Damien's eyes flew open, jolted by the pain coursing through his body. He found himself unable to move, his head buzzing as memories that weren't his flooded his mind. Faces he couldn't recall, feelings and desires he had never experienced—all felt achingly clear to him. His body burned, and beside him, a mangy dog whimpered, licking the burn marks on his skin. Yet, for some reason, he knew the dog's name.
"Fortune," he muttered incoherently.
The last thing he remembered was the woman who had appeared in his penthouse. She told him that his brother needed help and that she was going to transport him to her world. The next thing he knew, he was floating in an endless void, hearing a chilling voice that declared, "He shall get nothing." What did it mean? he wondered.
Hours passed before his body healed enough for him to stand and the day turned to night. During that time, he mulled over his situation. Somehow, he was inside the body of a sixteen-year-old boy named Lucas.
Following Lucas's memories, he made his way to the farm where he lived. When he arrived, he heard a cacophony of screaming and crying at the entrance of the main house. Curious about the commotion, he decided to investigate. He saw Lisa crying and yelling at her father, still traumatized by the incident.
"He's dead, Daddy! I saw it! Luke killed him!" she wailed. "He didn't even do anything; he just wanted them to stop hurting Fortune!"
"I know, darling. If what you're saying is true, we'll have to deal with it tomorrow. I'm a little busy right now, and you can't go running off at night; it's too dangerous for a young girl."
"We have to do something! Don't you hear me?! Lucas is dead! All you care about is Felicia's stupid marriage to that nobleman! You don't care at all about Lucas!"
"That's enough! I said I'll deal with it tomorrow!"
At that moment, Mr. Walton—Lisa's father and the owner of the Walton estate—saw Damien approaching.
"Ah, there he is," he said, directing Lisa's attention to Damien. "You can't go around making up stories about people being dead, Lisa, and then accusing someone of killing him too."
"But I—"
Lisa was completely shocked at the sight of Lucas. As he appeared before her, seemingly unharmed except for his charred clothes, tears streamed down her face.
"Lucas!" she cried, running to wrap her arms around him. "How are you alive? I saw you; you were burnt badly! I thought you were dead because of me. I'm so sorry, Lucas. I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," Damien said, patting her head just like Lucas used to do. Until he could figure out this mess he was in, he thought it best to play the part. As they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.
After coming up with an explanation for Mr. Walton about why Lisa thought he was dead, Damien headed to the shed where Lucas had lived. The shed was a storehouse for animal excrement that would later be sold as manure.
Inside, there was no light or bed—just a pile of old animal fur that Lucas had used to sleep on. His body felt weak, which was unusual for him, given the strength granted by his immortality. That's when a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He picked up a rusty old nail lying on the floor of the shed and stabbed it into his arm.
He stood with bated breath for hours as the cut refused to heal. That's when he realized that his immortality was gone. But how did his injuries heal from Luke's fire blast? He wondered. To make matters worse, he was in a world that relied primarily on magic, inside the body of a boy who possessed none. He recalled the voice from the dark void: "You shall get nothing."
Was this what it meant? he wondered. The woman had promised powers comparable to a god, but instead, he had been tossed into a miserable life. For what? Was his brother really here? Doubts began to fill his mind as he grappled with the reality of his situation.
The next morning, as he slept, the door to the shed burst open, and Mr. Walton stood over him. Before he could react, he was dragged through the mud. The bright sunlight mercilessly assaulted his eyes as he was pulled outside.
"You think you're some big shot who can just sleep all day like a king?!" Mr. Walton grumbled, pulling him to his feet.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Damien asked, confused.
"Don't take that tone with me, boy! It's past noon, and you're just lying around like you're the man of the house. There's shit that needs shoveling, so go get the shovel!" he barked, shoving Damien away.
Damien's body hadn't fully healed from the injury he suffered. He had lost a lot of blood when his stomach burst open from Luke's fire blast, and his head was a mess as he adjusted to memories that weren't his.
He staggered around, shoveling filth, barely keeping himself from toppling over. One look at him, and it was clear he wasn't in great shape, but Mr. Walton didn't care; he needed his work done, even if it meant Damien had to die doing it.
He continued like that for the rest of the day. He willed his body to work even though he could barely stand.
It became abundantly clear that he couldn't stay here. Somehow, he needed power; he needed his wealth and influence back. He needed to find his brother and return home. One way or another, he would have to claw his way back to the top.
But first, he needed his body to heal. This body was already weak, and he needed to find a way to obtain real power. He had to build his strength. If he wanted true power, he couldn't remain on the farm. But where should he go? he wondered.