passed through his mind, but rage quickly replaced it. He yanked his sword from his waist, the metal gleaming with a sinister glow.
"You filthy tarnished brat!" he roared. "How dare you utter such filth?!"
He spurred his horse forward, blade gleaming under the storm-lit sky.
SHHK!
The sword plunged through the boy's chest.
Blood gushed from his lips, staining the ground beneath him. But instead of a scream—he laughed.
A spine-chilling, guttural laughter.
It took a moment for Damian to realize the second blade protruding from his own stomach.
The boy had stabbed him, too.
He staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief. "You...!"
The boy coughed, staggering, but his voice remained unwavering.
"What, did you think I would simply let you kill me?" His smile widened, blood dripping from his lips. "Even in death... I will never give you the satisfaction of my surrender."
He took a step back.
The abyss loomed behind him.
Damian's eyes widened. "NO! NO! YOU INSOLENT BRAT—"
He turned to his soldiers, his voice thundering with fury.
"WHAT ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR?! GET HIM!"
But it was too late.
With a final smirk of satisfaction, the boy let himself fall.
The soldiers lunged, but he dragged two of them into the abyss with him.
FALLING.
The wind screamed past his ears. His body twisted in the air, the jagged cliffs rushing to greet him.
Flashes of memory tore through his mind.
His mother's warm embrace.
"You are my precious child..."
His father's firm yet loving gaze.
"One day, you will understand the weight of our name..."
His twin brother's final moments—bloodied, dying, smiling.
"Live, for our sake."
And then...
A man. An old master.
A face blurred by time, yet his voice remained as clear as day.
"Do not forget, child... In this world, fate is but a chain. If you must break it—then become the hammer."
A name surfaced in his mind.
Lucian Veyron.
His first master. His guide. His lost path.
"One day, you will understand. But until then, if you are to curse the heavens, then do so as a man who dares to defy them."
His rage flared. His heart burned. His vision darkened.
Then, with a voice that carried through the storm, he roared.
"I'LL KILL YOU, DAMIAN VEYRON—"
"AND THAT WRETCHED LORD OF YOURS!"
The wind howled, drowning out his voice.
"IF THERE IS ANY GOD IN THIS WORLD- I ASK OF YOU ONLY ONE THING !"
"PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE AT LIFE! A FAIR ONE!"
"LET ME SPEND TIME WITH MY FATHER! LET ME BE LOVED BY MY MOTHER! LET ME PLAY WITH MY BROTHER!"
Tears mixed with the blood on his face.
"If I was just a little stronger… I could've… at least…"
His voice faltered. He was fading. The Voices of the past kept echoing in his head. The memory of his brother and parents getting killed were too heavy to be forgotten even in death.
"Forget peace. Forget happiness. Forget everything."
"I DON'T WANT PEACE!"
"I MUST KILL THEM, I MUST HAVE MY REVENGE...."
"Only then can they rest in peace".
The last thing he saw was the abyss swallowing him whole
-----------------------------------------------------------
THE AFTERMATH
Silence.
A soldier stood there, trembling, eyes fixed on the abyss. He took a shaky breath and muttered, "Even when he died... he took two of us with him..."
The army stood frozen. Their faces were pale, their hands still gripping their weapons.
Then another voice, uncertain, fearful— "Is he finally dead?"
The murmurs spread like wildfire, whispers of disbelief and dread filling the night air. The cursed child—the one they had feared for years had fallen into the abyss, but was it truly over?
The uncertainty rattled them.
Then-
"SHUT UP!"
Damian's voice thundered through the chaos, snapping them back into order. His face twisted with rage, but deep beneath it, an unmistakable relief lurked.
"FINALLY, THE BRAT IS DEAD!" he roared. "DOES IT LOOK LIKE SOMEONE—EVEN FROM THE UPPER REALMS COULD SURVIVE THAT FALL? AND YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT THAT KID?!"
His golden eyes glowed with eerie triumph.
"I ANNOUNCE IT ONCE AGAIN—THE CURSED CHILD OF PROPHECY IS FINALLY DEAD AND ALONG WITH HIM THE CURSED BLOODLINE HAS ENDED!"
The army stiffened.
"Let's go. We must inform Lord Dorian immediately."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Scene Shift: The Grand Court
The scene cut to an opulent throne room—towering pillars of obsidian, flickering blue flames, and an air so thick with power it felt suffocating.
A man sat on the throne. His presence alone was overwhelming—dressed in layered black robes adorned with ancient sigils, a single golden crown resting on his forehead. His gaze was piercing, yet shrouded in an unsettling calm.
Before him, an informant approached the Lord's personal servant and whispered, "The cursed child is dead. Lord Damian has killed the child."
The servant's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he rushed forward, bowing low before his Lord.
He leaned in and whispered, "The child is dead. The cursed child was killed by Lord Damian, The Bloodline has ended."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then-
The Lord's fingers, resting on the armrest, twitched. His anxious yet calm expression slowly melted into one of satisfaction. A smirk crept onto his lips.
He leaned back into his throne.
He let out a slow, satisfied chuckle.
--------------------- END---------------------------------------