Deven looked up at his father with eyes full of excitement as he listened to the story.
"Then what happened next?" he asked eagerly.
His father was about to continue when the door to their small, raggedy home creaked open. Their house, built from scraps and wood barely strong enough to hold off the cold, offered little comfort. The furniture was just as worn-down, and the single bed on the floor lacked a blanket, leaving them with only each other for warmth.
Deven's mother stepped through the door, carrying a small woven basket filled with five black, fist-sized fruits, each resembling an apple.
"Sorry, son, I'll continue the story tomorrow, alright?" his father said.
"Okay!" Deven chirped.
His father gave him a fist bump before rising to speak with his mother. After a short conversation, he returned to Deven, holding out one of the dark apples.
"Here you go, little man."
Deven's stomach growled in response. He took the apple but frowned.
"More apples? You promised yesterday we wouldn't have any more."
His father sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.
"I know, I know, I lied. But you still need to eat, alright? Fruits keep you alive."
Deven looked at the apple, then back at his father. His stomach grumbled again. With a small grumble of his own, he took a bite.
"Fine."
His father chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Atta boy."
As he stood up, he exchanged a glance with Deven's mother before turning back.
"Deven, your mother and I are going to be out for a while. Stay inside until we get back, okay?"
"Okay, I will," Deven mumbled between bites.
With that, his parents stepped outside, leaving him alone. He continued eating the black apple, the taste familiar yet bitter in his mouth. Time passed slowly, and the silence of the small home became almost comforting—until it was shattered by distant screams.
Deven froze. His heart pounded as more screams followed, frantic and terrified. He wanted to rush outside and see what was happening, but he remembered what his father had always told him: If you hear yelling or screaming, hide and don't come out.
His body moved on instinct. He crawled into the ground-level cabinet, squeezing into the cramped space and pulling the door shut. The shouting outside grew louder, mixed with desperate cries. Words barely reached his ears, but one repeated itself—Run.
Run? Run from what? Fear gnawed at his thoughts.
Just as he reached for the cabinet door, something crashed through the entrance of the house. Wood splintered. Deven recoiled, clamping a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping.
A guttural growl filled the room. Heavy footsteps crept forward, deliberate and searching. The thing was looking for something—no, for someone.
The sounds drew closer, until Deven swore they were right in front of the cabinet. His body stiffened. He could hear it breathing, a low, ragged inhale. It knew he was there.
The cabinet door began to creak open—
"Found one over here!" a voice bellowed.
Chaos erupted. Heavy boots thundered inside, weapons clashed, and monstrous roars filled the air. Deven curled into himself, trembling, as the battle raged on. Time stretched endlessly until, finally, silence fell once more.
The next thing he heard was footsteps approaching. The cabinet door swung open, revealing a man clad in iron armor. Deven stared at him, wide-eyed, as the soldier reached in and carefully lifted him out.
"Captain, I found a survivor!"
Outside, the night air felt colder. Smoke filled Deven's nose, and the sight before him stole his breath—fires flickered in the distance, casting an eerie glow over the devastation.
A rough-looking man approached, his presence commanding. A black cape draped over his armor, a dark insignia etched into his chest plate. His face bore scars, his single visible eye sharp and intense.
"Where are your parents?"
he asked, his voice gruff.
Deven swallowed hard, staring up at him.
"I-I don't know."
The man studied him before nodding. "Take him with us. We'll sort everything once this place is secured."
The soldier carrying Deven nodded and turned toward the city. Deven clung to him, his mind dazed. The outskirts had always been unprotected, but this—this was something else entirely.
As they moved, something caught Deven's eye. A pair of familiar figures lying motionless among the debris. His breath hitched.
"Mom? Dad?"
The soldier stopped, following his gaze. His expression darkened as he turned to block Deven's view, but it was too late. Deven had already seen it.
His parents' mutilated bodies lay sprawled on the ground, torn apart as if by wild beasts. His father's corpse bore deep gashes, his arms wrapped protectively around his mother, even in death.
A pit formed in Deven's stomach. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, suffocating. His breath came in short gasps. His chest ached.
The soldier shielded him from the sight, gently holding him closer. But nothing could erase the image burned into his mind.
The lifeless corpses of his family.
The remains of his home.
The first taste of a nightmare that was only just beginning.
Ten years later...
Deven was now sixteen and living under the care of the knight captain, Kason Duskborn. In that time, he had endured more than most his age ever would—from relentless bullying at school to nearly being killed by gang members simply for existing.
But all of that was about to change.
March 17th, 1828 ADC
Tuesday Morning
Deven groggily woke, stretching and yawning before getting ready for another miserable day of school. After saying goodbye to his foster parents, he stepped out into the cold morning air.
He remembered that today's lesson involved power training—both solo and team-based. He sighed. That only meant more ridicule, more ways to be treated like a lab rat.
As he walked through the streets, the stares came as they always did. Disgust. Disdain. Distrust. All because he came from the outskirts. He kept walking, tuning them out, eyes forward.
He eventually arrived at the towering gates of Umbral Academy, the prestigious school meant to train gifted individuals to battle creatures from other dimensions.
To Deven, though, it wasn't a place of honor.
It was hell.
Not long after stepping through the gates, Deven was shoulder-checked by a student passing by. The impact knocked him to the ground. He looked up at the guy with irritation, but said nothing as he stood.
The student didn't like his expression.
He kicked Deven in the shin, sending him down again with a grunt. With a scoff, the student walked off like nothing happened.
Deven clenched his jaw, holding back the anger bubbling inside him. He picked himself up and made his way to class.
Minutes later, he stood in the middle of a gym-like coliseum. Bleachers rose on all sides, filled with students watching, laughing, whispering about him. He couldn't hear their words, but he didn't need to. He already knew.
Then, a harsh voice cut through the noise.
"QUIET!"
It came from a stern-looking instructor standing beside a large gate. The man's uniform was rugged and marked with years of experience. His voice carried weight.
He looked directly at Deven.
"Deven. Since you have no powers to aid you in this trial, I will permit the use of weapons from the armory."
Two adults approached, pushing a rack of weapons. Swords, shields, axes—everything from standard to brutal. Deven stepped forward and chose a simple sword and shield. The others took the rack and left.
The instructor watched him, waiting.
Deven gave a silent nod.
The instructor flipped a lever, and the gate began to rise with a loud, grinding groan. He vanished in a blur, leaving Deven alone.
Darkness loomed beyond the gate—pitch black.
Deven inched forward, barely a step, when something struck him in the chest and sent him skidding across the floor. He coughed, pain spreading through his ribs as he looked up.
What he saw wasn't human.
The creature was child-sized but moved with terrifying speed. Its body was emaciated and spiderlike, limbs bent at impossible angles, with bony elbows and knees like hooked blades. Its skin was a sickly gray, patchy with sores and tufts of hair.
It had no face—just a vertical slit where a head should be, filled with jagged teeth that gnawed endlessly. A long, pale tongue flicked out, tasting the air with each twitch.
It let out a screech before launching itself at him like a bullet.
To be continued...